LYRICS

HOT AIR BABOON: All songs by Alasdair McKee, except Nerves (Barry Rowlingson and McKee), and The Protest Song (Rowlingson). Foul-Mouthed Puritan Well I don't drink don't smoke Don't take any drugs I've got nothing against those who do But it bugs them like hell So they start with their persuasion. Make it just a swift half Come on just the one It'll be a laugh, but when it stops being fun I can tell That they need an explanation. 'Cos I'm a foul-mouthed puritan Please just let me do what I do Don't wanna sell you my beliefs So please don't give me any grief And if you've got a problem with it All I gotta say is fuck you. I don't eat meat, eggs, cheese or fish I leave it up to you what you have on your dish But again People go on the defensive. And they want to catch you out So they have to know whether You would ever swat a wasp Or sit on bus seats made of leather And then I feel this urge to be offensive 'Cos I'm a foul-mouthed puritan Please just let me do what I do Don't wanna sell you my beliefs So please don't give me any grief And if you've got a problem with it All I gotta say is fuck you. I'm a foul-mouthed puritan So don't get insecure I can Assure you that I don't intend To tell you how you ought to spend your life Don't give me any strife Or I will have to be blunt And tell you that you're a...nnoying me. Well I know it must seem unusual And I know it must seem odd But it isn't some religion 'Cos I don't believe in God It's just me And I don't need an excuse. I feel no need for discussion I feel no need to explain To avoid the repercussions Stop being such a pain Or you'll see The one thing that I still abuse. 'Cos I'm a foul-mouthed puritan Please just let me do what I do Don't wanna sell you my beliefs So please don't give me any grief And if you've got a problem with it All I gotta say is fuck you. All I gotta say is fuck you. All I gotta say is fuck you. Is fuck you. Nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's ne-e-erves. You will be singing it in the morning (Gets on everybody's nerves) And when you're lying in your bed (Gets on everybody's nerves) You will not get a wink of sleep tonight (Gets on everybody's nerves) Because it's playing in your head. Because this is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's ne-e-erves. It's got a very catchy chorus (Gets on everybody's nerves) It's got a very catchy verse (Gets on everybody's nerves) And if you think that this one's awful (Gets on everybody's nerves) Just wait because the next one's worse. Because this is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's ne-e-erves. And then it changes But not for long. This song it isn't very complex (Gets on everybody's nerves) There's nothing here to deconstruct (Gets on everybody's nerves) Its only aim is to annoy you (Gets on everybody's nerves) You hear it once and then you're fucked Because this is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's ne-e-erves. This is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's ne-e-erves. This is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's nerves This is a song that gets on everybody's ne-e-erves. Talk Show Carol from Chicago's husband John had an affair With the local high school netball squad She cut off his private parts with scissors while he slept But they've been reconciled since they've found God. We are the audience on daytime talk TV We watch your life jump through a hoop We like to laugh, we like to cry, we like to cheer, But most of all we really like to whoop, We like to whoop. Jimmy was abandoned as a child and raised by wolves He sometimes still forgets to put on clothes Now he's been through therapy and to obedience school But is he cured? He says, "Sure, feel my nose." We are the audience on daytime talk TV We watch your life jump through a hoop We like to laugh, we like to cry, we like to cheer, But most of all we really like to whoop, We like to whoop. We've got fifty people here with very strong beliefs Fifty more who strongly disagree They will fight like cat and dog and nothing will be solved But what the hell, it makes for great TV. (And we'll be back after this break) Billy-Joe was kidnapped by a silver UFO "He hasn't been the same since," said his wife Aliens have probed him, and a million others too, But the search goes on for signs of intelligent life. We are the audience on daytime talk TV We watch your life jump through a hoop We like to laugh, we like to cry, we like to cheer, But most of all we really like to whoop, We like to whoop. (Whoop! Goodnight!) The Protest Song Well I went down to Newbury To try and stop the bypass Sitting 'round the campfire Singing Levellers with my guitar. All the crusties sang along As they climbed into the treehouse But they got suspicious When I climbed into my car. You can't fight this eco-strife If you lead a normal life All you do don't mean a thing If your dog's not on a string. I went down to Twyford Down 'Cos I felt like getting tribal Now some tribes they are passive And others they are fierce. I asked one of the tribal chiefs If I could join the Dongers But you can only join the Dongers If your dong has been pierced. You can only fight this war If you are still feeling sore From the tattoo on your bits And the rings through both your tits. I went down to Manchester To stop the second runway Stuck my arm in concrete And waited while it set. This earned me the full respect Of the tunnellers down the cakehole It's a good job that they never found out I'd arrived by jumbo jet. You can only join this fight If you walk barefoot through shite And you think that it's a laugh To go for years without a bath Never sleep in comfy beds Have your hair tied up in dreads Drive an old decrepid van Avoiding road tax if you can. Art Well I've seen you on the news At the private views Spilling red wine on