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Jethro Tull lyrics - Album: Aqualung [1971]
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<blockquote data-quote="Floyd" data-source="post: 444" data-attributes="member: 1"><p><strong>Aqualung</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Sitting on a park bench</p><p>eyeing up little girls</p><p>with bad intent.</p><p>Snot running down his nose</p><p>greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.</p><p>Drying in the cold sun</p><p>Watching as the frilly panties run.</p><p>Feeling like a dead duck</p><p>spitting out pieces of his broken luck.</p><p>Sun streaking cold</p><p>an old man wandering lonely.</p><p>Taking time</p><p>the only way he knows.</p><p>Leg hurting bad,</p><p>as he bends to pick a dog end</p><p>goes down to a bog to</p><p>warm his feet.</p><p>Feeling alone</p><p>the army's up the rode</p><p>salvation a la mode and</p><p>a cup of tea.</p><p>Aqualung my friend</p><p>don't start away uneasy</p><p>you poor old sod</p><p>you see it's only me.</p><p>Do you still remember</p><p>December's foggy freeze</p><p>when the ice that</p><p>clings on to your beard is</p><p>screaming agony.</p><p>And you snatch your rattling last breaths</p><p>with deep-sea diver sounds,</p><p>and the flowers bloom like</p><p>madness in the spring.</p><p><strong>Cross-Eyed Mary</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Who would be a poor man</p><p>a beggerman, a thief</p><p>if he had a rich man in his hand.</p><p>Who would steal the candy</p><p>from a laughing baby's mouth</p><p>if he could take it from the money man.</p><p>Cross-eyed Mary</p><p>goes jumping in again.</p><p>She signs no contract</p><p>but she always plays the game.</p><p>Dines in Hampstead village</p><p>on expense accounted gruel,</p><p>and the jack knife barber</p><p>drops her off at school.</p><p>Laughing in the playground</p><p>gets no kicks from little boys:</p><p>would rather make it with a letching gray.</p><p>Or maybe her attention</p><p>is drawn by Aqualung,</p><p>who watches through the railings as they play.</p><p>Cross-eyed Mary</p><p>finds it hard to get along.</p><p>She's a poor man's rich girl</p><p>and she'll do it for a song.</p><p>She's a rich man's stealer</p><p>but her favour's good and strong:</p><p>She's the Robin Hood of Highgate</p><p>helps the poor man get along.</p><p><strong>Cheap Day Return</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>On Preston platform</p><p>do your soft shoe shuffle dance.</p><p>Brush away the cigarette ash that's</p><p>fallen down your pants.</p><p>And you sadly wonder</p><p>does the nurse treat your old man</p><p>the way she should.</p><p>She made you tea:</p><p>asked for your autograph</p><p>what a laugh.</p><p><strong>Mother Goose</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>As I did walk by Hampstead fair,</p><p>I came upon Mother Goose - so I turned her loose</p><p>she was screaming.</p><p>And a foreign student said to me</p><p>was it really true there are elephants and lions too</p><p>in Piccadilly Circus.</p><p>Walked down by the bathing pond</p><p>to try and catch some sun.</p><p>Saw at least a hundred schoolgirls sobbing</p><p>into hankerchiefs as one.</p><p>I don't believe they knew</p><p>I was a schoolboy.</p><p>And a bearded lady said to me</p><p>if you start your raving and your misbehaving</p><p>you'll be sorry.</p><p>Then the chicken-fancier came to play</p><p>with his long red beard (and his sister's weird:</p><p>she drives a lorry).</p><p>Laughed down by the putting green</p><p>I popped 'em in their holes.</p><p>Four and twenty labourers were labouring</p><p>digging up their gold.</p><p>I don't believe they knew</p><p>that I was Long John Silver.</p><p>Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds</p><p>in his jet black mac (which he won't give back).</p><p>stole it from a snow man.</p><p><strong>Wond'ring Aloud</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Wond'ring aloud</p><p>how wew feel today.</p><p>Last night sipped the sunset</p><p>my hands in her hair.</p><p>We are out own saviours</p><p>as we start both our hearts beating life</p><p>into each other.</p><p>Wond'ring aloud</p><p>will the years treat us well.</p><p>As she floats in the kitchen,</p><p>I'm tasting the smell</p><p>of toast as the butter runs.</p><p>Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed</p><p>and I shake my head.</p><p>And it's only the giving</p><p>that makess you what you are.</p><p><strong>Up To Me</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Take you to the cinema</p><p>and leave you in a Wimpy Bar</p><p>you tell me that we've gone to far</p><p>come running up to me.</p><p>Make the scene at Cousin Jack's</p><p>leave him put the bottles back</p><p>mends his glasses that I cracked</p><p>well that one's up to me.</p><p>Buy a silver cloud to ride</p><p>pack the tennis club inside</p><p>trouser cuffs hung far too wide</p><p>well it was up to me.</p><p>Tyres down on your bicicle</p><p>your nose feels like an icicle</p><p>the yellow fingered smoky girl</p><p>is looking up to me.</p><p>Well I'm a common working man</p><p>with a half of butter bread and jam</p><p>and if it pleases me I'll put one one you man</p><p>when the copper fades away.</p><p>The rainy season comes to pass</p><p>the day-glo pirate sinks at last</p><p>and if I laughed a bit to fast.</p><p>Well it was up to me.</p><p><strong>My God</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>People what have you done</p><p>locked him in his golden cage.</p><p>Made him bend to your religion</p><p>Him resurrected from the grave.</p><p>He is the God of nothing</p><p>if that's all that you can see.