When I could climb the highest rocks and iron my flowing hair//You had an infant on your hip while we breathed the London air/A boy with magic fingers is playing all the hours/ His quest for perfection very similar to ours/We went back to our rented rooms with walls of every hue/Orange and a khaki green and the sheets were far from new/The kitchen was a cavern in a house in Belsize Park/You never knew who might be making toast there in the dark/On the smutty ceiling the grease of many fries/Cigarettes and other things burning up our eyes/Him and her were squealing like pigs within a pen/So I crept upstairs and stared at those confusing walls again/We talked of the inspiring sounds we recently had heard/Who had a brilliant record sleeve and who wrote a clever word/That world was full of shapely clouds in a sky that was benign/Our old mugs of steaming tea, too skint for drinking wine/ We’ve been to too many wakes in the intervening years/But you still sparkle and survive despite the usual fears Hey ho, lo and behold the cosmic harlequin/Entertain us to our disdain, comic harlequin/Some kind of costume is all you need you jester man/Call me charlatan, call me a king, each way I win/Many like me hold sway over you and other poor clowns/Your red nose glows and your big mouth turns down/We will run you out of every city, village and town/Here is another like you and he is wearing a gown/Bounce your balloon over to me and I will make it burst/If there’s a chance to skip the queue then I am the first/But you stood right up to me and showed me a better face/You clung to your flag of dignity at the top of the hill/You are the righteous winner in this particular race/Of pushing and shoving I have had my fill/Transformation beckons, rehabilitation Motoring hard on a long and dusty route/Stones and dust kicked up for many miles/Snakes coil in hope of pursuit/Idling and lazy in a state of bile/Stripes and patches go flashing by/Īnimals you would see in a city zoo/Roam this landlocked, scorched drive-by/As far as the eye a glorious view/Travel far to usher in a hopeful dawn/Shout and cheer until our heads spin/Something better is being born/Out with the old while the new rolls in/Shake our limbs with a multitude/Love the circus of celebration/The new leader sets a euphoric mood/Gone the colonial nation/But soon the farms are lying fallow/And power has blinded both his eyes/The public coffers have little to show/And twenty thousand die
Oh they call me Wily Will/I love me a tankard of cider/I can turn my hand to farming/But I want to see the world wider/I plays an old melodeonBut I sing with a voice that’s finer/Travel up to London town/On the bumpy roads and lanes/Past the blurring sheep on a fancy train/Designed by a man with a brain/And the grandest of names/Clatter on the cobbles/I am wailing about daft Dan/Battering Mary the milkmaid/Till down to the ground she fell/Or a tale about a lad waylaid/On his way to ring the church bell/Travel up to London town/Far away from the tossing sea/I will doff my cap to every milady/And never disagree/I’ll catch me shuteye at a boarding-house/For the work is hard and me limbs do ache/Them bawdy tales in the alehouse/Will keep me oh so wide awake/And though I’m too canny for the jailhouse/I’ll likely be singing of heartbreak/I miss the folks at the farmhouse/And me bit of bacon and fruitcake
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