An Apple Size Golden Clitoris

An apple size golden clitoris
Is flying through the air
No sign of any hair
My god I think it’s coming
Straight for me…whoopee
Thank heavens for my butterfly net
I haven’t used it yet
I haven’t used it yet
If I open my mouth really wide
It might fly inside
It might fly inside.

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Angel Delight

I used to fantasise, I didn’t realise
Love swept you off of your feet
It’s just a metaphor
I’m standing on the floor
When all of a sudden I meet
An angel by my side
I’m truly mystified
This is no package deal.
Oh Oh Oh Oh

I feel like this
When I’m thinking of you
Is it real, come on tell me it’s true
She says…yes yes yes!
But don’t you look down.

We walk along a while
She looks at me and smiles
You’ve never been here before?
Don’t often come this way
In fact I usually stay
With my feet on the floor
I’m feeling very strange
Perhaps the weathers changed
It’s nothing short of bliss.
Oh Oh Oh Oh

I just can’t concentrate
This feeling really great
No one will understand
Must get a grip on things
Maybe I’m growing wings
Perhaps I’ll never land
So when she turns around
I have a quick look down
I’m higher than I thought.
Oh Oh Oh Oh

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Sainté Marie

Just one more song
And the lights go down
Singing for money
In a cafe in Tarascon
I got a ticket in my pocket
To take me back
It’s been six weeks of rolling
Down a one way track
Somebody gave me your address
They said I’d like you
You were a singer
I took a train back south
With an open mind
I just had to be here one more time.

Give me two good reasons
For going home
I’ve seen the passing of the seasons And I still don’t know
I’ve been from Toulouse to Caissi Down to Sainté Marie
Where the shadows of summer
Are holding me.

Lying on our backs
Singing honey sweet
We’ve got the cool hand of autumn
Laughing at our head and feet
Shy like the colours in a dying sky
I’m wishing for kissing
But I’m just passing by
I never came looking for a lover
I never came looking for a song
But look what you gave me
I can’t leave you now

Hands across the table
Hands through my hair
Hands on the wheel turning in the air
Give me two good reasons
For going home
I’ve seen the passing of the seasons And I still don’t know
I’ve been from Toulouse to Caissi Down to Sainté Marie
Where the shadows of summer
The best time I’ve known
And a piece of your soul
Are holding me.

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Dominique

Dominique in Paris, smoking your
pipe at your big grand piano
I think of you each winter
Snow in Monmartre
I met you in summer
Way down in Toulouse
Yeh, you unbuttoned my shoes
And we danced to the music.

Martine in Nice
Your bed was so nice
With your pink and white pillows
I think I lost my way
Under your sheets
I came up in Rio
It’s such a long way
From the tip of your nose
To your mouth
Was I east, west or north or south?

Take me to France again
All that romance again
Rolling and reeling
And going too far
Loving was easy then
Living was everything
Dressed up like Dylan
With my new guitar.

Consuello in Le Havre
I got the photograph
Of the moment after
I’m sorry you were shocked
When I locked you in
But it was worth all the laughter
It’s such a long way
From the balcony down to your pool
But your landing was very cool.

Take me to France again
All that romance again
Rolling and reeling
And going too far
Loving was easy then
Living was everything
Dressed up like Dylan
My heart was just spinning
With all those french women
And my new guitar.

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Good for You

I’m not the sort of girl
You’re used to calling babe or honey
I’m a bit unusual
In fact they say I’m pretty funny
But if you’ve got the nerve
To find out truly what I’m worth
Of all the girls your thinking of
I’m the one with extra love and I’m…

Good for you yeh I’m good for you
Baby I’m good for you
Yeh I’m good for you.

I’m not the kind of girl
Who wastes her time
Just hanging round
I know I’ve found a pearl
When my heart keeps jumping
Up and down.
So if you’ve got the guts
To let me love you really nuts
Throw your ego out the door
I’m the one that you’re looking for And I’m…

Good for you yeh I’m good for you
Baby I’m good for you
Yeh I’m good for you.
Good like a lighthouse in a storm
Good like a mama when a baby’s born
Good like a ** when you’re feeling hot
And I’m good if you’re ready
And I’m good if you’re not.

