When i was young and they packed me off to school And taught me how not to play the game, I didn't mind if they groomed me for success, Or if they said that i was a fool. So i left there in the morning With their god tucked underneath my arm -- Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules. So i asked this god a question And by way of firm reply, He said -- i'm not the kind you have to wind up on sundays. So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares): Before i'm through i'd like to say my prayers -- I don't believe you: You had the whole damn thing all wrong -- He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays. Well you can excomunicate me on my way to sunday school How do you dare tell me that i'm my father's son When that was just an accident of birth. I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song `cos that's the honest measure of my worth. In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me, As you lick the boots of death born out of fear. I don't believe you: You had the whole damn thing all wrong -- He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
When i was young and they packed me off to school And taught me how not to play the game, I didn't mind if they groomed me for success, Or if they said that i was a fool. So i left there in the morning With their god tucked underneath my arm -- Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules. So i asked this god a question And by way of firm reply, He said -- i'm not the kind you have to wind up on sundays. So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares): Before i'm through i'd like to say my prayers -- I don't believe you: You had the whole damn thing all wrong -- He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays. Well you can excomunicate me on my way to sunday school How do you dare tell me that i'm my father's son When that was just an accident of birth. I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song `cos that's the honest measure of my worth. In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me, As you lick the boots of death born out of fear. I don't believe you: You had the whole damn thing all wrong -- He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
When i was young and they packed me off to school And taught me how not to play the game, I didn't mind if they groomed me for success, Or if they said that i was a fool. So i left there in the morning With their god tucked underneath my arm -- Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules. So i asked this god a question And by way of firm reply, He said -- i'm not the kind you have to wind up on sundays. So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares): Before i'm through i'd like to say my prayers -- I don't believe you: You had the whole damn thing all wrong -- He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays. Well you can excomunicate me on my way to sunday school How do you dare tell me that i'm my father's son When that was just an accident of birth. I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song `cos that's the honest measure of my worth. In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me, As you lick the boots of death born out of fear. I don't believe you: You had the whole damn thing all wrong -- He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
My first and last time with you And we had some fun Went walking through the trees, yeah And I kissed you once Oh, I want to see you soon But I wonder...
Keep it quiet. (go slow.) Circulate. need to know. Stamp the date upon your file --- Masquerade, but well worth while. Wrapped in the warmth of you --...
(My lord and lady, we have – fortuitously happened upon these, er, strolling players, who will provide you with, er, goodly tunes whilst you set about...
Salamander --- born in the sun-kissed flame. Who was it lit your candle --- branded you with your name? I see you walking by my window in your kensing...
I'll take you down to that bright city mile There to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile That will show all of the pleasures and none of the p...
Just a little touch of make-up, just a little touch of bull Just a little 3-chord trick embedded in your platform soul You can wear a gold Piaget on y...
Sitting on a park bench Eyeing little girls with bad intent Snot running down his nose Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes Hey, Aqualung Drying in ...
Let me bring you songs from the wood： To make you feel much better than you could know. Dust you down from tip to toe. Show you how the garden grows. ...
Happy and I'm smiling, walk a mile to drink your water You know I'd love to love you and above you there's no other We'll go walking out while others ...