the Gucci shoes Of the bourgeois drips Too hip to take offence. And the way you talk tough You're their bit of rough It adds a few quid to the price of the stuff When it's time to collect They've got more cheques than sense. And I don't know much about art But I know what I like And those in emperor's clothes'll get cold When they're told to take a hike And I don't know much about art But I recognise farce And I can't be the first to think Damien Hurst Needs a good kick up the arse. Well I've seen you with a can of lager in your hand Chilling backstage with an indie band You're a card and you party hard as hard can be You're playing the prole and you're out of control Proving that art is the new rock 'n' roll And it must be true 'cos I've seen you in the NME. And I don't know much about art But I know what I like And those in emperor's clothes'll get cold When they're told to take a hike And I don't know much about art But I recognise farce And I can't be the first to think Damien Hurst Needs a good kick up the arse. Well it's all good fun, take the money and run Even if there's nothing new under the sun There's one born every minute so there must be something in it for me So I've come up with a plan, I'm gonna dig up my gran And have her stuffed diving into the lavatory pan Clutching to her heart a chart of the Irish sea. And I don't know much about art But I know what I like And those in Emperor's clothes'll get colder When they're told to take a hike And I don't know much about art But I recognise farce And I can't be the first to think Damien Hurst Needs a good kick up the arse. And I don't know much about art But I recognise bunk And if you want to forge a Gilbert and George Just take a picture of your spunk And I don't know much about art But I can take a hint But a sheep cut in half isn't much of a laugh And it's hardly worth a mint 'Cos I don't, I don't know much About art, but I know what I like. And I don't, know much, About art, but I know what I like, Know what I like. Cheer Up Morrissey To hear you moaning on and on and on Like an endless wet bank holiday When I hear your very latest song I have to say... Cheer up Morrissey, It might never happen, Cheer up Morrissey, That's no way to be, Cheer up Morrissey, That dismal vein you're tapping, Worse things happen at sea. I know you really hate the human race Because you've told us time and time again I sometimes wish you'd try to mend your face Just now and then. And cheer up Morrissey, It might never happen, Cheer up Morrissey, That's no way to be, Cheer up Morrissey, That dismal vein you're tapping, Worse things happen at sea. Glory days of jangly riffs, Johnny Marr and giant quiffs Lonely years of legal tiffs, With the other blokes out of the Smiths. But sometimes tragedy can turn to farce Although you may not mean it quite that way You've got gladioli up your arse I have to say... And cheer up Morrissey, It might never happen, Cheer up Morrissey, Hey, that's no way to be, Cheer up Morrissey, That dismal vein you're tapping, Worse things happen at sea. So, cheer up Morrissey, It might never happen, Cheer up Morrissey, That's no way to be, Cheer up Morrissey, That dismal vein you're tapping, Worse things happen at see-ee-ee-ee-ee-ea... My Dad Invented Rap On Thursday nights at seven o'clock It would always be the same You had just settled down in front of the box When into the room he came He would stand at the door and fold his arms As you tried to watch Top of the Pops And you knew all along from the very first song He would start talking over the top. And he'd say, "Call that music? "It's not the word I'd choose "It's more like a Black-and-Decker drilling through your head "Look at those curls "Are they boys or girls? "You know, I can't make out a single word they said." If they tell you that it came from the ghetto I'd think that's a load of crap 'Cos on Thursday nights in our front room My dad invented rap. Up in your room with an old hi-fi, Checking out a new L.P., That you bought second hand from a dodgy man On a market stall for fifty pee You'd be cueing it up while you read the sleeve Tuning up your air guitar But before you could rock, he wouldn't even knock He'd just come in on the second bar. And he'd say "Turn that down boy, "Half the bloody town can hear it, "You should get some soap and water in yer lugs. "You're gonna rot your brain, "They sound like they're in pain, "But what do you expect, they're all on drugs." If they tell you that it came from the ghetto I'd think that's a load of crap 'Cos on Thursday nights in our front room My dad invented rap. Nah nah na-na-nah nah, Wait until your dad gets home, boy. (Your momma said) Nah nah na-na-nah nah, Wait until your dad gets home, boy. (Your momma said) Nah nah na-na-nah nah, Wait until your dad gets home, boy. (Your momma said) Nah nah na-na-nah nah, Wait until your dad gets home, boy. Well he wasn't the original gangsta type But I guess he had the same idea And I know that he had to be a real motherfucker Or else I wouldn't be here I wouldn't be here. When he went on the attack, you wouldn't talk back 'Cos any argument was stomped on, 'Cos he was the boss, he liked Joe Loss, He was straight out of Dennis Compton. And he said, "Call this music? "It's just a bunch of losers "Shouting some old rubbish like a load of flaming louts. "That one over there "He should cut his bloody hair "Stick 'em in the army, that'd really sort 'em out." If they tell you that it came from the ghetto I'd think that's a load of crap 'Cos on Thursday nights in our front room My dad invented rap. If they tell you that it came from the ghetto I'd think that's a load of crap 'Cos on Thursday nights in our front room My dad invented rap. Short and Sweet Someone said the trouble with your songs Is all the choruses go on too long Too many words to swallow Too much for