Baker Street Muse lyrics
Song information
Artist: Jethro Tull Album: Minstrel In The Gallery
Lyrics
Baker street muse ----------------------------------------- (Baker street muse, take one.)
(Shit, shit, shit. take two.)
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 they
Advertise from the station stand With cold print hands Symphony word-player, I'll be your headline If you catch me another time
Didn't make her --- with my baker street ruse Couldn't shake her --- with my baker street bruise Like to take her --- but I'm 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 princess With great finesse Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty feet Down in the baker street underground. (what the hell!) Walking down the gutter thinking ''How the hell am I today?'' Well, I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same
Pig-me and the whore ---------------------------------------------
''Big bottled fraulein, put your weight on me,'' said the Pig-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 to Where he came from In the doorway of the stars, between blandford street And mars; Proposition, deal. flying button feel. testicle testing Wallet ever-bulging. dressed to the left, divulging The wrinkles of his years Wedding-bell induced fears Shedding bell-end tears in the pocket of her resistance International assistance flowing generous and full To his never-ready tool Pulls his eyes over her wool And he shudders as he comes And my rudder slowly turns me into the marylebone Road
Crash-barrier waltzer -----------------------------------------
And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the gutter --- In the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap Radios 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 son's 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 the Crowded emptiness Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap hotel --- I'll pay the bill and make her well - like hell you Bloody will! No do-good over kill. we must teach them To 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 I'm joking, then I'm just a one-line Joker in a public bar And it seems there's no-body left for tennis; and I'm A 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 light This fire under me? One day I'll be a minstrel in the gallery And paint you a picture of the queen And if sometimes I sing to a cynical degree --- It's 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 couldn't wish For a better one It's a real-life ripe dead certainty --- That I'm just a baker street muse
Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same Old way I tried to catch my eye but I looked the other way
Indian restaurants that curry my brain --- Newspaper warriors changing the names they Advertise 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
Didn't make her --- with my baker street ruse Couldn't shake her --- with my baker street bruise Like to take her --- but I'm just a baker street muse
(I can't get out!)
[from http://lyrics.doheth.co.uk]
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