</p><p>You are the God of everything</p><p>He's a part of you and me.</p><p>So lean upon him gently</p><p>and don't call on Him to save you</p><p>from your social graces</p><p>and the sins you wash to waive.</p><p>The bloody Church of England</p><p>in chains of history</p><p>requests' your earthly presence at</p><p>the vicarage for tea.</p><p>And the graven image you-know-who</p><p>he's got him fixed</p><p>with his plastic crucifix</p><p>confuses me as in who and where and why</p><p>as to how he gets his kicks.</p><p>Confessing to endless sin</p><p>the endless whining sounds.</p><p>You'll be praying till next Thursday to</p><p>all the God that you can count.</p><p><strong>Hymn 43</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Oh father high in heaven smile down upon your son</p><p>whose busy with his money games his women and his gun.</p><p>And the unsung Western Hero killed an indian or three</p><p>and made his name in Hollywood to set the white man free.</p><p>If Jesus saves, well he'd better save himself</p><p>from the gory glory seekers who use his name in death.</p><p>I saw him in the city and on the mountains of the moon</p><p>his cross was rather bloody He could hardly roll his stone.</p><p><strong>Slipstream</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Well the lush separation enfolds you</p><p>and the products of wealth</p><p>push you along on the bow wave</p><p>of the spiritless undying selves.</p><p>And you press on God's waiter your last dime</p><p>as he hands you the bill.</p><p>And you spin in the slipstream</p><p>timeless unreasoning</p><p>paddle right out of the mess.</p><p><strong>Locomotive Breath</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>In the Shuffling madess</p><p>of the locomotive breath,</p><p>runs the all time loser,</p><p>headlong to his death.</p><p>He feels the piston scraping</p><p>steam breaking on his brow</p><p>old Charlie stole the handle and the</p><p>train won't stop going</p><p>no way to slow down.</p><p>He sees his children jumping off</p><p>at stations one by one.</p><p>His woman and his best friend</p><p>in bed and having fun.</p><p>Crawling down the corridor</p><p>on his hands and knees</p><p>old Charlie stole the handle and</p><p>the train won't stop going</p><p>no way to slow down.</p><p>He hears the silence howling</p><p>catches angels as they fall.</p><p>And the all time winner</p><p>has got him by the balls.</p><p>He picks up Gideons Bible</p><p>open at page one</p><p>old Charlie stole the handle and</p><p>the train won't stop going</p><p>no way to slow down.</p><p><strong>Wind Up</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>When I was young, they packed me off to school</p><p>and taught me how not to play the game.</p><p>I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,</p><p>or if they said that I was a fool.</p><p>So I left there in the morning with their God tucked underneath my arm</p><p>their half-asses smiles and the book of rules.</p><p>So I asked this God a question and by way of firm reply,</p><p>He said I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.</p><p>So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares);</p><p>before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers</p><p>I don't believe you: you got the whole damn thing all wrong</p><p>He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.</p><p>Well you can excomunicate me on my way to Sunday school</p><p>and have all the bishops harmonize these lines</p><p>how do you dare tell me that I'm my fathers son</p><p>when that was just an accident of Birth.</p><p>I'd rather look around me compose a better song</p><p>'cos that's the honest measure of my worth.</p><p>In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me,</p><p>as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Floyd, post: 444, member: 1"] [B]Aqualung[/B] Sitting on a park bench eyeing up little girls with bad intent. Snot running down his nose greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes. Drying in the cold sun Watching as the frilly panties run. Feeling like a dead duck spitting out pieces of his broken luck. Sun streaking cold an old man wandering lonely. Taking time the only way he knows. Leg hurting bad, as he bends to pick a dog end goes down to a bog to warm his feet. Feeling alone the army's up the rode salvation a la mode and a cup of tea. Aqualung my friend don't start away uneasy you poor old sod you see it's only me. Do you still remember December's foggy freeze when the ice that clings on to your beard is screaming agony. And you snatch your rattling last breaths with deep-sea diver sounds, and the flowers bloom like madness in the spring. [B]Cross-Eyed Mary[/B] Who would be a poor man a beggerman, a thief if he had a rich man in his hand. Who would steal the candy from a laughing baby's mouth if he could take it from the money man. Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again. She signs no contract but she always plays the game. Dines in Hampstead village on expense accounted gruel, and the jack knife barber drops her off at school. Laughing in the playground gets no kicks from little boys: would rather make it with a letching gray. Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung, who watches through the railings as they play. Cross-eyed Mary finds it hard to get along. She's a poor man's rich girl and she'll do it for a song. She's a rich man's stealer but her favour's good and strong: She's the Robin Hood of Highgate helps the poor man get along. [B]Cheap Day Return[/B] On Preston platform do your soft shoe shuffle dance. Brush away the cigarette ash that's fallen down your pants. And you sadly wonder does the nurse treat your old man the way she should. She made you tea: asked for your autograph what a laugh. [B]Mother Goose[/B] As I did walk by Hampstead fair, I came upon Mother Goose - so I turned her loose she was screaming. And a foreign student said to me was it really true there are elephants and lions too in Piccadilly Circus. Walked down by the bathing pond to try and catch some sun. Saw at least a hundred schoolgirls sobbing into hankerchiefs as one. I don't believe they knew I was a schoolboy. And a bearded lady said to me if you start your raving and your misbehaving you'll be sorry. Then the chicken-fancier came to play with his long red beard (and his sister's weird: she drives a lorry). Laughed down by the putting green I popped 'em in their holes. Four and twenty labourers were labouring digging up their gold. I don't believe they knew that I was Long John Silver. Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds in his jet black mac (which he won't give back). stole it from a snow man. [B]Wond'ring Aloud[/B] Wond'ring aloud how wew feel today. Last night sipped the sunset my hands in her hair. We are out own saviours as we start both our hearts beating life into each other. Wond'ring aloud will the years treat us well. As she floats in the kitchen, I'm tasting the smell of toast as the butter runs. Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed and I shake my head. And it's only the giving that makess you what you are. [B]Up To Me[/B] Take you to the cinema and leave you in a Wimpy Bar you tell me that we've gone to far come running up to me. Make the scene at Cousin Jack's leave him put the bottles back mends his glasses that I cracked well that one's up to me. Buy a silver cloud to ride pack the tennis club inside trouser cuffs hung far too wide well it was up to me. Tyres down on your bicicle your nose feels like an icicle the yellow fingered smoky girl is looking up to me. Well I'm a common working man with a half of butter bread and jam and if it pleases me I'll put one one you man when the copper fades away. The rainy season comes to pass the day-glo pirate sinks at last and if I laughed a bit to fast. Well it was up to me. [B]My God[/B] People what have you done locked him in his golden cage. Made him bend to your religion Him resurrected from the grave. He is the God of nothing if that's all that you can see. You are the God of everything He's a part of you and me. So lean upon him gently and don't call on Him to save you from your social graces and the sins you wash to waive. The bloody Church of England in chains of history requests' your earthly presence at the vicarage for tea. And the graven image you-know-who he's got him fixed with his plastic crucifix confuses me as in who and where and why as to how he gets his kicks. Confessing to endless sin the endless whining sounds. You'll be praying till next Thursday to all the God that you can count. [B]Hymn 43[/B] Oh father high in heaven smile down upon your son whose busy with his money games his women and his gun. And the unsung Western Hero killed an indian or three and made his name in Hollywood to set the white man free. If Jesus saves, well he'd better save himself from the gory glory seekers who use his name in death. I saw him in the city and on the mountains of the moon his cross was rather bloody He could hardly roll his stone. [B]Slipstream[/B] Well the lush separation enfolds you and the products of wealth push you along on the bow wave of the spiritless undying selves. And you press on God's waiter your last dime as he hands you the bill. And you spin in the slipstream timeless unreasoning paddle right out of the mess. [B]Locomotive Breath[/B] In the Shuffling madess of the locomotive breath, runs the all time loser, headlong to his death. He feels the piston scraping steam breaking on his brow old Charlie stole the handle and the train won't stop going no way to slow down. He sees his children jumping off at stations one by one. His woman and his best friend in bed and having fun. Crawling down the corridor on his hands and knees old Charlie stole the handle and the train won't stop going no way to slow down. He hears the silence howling catches angels as they fall. And the all time winner has got him by the balls. He picks up Gideons Bible open at page one old Charlie stole the handle and the train won't stop going no way to slow down. [B]Wind Up[/B] When I was young, they packed me off to school and taught me how not to play the game. I didn't mind if they groomed me for success, or if they said that I was a fool. So I left there in the morning with their God tucked underneath my arm their half-asses smiles and the book of rules. So I asked this God a question and by way of firm reply, He said I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays. So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares); before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers I don't believe you: you got the whole damn thing all wrong He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays. Well you can excomunicate me on my way to Sunday school and have all the bishops harmonize these lines how do you dare tell me that I'm my fathers son when that was just an accident of Birth. I'd rather look around me compose a better song 'cos that's the honest measure of my worth. In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me, as you lick the boots of death born out of fear. [/QUOTE]
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Jethro Tull lyrics - Album: Aqualung [1971]
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