the crowd to follow I think it would be nice If you made them more concise. And I said Yes. He said that people like to sing along But it's not easy for them when the song Is full of lots of pieces Longer than the average thesis I think it would be neat If you kept them short and sweet. And I said Yes. And everything was going great 'Til I got to the middle eight The words came out at such a rate It's too complex to contemplate I guess it's all down to the fact My choruses were too contract And all the verbiage they lacked Has had to find its way into the act Somehow. When that outburst finally had passed Someone said I knew it couldn't last I think the problem here Is your verbal diarrhoea And now you're going to bore us With another endless chorus. And I said No! S+M and M'n'S Well I was down in Soho I found a bar to use the phone The kind of place with no room left For lowering the tone I saw her across the room And she caught sight of me Our eyes met, I began to sweat And weaken at the knee At the knee. She wore thigh-length riding boots With spurs of polished gold I wore my brown Hush-Puppies With the non-slip rubber soles. She had tattoo'd cobras Coiling up around each arm And I just had a shopping list In biro on my palm. But from that day we've been together Although no-one would have guessed 'Cos she was very S&M And I was strictly M'n'S. I was taken back to her place I was taken quite aback As she shed her leather bodice And unzipped my anorak. I was stunned as she peeled off Her clinging rubber skirt And she was rather shocked by static From my nylon shirt. But from that day we've been together Although no-one would have guessed 'Cos she was very S&M And I was strictly M'n'S. She wore jet-black lingerie Of satin, silk and lace And I wore yellow boxer shorts With Mickey Mouse's face. She was pierced with rings and studs In places near and far And I had one gold filling And a vaccination scar. But from that day we've been together Although no-one would have guessed 'Cos she was very S&M And I was strictly M'n'S. But thankfully our clashing fashions Didn't stop a night of passion By the time the morning came We'd formed all kinds of bonds Yee-eah. The next day she said she'd have my name Tattoo'd on her thigh "Thanks," I said, "that's sweet of you", As I quickly ironed my tie Then I said, "let's tie the knot "If that's alright by you", She said, "Fine, but why stop there? "Let's get married too". And from that day we've been together Although no-one would have guessed 'Cos she was very S&M And I was strictly M'n'S. From that day we've been together Although no-one would have guessed 'Cos she was very S&M And I was strictly M'n'S. Life Is Shite I sought a guru high in Nepal To help me make sense out of it all. I asked for meaning, but he just sighed 'Life is shite and then 'Life is shite and then 'Life is shite and then you die.' Then I followed Buddha, and I went with the Tao, Thoughts of Confucius and the Little Red Book of Chairman Mao, And from their wisdom I learned by and by 'Life is shite and then 'Life is shite and then 'Life is shite and then you die.' Then I read the Bible from the Creation Chapter and verse all the way to the Book of Revelation, None of the prophets could tell me why 'Life is shite and then 'Life is shite and then 'Life is shite and then you die.' [Instrumental, including 'Apache'] Then I studied Plato and I read Descartes, Locke, Hume and Berkeley and Jean-Paul Sartres, And all of their logic seemed to imply 'Life is shite and then 'Life is shite and then 'Life is shite and then you die.' Life is shite and then Life is shite and then Life is shite and then you die. OTHER SONGS EXCLUSIVE! These songs will appear on the "Pants of Peace" album and have been given to us kindly by Al. Pants of Peace Every day we open up the wardrobe of confusion, The garments of our destiny hand there in profusion, The many layers we choose to wear in which we try to hide, But nonetheless, the way we dress, can't cover what's inside. Beneath the overcoat of hope is the suit of broken dreams, The shirt of confidence conceals the vest of low self-esteem, We must strip away these layers, so we may be released, And beneath the trousers of despair we will find the pants of peace. Pants of peace, pants of peace, We know we will be released, When beneath the trousers of despair, We find the pants of peace. Beneath the helmet of defence, the beret of aggression, Under the uniform of law, the corset of oppression, The polo neck of freedom hides the tee-shirt of the state, Inside the skirt of tolorance, the pantyhose of hate. Pants of peace, pants of peace, We know we will be released, When beneath the trousers of despair, We find the pants of peace. Beneath the dinner suit of wealth, the cummerbund of greed, Inside the frock of affluence, the worn long johns of need, From lycra shorts of youth, the jock strap of old age peeks out, And from the sleeves of our beliefs, appear the cuffs of doubt. Pants of peace, pants of peace, We know we will be released, When beneath the trousers of despair, We find the pants of peace. Pants of peace, pants of peace, We know we will be released, When beneath the trousers of despair, We find the pants of peace. Latin Song I, II, III, IV! Omnia vincit amor - cave canem, Per ardua ad astra - decus et tutamen, Gluteus maximus - non compos mentis, Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes, Veni vidi vici oi! Habeas corpus- et cetera - in tandem, Et tu, Brute - quod erat demonstrandum, Caveat emptor - in loco parentis, Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes, Veni vidi vici oi! E pluribus unum - Carmina Burana, Ave Maria - ad hoc -vox humana, Cogito ergo sum - festina lente, Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes, Veni vidi vici oi!

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