Stop your sobbing, I know you’re bleeding on the inside
I don’t want to hurt you
And I won’t desert you
I believe in you
I’m bleeding on the inside too
Ain’t misbehaving,
saving my love for you
Still I pine, name and town, name and town
If you wish to opine
Bleeding on the inside
But the wounds are divine
Divine but not holy
Heaven above the irony
Stigmata is more painful than suicide
When you bleed most on the inside
I have to ask you a favour-
You filled my lav, we fell in love
That was little or no labour
You know how you were saying you wanted a baby?
Well I’ve been thinking and I think you are crazy
Put that thought in a guitar shaped box and seal it with a kiss from me
I never got my credits from the school of hard knocks because some big boys stole em from me
Gaucho man, head honcho man
What makes you better than me?
Nothing I see apart from pure greed
As far as the eye can see
I put that thought in a guitar shaped box
But I never got down to burying it
The cattle in the manger grazed all around it
Like a sketch from a book by James Herriot
(chorus)
Gaucho! Gaucho!
Book by James Herriot!
Oucho! Groucho!
No no no you sorry iriot!
Whose rind is it, nobody’s fault
The wrong and rinding woad
Keep your destiny in the front of your head
Boy you gotta carry that load
Free the birds
Free all the birds
if they fly, walk or run they all have beaks and claws
none of them know the escape clause
Caged, nested, roosted they all have their place
The nightinggale sings in Berkeley Square
the laying bird plops out eggs onto the hay
the rooster crows like tomorrow is here
Free the birds
Once they have entered your world
they are uncanny members of your family
Cackling, kow-tow-ing, fizzling to the masses
hark your haunting cry “More-Pork! More-Pork!”
Echoing about the barn like a whooping slow barn owl
Only faster and binder, More – Pork!
Made a tidy sum when they thought you were extinct
Tears flowed when you hit the drink
Punch-drunk above your weight and you’re fat as the fatted calf
Fat as a pancake – padded with sand-weights, all the measures overflow by half
Moepork! Morepork! owls could give a hoot!
Wiseguy! thats my guy – don’t you press yourself against his zoot suit!
Shake sheep and sheafs
Beats beyond belief!
In the wigwam he’s the chief
Big sticks provide the backbeat
Twice on the tailpipe means
No way Jose now get outta those jeans
Slip in that back beat
Beats so good make me wanna tweet his prowess in a hollow
In a hallowed hall he can’t be beat!
He’s a rat-tat Tum-tiddly-um-tum
Goo-goo-ga-joob-beat mothers son
With a pair of sticks that make a Chinese national revert to a fork and spoon!
Shake sheep and sheafs
Give it the old one-two, for this house is bleak
Play that ol piano bar-style
In that knowing way without getting hostile
Punching out that rhythm like a pulsing pustule
Pumping like a heart accelerating corpuscles
