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All words and music by Armstrong/Blackborow

 

PRUNE (YOUR TREE)

 

You shouldn't talk to me like that

You spilled my tea you kicked my cat

You're acting strange you act depraved

What kind of way's that to behave?

 

You little minx you little tyke

You can go home now if you like

You've smoked my ciggies drunk my wine

Good gracious me is that the time?

 

Well I know my opinins are a bore

So here's your coat and here's the door

You want me off your back, baby

I want you on yours.

 

And now I must reiterate

It's really getting rather late

We've watch both my videos

And now it's time to go

 

I must be insane

To try it on again

But the thing this evening lacks

That's

The beast with two backs

 

That's such a nasty thing to do

Well I'm being nastier to you

If you don't love me anymore

What're you hanging 'round here for?

 

I know your magazines say

'Prune that tree'

Well that dead wood is me.

 

 

GROOVE

 

There's a hell of a difference

Between nice and delicious

And the things that I do and I say

I've got handlebar troubles

I need long walks and cuddles

And I'll groove all my toubles away

 

And all it would take

Is a couple of shakes

And maybe the rest of today

I've got haricot blues

I've got stones in my shoes

And I'll groove all my troubles away

 

There's an ocean of fish

With only one wish

That's to swim in the sea every day

I've got zippers to fix

I've got rhyming to do

And I'll groove all my troubles away.

 

 

BRIAN WILSON'S BED

 

Every line I write seems like somebody else's

There's no hope for my body and I've lost most of my senses

So I can't stop the rot from setting in

I realise now that what I'm in is

Brian Wilson's bed

Brian Wilson's bed

Oh but I can't afford the LSD

So I'm dropping strongly sweetened tea in

Brian Wilson's bed

Brian Wilson's bed

 

For me, is the last place where I can really function

I'd love to go and live but with scant trace of compunction

I could lie and sweat the live long day

Smoke and read my teens away in

Brian Wilson's bed

Brian Wilson's bed

 

Forsaken by the world at large

Dear it's the perfect camouflage

For a dole boy with less soul

Than the Wigan Casino

I languish here just flicking through

Back issues of Beano

 

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Copyright control © 2009 S.Armstrong/R.Blackborow. All Rights Reserved.