The Little Red Songbook
Lyrics Old Friend, New Flame

I went with a friend of mine
I hadn't seen in years
To a party
That would end in tears

He'd told me on the phone
His new lover was appealing
Beautiful and young
Probably worth stealing

I tingled to my bones
Watching my friend's new squeeze
He'd always been alone
Now he had somebody

Stuck by the fridge door
Bored by the disco sounds
I found magnetic letters
Started to push them around

My magnetic game
Seemed to draw people to me
My old friend's new flame
Came tiptoeing over to me

Satan possessed my soul
As she stood watching me
I spelled out B L O
W space M E

I saw her young eyes stretch
But my old friend's new lover
Laid, the unfaithful wretch
Her head upon my shoulder

I saw my friend nearby
Suddenly stone cold sober
No longer my friend
And ten years older

Tragedy And Farce

I longed for her when I was just 18
She was so pure to me I couldn't even picture her nude
And when she told me she didn't want to be my lover
I cried for hours up on Carlton Hill
While the sun set behind the unfinished monument

(Tragedy and farce)

Ten years later at my sister's wedding
Drunk on champagne in an upstairs room
She let me take off her all her clothes

I'd had to wait so long for that first embrace
From that miserable day in '78
The first dry kiss
To this!

She invited me back to her empty place
Where the irony hit me like a slap in the face

(Tragedy and farce)

Either I was too big or she was too small
But there was no way on earth we would ever ball
Not even Vaseline and a lot of mutual pain
Could put Humpty Dumpty together again
Like a square peg forced into a round hole
This into that just wouldn't go
Though of course
We could still kiss

History plays the first time as tragedy, the second as farce

Miss X, An Ex-Lover

Miss X is now just an ex-lover
As time goes by it gets harder to remember why we split
As I recall the reasons were all small and stupid:

Miss X was doing horse

Miss X wore shiny platform trainers

Miss X more or less moved into my house when I was working on getting famous

Miss X gave me chlamydia then, when I'd been told by the doctor
Not to have sex for three weeks, put pressure on me to fuck her

Miss X, lying beside me when Diana died, couldn't give a shit

Miss X started calling me 'cold fish', 'plank' and 'Mr Limp Dick'

Sex with Japanese pleased me more, I found them less voracious

Miss X meanwhile was fucking her way to the top, working on getting famous

The great love of Miss X's life came back to town, she started to stalk him

There were other reasons I left Miss X, but I've forgotten

Miss X is now just an ex-lover
As time goes by it gets harder to remember why we split
As I recall the reasons were all small and stupid

I miss her

Coming In A Girl's Mouth

What is the cultural meaning of coming in a girl's mouth?
Do I wish to feed her or fill her mouth with filth?
Is it just to test whether she accepts my messiest mess
Or simply paint a funny milk moustache across her face?

Or is there in this thrilling ritual something messianic
Some sort of baptism by sperm?
Like my cock is John the Baptist saying
'One day someone greater than me shall come'
Or some Moses who leads an entire nation across her tongue
To liberation

That must be it... why else fill a girl's mouth saltily full
With a fluid the consistency of honey, tapioca, and motor oil?

How To Spot An Invert

How to spot an invert
Amongst the vertebrates:

Good grooming
A tidy bedroom
Never married
And working in the arts
A bitchy sense of humour
Inordinately colourful scarves
Loose gestures
A wardrobe full of Helmut Lang
A dangling limp wrist
A talent for interior design

He has a taste for Latin poetry of the Silver Age
Indulges privately on the heath with unknown youths
In Spartan sports
And 'the unspeakable vice of the Greeks'

Likes show tunes
Counts hairdressers amongst his closest friends
Is umbilically attached to his mother
He is careful to conceal at all times his real age
Is always florid, flamboyant, pale and interesting

Too good to be true
But this could be you
The invert, our hero, is the male sex, Release 2.0

