Текст песни Jethro Tull - Baker Street Muse, слова песни Jethro Tull

Текст песни Jethro Tull - Baker Street Muse

Jethro Tull - Baker Street Muse слова песни

Baker street muse-----------------------------------------Windy bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel.Shady gentleman. fly-button. feel.In the underpass, the blind man stands.With cold flute hands.Symphony match-seller, breath out of time.You can call me on another line.Indian restaurants that curry my brain.Newspaper warriors changing the names theyAdvertise from the station stand.With cold print hands.Symphony word-player, Ill be your headline.If you catch me another time.Didnt make her --- with my baker street ruse.Couldnt shake her --- with my baker street bruise.Like to take her --- but Im just a baker street muse.Ale-spew, puddle-brew --- boys, throw it up clean.Coke and bacardi colours them green.From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princessWith great finesse.Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty feetDown in the baker street underground. (what the hell!)Walking down the gutter thinking,``how the hell am I today? Well, I didnt really ask you but thanks all the same.Pig-me and the whore---------------------------------------------``big bottled fraulein, put your weight on me, said thePig-me to the whore,Desperate for more in his assault upon the mountain.Little man, his youth a fountain.Overdrafted and still counting.Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting close toWhere he came from.In the doorway of the stars, between blandford streetAnd mars;Proposition, deal. flying button feel. testicle testing.Wallet ever-bulging. dressed to the left, divulgingThe wrinkles of his years.Wedding-bell induced fears.Shedding bell-end tears in the pocket of her resistance.International assistance flowing generous and fullTo his never-ready tool.Pulls his eyes over her wool.And he shudders as he comes.And my rudder slowly turns me into the maryleboneRoad.Crash-barrier waltzer-----------------------------------------And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the gutter ---In the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheapRadios.And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---On a double yellow line --- where she can park anytime.Old lady grey; crash-barrier waltzer ---Some only sons mother. baker street casualty.Oh, mr. policeman --- blue shirt ballet master.Feet in sticking plaster ---Move the old lady on.Strange pas-de-deux ---His romeo to her juliet.Her sleeping draught, his poisoned regret.No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in theCrowded emptiness.Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap hotel ---Ill pay the bill and make her well - like hell youBloody will!No do-good over kill. we must teach themTo be still more independent.Mother england reverie-----------------------------------------------I have no time for time magazine or rolling stone.I have no wish for wishing wells or wishing bones.I have no house in the country I have no motor car.And if you think Im joking, then Im just a one-lineJoker in a public bar.And it seems theres no-body left for tennis; and imA one-band-man.And I want no top twenty funeral or a hundred grand.There was a little boy stood on a burning log,Rubbing his hands with glee. he said, ``oh mother england,Did you light my smile; or did you lightThis fire under me? One day Ill be a minstrel in the gallery.And paint you a picture of the queen.And if sometimes I sing to a cynical degree ---Its just the nonsense that it seems.So I drift down through the baker street valley,In my steep-sided un-reality.And when all is said and all is done --- I couldnt wishFor a better one.Its a real-life ripe dead certainty ---That Im just a baker street muse.Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the sameOld way.I tried to catch my eye but I looked the other way.Indian restaurants that curry my brain ---Newspaper warriors changing the names theyAdvertise from the station stand.Circumcised with cold print hands.Windy bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel.Shady gentleman. fly-button. feel.In the underpass, the blind man stands.With cold flute hands.Symphony match-seller, breath out of time ---You can call me on another line.Didnt make her --- with my baker street ruse.Couldnt shake her --- with my baker street bruise.Like to take her --- but Im just a baker street muse.(I cant get out!)

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Jethro Tull

Baker Street Muse

Текст песни Jethro Tull - Baker Street Muse

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