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I Love My Guitar

I don’t like hi-tech
No radio active loop around my neck
My turntable is twenty years old
It’s got a needle what scratches
A record what matches
It goes up and down
It only just goes round
It goes quitch, quitch, quitch quitch.

My stereo walkthing
I bought on holiday in Lanzarote
It was tax free, half price
The packaging was really nice
It’s mono and it’s really grotty
It’s got no tone control
It makes my tape of Ian Dury
Sound just like Nana Mouskouri.
My stereo head phones
Are pink and black
Real smart, I really look the part
They were a complete waste of money
They make me feel sick
It’s not very funny
All I remember is, they were dear
And the sound comes out of one ear.

My watch cost a pound
I found it by the sweets in a garage
It’s got no strap, it sticks with tacky
And it sticks to a dash board
Ain’t that funny
I’ve got no car, I wanted to nick it
I’ve already lost it
I should have said ‘stick it!’.

I’ve still got my motor bike
I drove it down a hole
But it wasn’t my fault
I’m not to blame
It was an unlit gasworks
Always the same
I’ve done my bit, put in a claim
And it’s sitting in the garden
In the pouring rain.

That is why I love my guitar
I adore it
I was given this when I was ten
It never runs out
It goes again and again
It’s made of wood and steel
It’s sounds really real
It goes…

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Catch The Rain

What’s the matter with you girl?
Hanging your head so low low low
You’ve got to pick up the pieces Take your chance and go
What’s the matter with you girl?
Don’t let them bring you down down down
Just pick up the pieces now
And turn around.

No hill too high
No river too wide
No place too far
For the woman inside
You got no cross to bear
There’s no one there you can blame
When you know you can’t catch the sun
Just catch the rain.

Pheobe Rivers was crying
Lost in the middle of a thunder storm
All her hair was wet
And all her clothes were torn
If my mama don’t find me
I think I’ll surely die die die
Then she jumped like a cricket
And found that she could fly.

Flora Tiger was sleeping
Dreaming she was lying
In a big dark cage
All her fire gone
With the sadness and the rage
Should be living in freedom
Running like a good ‘un
Where the wild wind blows
Then she opened up her eyes
To find that’s where she was.

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Last Night

Last night I must have
Dreamt about you
Woke up this morning
And I really missed you
If you’d have been there
I’d have surely kissed you
Hello good morning good friend.

It’s like I knew you well
Before I met you
You said something
That I’ll never forget
You got the wisdom of Aphrodite inside
Hello good morning good friend.

Sometimes we don’t talk
Just sit together
And look at the world
Like birds of a feather
Put on a record and make some tea
Just being with you is enough for me.

Every day and night
I could write you a letter
Don’t have to post it, still feel better
You know I’ve flipped
If I knit you a sweater
Hello good morning good friend.

If you’re feeling high
If you’re felling low
You can call on me
I’ll never go
I like this friendship much too much
Wherever you are I’ll keep in touch.

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September Slow

Across a small footbridge and a French coffee river
Watches my footsteps in the September slow
The lights on the boats
They are stars in the water
I’m losing my mind
In this drinkable flow
You live by the river
In an old red brick building
Beside the canal
Where the lock gates are drawn
I’m lost on the stairwell
Except for the sound
Of cats who like loving
And a sad saxophone.

My heart is the water
That falls from the weir
It crashes and tumbles
And fills me with fear
I came all this way
Just to finish my song
Or so I keep telling myself.

Stop on the staircase
And open my bag
Inside is a story I wrote long ago
It still has no ending
Some pages are missing
The pictures are fading
But the binding was strong
Now it is broken
I’ve read it too often
The paper’s so soft
It feels just like your skin
Or so I imagine but I do not know
Your door is wide open so I walk on in.

Here is a line from another song
Coming home to land
On a wing and a prayer
I guess that is me
Standing by your door
I’ve got shine on my shoes
I’ve hope in my hair
Nothing is new except my guitar case
And I’m so relieved
I don’t have to face
The way that old friends say
‘How you have changed’
You don’t know me
We’re still strangers.