Upgrade today!
You too may be gay

Lucretia Borgia

I'm sorry I fucked your best friend, Lucretia Borgia
Though we're frankly surprised you're appalled
We thought you'd be ecstatic
To see us so happy
Being your two closest friends and all

We are not really that thirsty, Lucretia Borgia
We will not take two goblets of wine
We'd love to sip your chalice
But we're due at the Pitti Palace
Maybe some other time

I'm grateful for everything you did, Lucretia Borgia
And I hope you're not disappointed in me
Your legendary parties for wealthy old hearties
Were the talk of all Tuscany
No I shall not take a walk with your friend Luigi
Although as henchmen go he's all right
I won't take that walk, and I don't want to talk
Maybe some other night

I don't know why it didn't work for us, Lucretia Borgia
It wasn't your motto 'Might makes right'
I didn't mind your snobbery or your two charming hobbies
Vindictive murder and spite
Don't show me the door, Lucretia Borgia
It leads to the Arno, I know
It opens on a stair which leads to a tower
Where no-one must go

Your first marriage was anulled
Your second husband got killed
You slept with your father
And sucked your brother's dick
But, hey, everybody needs to get a kick out of life
Lucretia what are you doing with that knife?

Everyone I Have Ever Slept With

I'd like to thank everyone
I have ever slept with
This award I've won
Is really yours
You helped with my career
Eight or nine a year
To me you're the real rising British stars

I'd like to thank my seducers
And also my seduced
My producers
And the whole supporting cast
My principal photographer
That unprincipled pornographer
Without whom the whole thing would be lost

I'd like to thank everyone
I have ever slept with
It really was Cecil B De Mille
The billions of sperm
The babies unborn
You applied so much spermicide to kill

I'd like to thank everyone
I have ever slept with
Some of you are squirming out there
Hoping and praying
I won't reveal your names
Don't worry, we all know who you are

So thank you Sallie Popplewell
And Rosemary Barber
Klee Hitchens
And Annalise Sinclair
Natasha Kefalonis
Angelika Adonis
Tracey Emin
And 37 more

I'd like to thank everyone
I have ever slept with
Thank you from the bottom of my heart
And from the heart of my bottom
I know it must be rotten
To provide the raw material for art

I'd like to thank everyone
I have ever slept with
The casting directors and the fans
There's a tent in my brain
Where I've embroidered all your names
I love you
And 'Je ne regrette rien'

I'd like to thank everyone
I have ever slept with
Like an elephant, I never forgot
My make-up artist Pierre
My landscape gardener
My manager, my mother, and God

Who Is Mr Jones?

Bob Dylan at the height of his fame
Got asked the same question again and again
In a forest of microphones
'Tell us, Bob, who really is Mr Jones?'

Dylan replied: 'He's a pinboy, he also wears suspenders
It's not so hard to picture him
In a room with three walls and a midget, a naked man and a geek
And I am the voice in his dream, speaking in his sleep'

Bob Dylan at the height of his fame
Got asked the same question again and again
In a forest of microphones
'Tell us, Bob, who really is Mr Jones?'

Dylan, probably bored to death
Is also reported to have said:
'I saw him come into the room one night
He looked just like a camel
And proceeded to put his eyes into his pocket'

He's a real person, you know him
You don't have to be so imaginative
The answer is blindingly obvious:

Mr Jones is a man who doesn't know who Mr Jones is

Harry K-Tel

I hate your famous guts
I know girls are sitting ducks
I know you've got the bucks
But what gets me is you schmucks
Think you can hit on any girl in the world
Without denting your fronts

As if morals themselves are simply image
Like you've got this gold-plated credit card charisma
To cover all the damage

Harry K-Tel the method actor once asked my sister to tweak
His tits while he jiggled and jangled his allegedly undersized cock
I don't think she complied (though maybe she lied)
But for the next three weeks
They had phone sex every morning between Scotland and New York

I hate your famous guts

How he jiggled his cock and tweaked his own nipples
While holding the telephone
Beggars the imagination, truly
But would be a lot more interesting to watch
Than one of Harry's movies

