John Cale by Cambridge Jones
Fear Is A Man's Best Friend - John Cale

Lyrics

Extra Playful

Extra Playful

  1. Catastrofuk
  2. Whaddya Mean By That?
  3. Hey Ray
  4. Pile A L'Heure
  5. Perfection
  6. Bluetooth Swings [Black Edition]
  7. The Hanging [Black Edition]

Catastrofuk

Do, do do do, do do do, do

It's catastrophic
How money goes missing misanthropic
And it shows
Gonna help you out
And pick you up, stand you up
And jump and shout

You can't take it with you when you go
For the time being you got nothing to show

Uh oh, uh oh oh, uh oh uh oh

You're pointing at me with your magic wand
You pin me down like you did james bond
Well you don't live here no more
You've gone away

Say hello to the future
And goodbye to the past
Hurry up through the present
And get there fast

Uh oh, uh uh oh oh (etc)

You got nothing to say
And i got nothing to prove
The river runs from the mountain down to the sea and the shore
The samurai comes off the mountain
You can hear him roar
She doesn't feel the same way
That she did once before
But you've found something better next door

Say hello to the future
And goodbye to the past
Hurry up through the present
And get there fast

Uh oh (etc)

She doesn't, she doesn't
Live here any more (2x)

Do, do do do, do do do, do

(Thanks: Eric Driscoll)

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Whaddya Mean By That single

Whaddya Mean By That

Teach me how to love
Teach me how to hate
I'm in a hurry
I mustn't be late

Standing in the window
Staring at the street
I see you in the distance
Fading in the heat
You ask if you hurt me
Whaddya mean by that
Look around the corner
You don't remember that

Feel like dancing
On the head of a pin
Watching and waiting
For you to begin
Letting your lonely heart
Reach out to see
The dancer who's standing
Still at your feet
You asked if you hurt me
Whaddya mean by that
Looked round the corner
You don't remember that

(SOLO)

Take me to your bedroom
Lay me on the floor
Before we get started
Make sure to lock the door
Deep in the shadows
There's plenty of room
For you to be dancing
A dancing fool

You asked if you'd hurt me
Whaddya mean by that
Look around the corner
You don't remember that

(last four lines x2)

(Thanks: Ziggy & Isabel)

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Hey Ray

Hey, Ray
You're drivin' me crazy
Hey, Ray
Hey, Ray
You don't have to call
Hey, Ray

Hey, Ray
You're driving me crazy
Hey, Ray
I'm outta my mind [2x]

1963 - on Lispenard Street
1964 - Castro's up in Harlem
1965 - they're having a riot
1966 - the writing's on the wall
1967 - it's the golden age
1968 - and it's all over (it's all over)
It's all over, Ray (it's all over)
It's all over, Ray (it's all over)
It's all over

The Russians are coming! - no, they're not!
The Russians are coming! - no, they're not!
The French are coming! - ooh la la
The Italians are coming - whipee!
The Americans are coming - aww, shit
The French are coming - not again!

[1963 verse again]

That's not why you stumble
It's the way the cookie crumbles [4x]

Hey, Ray
You're driving me crazy (it's all over)
Hey, Ray
I'm outta my mind (it's all over)
Hey, Ray, hey, Ray
[repeat until end of song]

(Thanks: Eric Driscoll)

[top]

Pile à l'heure

Pile à l'heure
Tu m'as fait un trou dans le coeur
Pile à l'heure
Pile à l'heure
Tu m'as fait un trou dans le coeur
Pile à l'heure

Il n'y a plus rien
Il n'y a plus rien

Tu danses sur ta selle

Tu es prête à tomber
Le train s'en va et tu restes sur le rail
A courir devant l'Orient-Express
Il n'y a plus rien

Pile à l'heure
Tu as pleuré
Pile à l'heure
Tu as crié
Pile à l'heure
Tu as pleuré
Pile à l'heure

C'est pas ce que tu veux lui dire
Mais ce qu'il a besoin d'entendre
Tu as pleuré
Tu as crié
Tu as crié

Il n'y a plus rien, rien
Il n'y a plus rien, rien
Pile à l'heure
Pile à l'heure

[top]

Perfection

You were hopefully
Looking for perfection
And all the days were spent
Harnessing potential
And all we could see
Were the remnants of dreams
Floating in and out of sight

Old tales of midnight rides
And mornings in the garden
Fallen objects on the wall
Standing in total silence

Chorus:
Getting the picture, making it simple
We had the answers all along
It wasn't obvious, it wasn't clear
Left in the corner with our souvenirs

Making the most of conversation
The landscape during rain
It wasn't obvious, it wasn't clear
In the corner with our souvenirs

Chorus 3x

(Thanks: Eric Driscoll)

[top]

Bluetooth Swings [Black Edition]

And the bluetooth swings
To another beat
Ooh, ooh, ohh
And the bluetooth swings
To another beat
Another day
Very discreet
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Ohh
Ohh

From the sacrifice
Of the widow it might
Be recalling you
With all our might
And the bluetooth swings
To another beat
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Ohh
Ohh

Brazilian days
And crimson nights
We're along
For the fight
Send him round
To Ali
We have gone away
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh

And the bluetooth swings
To another beat
And the hallowed road
Is the latest feat
We call it ours
But it doesn't belong
It only lives inside the song
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Ohh

Can you knock on my door?
Can you give it away?
Will it be that strong
On another day?
And the bluetooth swings
To another beat
And the bluetooth swings
In our latest defeat

[top]

The Hanging [Black Edition]

We don't know what we're thinking
You wanna see us cry
Shouting at the change (chains?) Before we catch on fire
(am a raging??) History, leading from the nose
Calling out the century before the ice could froze
(?? Eyes could close, maybe, but it sure sounds like 'froze'?)

Riding in on horseback, firing off the shots
Pretending to be cavalry, which we were not
Bring me to the hangman
Drop me down the hole
I won't be making excuses like I did before

The cart fills up the sidewalk, the horses in the barn
Shouting through the morning mist, setting off the alarm
If they'd never given thought to giving up
First they'd have to realize enough's enough
First they'd have to realize enough's enough

Sheriff's got his gold star, man has got his chain
Neither one is ready to go through that again
If they'd never thought to giving up
Made up their minds for them, enough's enough
We made up their minds for them, enough's enough

(Thanks: Eric Driscoll)

[top]



© 1999- Hans Werksman