Meeting your eyes
Is like treading deep water
Oh how I wanted, I always did know
You don’t speak my language
And I don’t speak yours
There’s nothing to say
That our bodies can’t show
I might have your picture
But that won’t replace
The colours I see
When I look at your face
Red for my happiness
Blue for my love
And yellow for the sun and the moon
In the sky up above.

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Doris in the Delhi

I’ve got a crush on the woman
In the delhi
The way she always asks me
How I am
I get this funny sort of feeling
In my belly
Every time I go and ask her
For a pot of Parmesan
I’ve got twenty seven pots
In my kitchen
It’s driving everybody
Round the bend
They say we’re sick and tired
Of eating your spaghetti
Why don’t you tell her
You’re a dyke
And then this romance can end
But I’m obsessed with the way
She makes her pasta
The way she stuffs her ravioli
It makes my heart beat
Faster faster faster
Now I’m dreaming of
A weekend in Napoli
Yesterday I tasted her olives
My eyes nearly popped out with glee
She said ‘Hey don’t you know my name ? it is Doris’
I said ‘No no, you look more like
a Maria to me’
But now I think she’s getting
Really quite suspicious
I’ll have to return in some disguise
I’m going back to buy some cashews
They’re delicious
I can wear lots of make up
And some lipstick on my eyes
(Which I do…and she says…)
‘Hey are you going to a party?’
I said ‘Yes yes, would you like to come along?’
She said ‘Sure I will bring my Dolcelatte’
I said ‘Great I’ll bring my guitar
And we can both sing a song’.
I was expecting an Italian sitar
Soon I would be crooning on my knees
I sidled up to her with my guitar
And she sat right down beside me
With a piece of smelly cheese.
She said ‘its time we put our cheeses on the table
There’s more to this methinks
Than meets the eye
Come with me, gosh goodness
You seem unstable
Come with me I’ve this suggestion
That I think we ought to try’
She said ‘There are a million and one different cheeses
I couldn’t taste them all
I would be sick
But if you would oblige, I could pay you
To be my “Expert Cheese Consultant”
That would really do the trick’
I said ‘It’s not exactly
What I was expecting
But what the hell
I couldn’t ask for more’
And now all these years later
I’ve been perfecting
The art of choosing cheeses
For the one that I adore
I've eaten Cheddar, Stilton
Danish blue, Emmental and Feta
Mozarella, Edam, Philadelphia
And better
Gorgonzola, Port Salut, Red leicester
And good Brie…but the cheese that Doris loves the best
I do believe is me!

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Mini Fat Black

Mini Fat Black shopping on a Friday With her husband’s cash
Can’t buy for five with money for one
He’s such a mean old dog
That guy’s full of trash
Takes the wrong road by mistake Ends up at the steam bath
Has a soak, has a joke
With her sisters
She has a real good laugh, she says…

Well who does the hard work
And who gets the blues?
Mama tell your daughters
Don’t put polish
On your old mans shoes.

Steaming fine and feeling good
She takes a taxi home
Finds a penny for her old man’s belly
Buys a bag of those bargain bones
Spicing up, in her kitchen
Cooking hot
Jack comes home too early
Takes a look in that cooking pot
He says…
Crazy woman, you bad, bad woman
What you done with my money
She says I can’t tell no lies
Spent it wise on myself
‘Cos I’m your honey, she says…

Who does the hard work
And who gets the blues?
Mama tell your daughters
Don’t put polish
On your old mans shoes.

Treat me good and treat me kind And treat me right
Endless giving when
It’s hard just living
And I don’t want another fight
I give to myself, time for myself
The only cost is what you’ve lost
In your pride
And your Friday wealth.

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Switzerland

Switzerland is not The Sound of Music
In Zürich I lost my expectations
In a radio station
When they played my song
And Fritz got the speed all wrong
No Switzerland is not
My favourite chocolate
In Basel I lost my inclination
In a railway station drinking coffee
With a complimentary toffee
I lost my sweetest tooth.

Take me back, back to Hackney
With the dirty roads
And loads of cranky people
Take me home
To the rags and bones of Hackney
Goodbye Fritz and Switzerland.

Switzerland I boogied and I moaned
At a disco with everybody stoned
I love your mountains and your banks
But your pop songs no thanks
I’d rather sing my songs.

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