The New Decameron

In a time of plague
We were young and gay
And while money reigned
Minorities were wiped out every day
But we had tailors, we were getting famous

With the patronage of William Burroughs
And also Kathy Acker
Our pens would save the day

Singing 'tirra lirra tirra lirra tirra lirra gabba gabba hey'

And our heroes were
Nightclub entrepreneurs
Our novellas were
Metaphors and deconstructions
Architects
Who blow up their own buildings

While Reagan and Thatcher reigned we got famous
Not all of us survived
As happens in time of plague

Singing 'tirra lirra tirra lirra tirra lirra gabba gabba hey'

In a gilded time
When death was king
A group of authors began to write a new Decameron
Whose elegance bordered on the Florentine

And when the 90s came
We were immune to plague
To every known strain
Then along came Kurt Cobain

MC Escher

The conventions of rap dictate that every MC who takes the mic
Claims to be the best, fills his set with hype
It's OTT

But if we imagine a world where every MC really is badder and fresher
Than every other, it just gets madder and madder
One of those rooftop salmon ladders
Drawn by...

MC Escher
The impossible rapper
Ain't nobody does it better
Under pressure
MC Escher
He's so clever
Gives you pleasure
Forever

So watch the water flow round and round
Without the need for pressure
This world of perpetual motion
Is just a beautiful illusion

MC Escher
The impossible rapper
Ain't nobody does it better
Under pressure
MC Escher
He's so clever
Gives you pleasure
Forever

Karl Marx and Biz Markie would probably agree
Equality has yet to make much of a mark on the world of the MC

Spin the turntable round and round
He's got a Boss Dr Sample underground
He's got a bag full of patterns to give the ladies pleasure
It's the rise and fall and rise of the house of Escher

Ain't nobody does it better
Not MC Eric Satie or MC Franz Kafka
Gives you pleasure forever

What Are You Wearing?

(What are you wearing?)

A little sweater, it's irridescent
It's got a geometric grid of little squares
My legs are bare
I will describe my underwear
It's warm against my hair
Soft against my skin
But you can't come in
Until the pink and yellow duck
That is printed on the front
Begins to smile
(What are you wearing?)

I've got a hat on
My shirt is satin
It's got a picture of a pony in a field
My hair is green today
I'm wearing see through Pierre Cardin
My scent is Paco by Rabanne
My hair is in a bun
My holster holds a gun
I filled it from a tap
My tummy sprang a drip
Your water pistol spilled
Be very careful, someone could get wet
Or someone could get killed

And I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve
I am wearing my wound with pride
I am wearing a smile and nothing at all
Up on the catwalk
Down in the strip club
Up on the catwalk
Down in the strip club
Catwalk (meow!)
Strip club (grrr!)

(What are you wearing?)

I bought a pair of shoes by Jeremy Scott
I threw away the wrapper and I threw away the box
I went to an opening in my new clothes
Serge Comte Post-It Notes

I used to be a hologram, Anagram Sam
I used to be a big Suicide fan
I used to have a wiggle, now I walk like a man
And where it's at is where I am

(What are you wearing?)

I made this skirt from
A groovy curtain
Somebody ripped out of a pretty bungalow
And in my knickers
There is a flower my mother sewed
My shirt is shiny like a toad
I'm wearing Heidi braids
And aviator shades
I favour flatter shoes
My sailor suit is blue
And if it weren't for you
I'd take it off and leave it in a heap
Right here in the street

And I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve
I am wearing my wound with pride
I am wearing a smile and nothing at all
Up on the catwalk
Down in the strip club
Up on the catwalk
Down in the strip club
Catwalk (meow!)
Strip club (grrr!)

(What are you wearing?)

I used be a telegram, Hologram Sam
I used to be the walrus, now I'm John
I used to be a wham bam thank you ma'am
I used to be the kitten of all Japan

I come from everywhere I have ever been
Every boy is a king and every girl is a queen
Every girl is a king and every boy is a queen
And where it's at is where I am

Call me

The Symphonies Of Beethoven

To the first I'm dreaming
To the second screaming
To the third I'm falling into reverie extreme
To the fourth I'm swooning
To the fifth I'm gloomy
By the sixth see Dr Robert Moog
Entering my room with Alex and his Droogs

Let's play the symphonies of Beethoven
Grooving in the nude with Alex and his Droogs
Let's play the symphonies of Beethoven
Let's get in the nude with Dr Robert Moog

To the sixth I'm cooing
In the seventh fooling around
To the eighth I'm doing things
I've never done before
I hallucinate in Nine
Under blood red lights, drinking blood red wine
And Alex will be mine
I'll say it one more time
While Beethoven sits composing ten

Tiny glass animals stand on my desk
Music will blow them away
I have a disease, I'm down on my knees
Wrapped up in bandages, weightless
Look at my face here at your waist
Through stereo wide angle lenses
Nude on my chair, combing my hair
Deaf in orange

I play the symphonies of Beethoven
Naked in the rain, time and time again
Let's play the symphonies of Beethoven
Let's get in the mood with Dr Robert Moog

Let's play the symphonies of Beethoven
Grooving in the nude with Alex and his Droogs
Let's play the symphonies of Beethoven
Let's get in the mood...

I sent a postcard to hell
To wish the devil happy birthday
He replied with an orange mechanique
It's apparently 'le dernier mot de chic'

Born To Be Adored

I was created in the fleshpots of Araby
My mother was the Emperor's secretary
My father, a notorious libertine
Escaped from Sodom and Gomorrah, the cities of the plain
You can read my family's rise and fall in Gibbon
I was born to be adored by women

Well Seth begat Clem and then Clem begat Ruth
And then Ruth begat me and all hell broke loose
The tribes all began to multiply and boom
And, looking at their kids, no-one knew from whom
The beautiful things kept springing
I was born to be adored by women

My hair is long, distinguished, prematurely grey
I've got a mouth like Ernest Hemingway's ashtray
I've fathered 103 illegitimate kids
I've never met a mother I couldn't bed
I love children, spiders, snakes, and anything living
I was born to be adored by women

Some guys can erect garden furniture
That must be what God invented husbands for
But if you need a milk chocolate in the shape of a man
If you need a chunk of marzipan the size of Taiwan
Look up the chimney, see what Santa's bringing
I was born to be adored by women

Well I know I'm always late since my watch got sold
But I'm worth the wait, the weight in gold
After God made me, they broke the mold
And I've broken all the records with that old song
Bold girls are so fond of singing
I was born to be adored by women

Well my favourite bird is the cuckoo, punk
My favourite beast the funky skunk
My favourite colour is the emerald green
Chuck the football king goes when his beauty queen
Comes to me when she's chucked him in
I was born to be adored by women

What I don't know about love technique
You could scribble in biro on the balls of your feet
I never wear underwear, I drive a dead beat Landrover
In my bare feet stark naked, there's always one more river to go swim in
I was born to be adored by women

A White Oriental Flower

The life of someone promiscuous is unfocused, unclear
Forgetting the crisp morning sun
On the face of the young beloved
The lines of her eyebrows so sharply defined
Loving anyone else so far from his mind
She is not unique, but seems so then
But after five, but after ten
When morning's gone and won't come back again
Then carpe diem

One morning I crept into your room, Young Kim
And watched you sleep for an hour
Your face a white oriental flower
So vast and soft next to mine

Your body, which didn't belong to me
Still not quite ready for rousing, moved lazily in rehearsal
While mine trembled violently in the sublime suspended animation
Of my unresolved arousal

That hour took me back to something so pure
That hour was, for me, transcendental

To long and yet never possess
Is, as Rilke said better
The best

I Can See Japan

I can see Japan
I can see Japan
I can see the mountaintops
And I can see the villages
And I can see your images
And baby, best of all, I can see your love

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