1.Quizz Kid
Cut along the dotted line --- slip in and seal the flap.
Postal competition crazy, though you wear the dunce's cap. w
In a fortnight in ibiza --- line up for the big hand out.
You'll never know unless you try --- what winning's all about
--- be a quizz kid.
Be a whizz kid.
Six days later there's a rush telegram drop everything and
telephone this number if you can.
It's a free trip down to london for a weekend of high life.
They'll wine you; dine you; undermine you --- better not bring
the wife --- be a quizz kid.
Be a whizz kid.
It's a try out for a quizz show that millions watch each week.
Following the fate and fortunes of contestants as they speak.
Answerable to everyone; responsible to all; publicity dissected
---
Brain cells splattered on the walls of encyclopaedic knowledge.
May be barbaric but it's fun. as the clock ticks away a
lifetime,
Hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray tubes
aimed at your tiny skull.
May you find sweet inspiration --- may your memory not be dull.
may you rise to dizzy success.
May your wit be quick and strong. may you constantly amaze us.
May your answers not be wrong. may your head be on your
shoulders.
May your tongue be in your cheek. and most of all we pray that
you may come back next week!
Be a quizz kid.
Be a whizz kid.
2.Crazed Institution
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 your semaphore wrist;
You can dance the old adage with a dapper new twist.
And you can ring a crown of roses round your cranium,
Live and die upon your cross of platinum.
Join the crazed institution of the stars.
Be the man that you think (know) you really are.
Crawl inside your major triad, curl up and laugh as your agent
scores another front page photograph.
Is it them or is it you throwing dice inside the loo awaiting
someone else to pull the chain.
Well grab the old bog-handle, hold your breath and light a
candle.
Clear your throat and pray for rain to irrigate the corridors
that echo in your brain
Filled with empty nothingness, empty hunger pains.
And you can ring a crown of roses round your cranium,
Live and die upon your cross of platinum.
Join the crazed institution of the stars.
Be the man that you think (know) you really are.
3.Salamander
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 kensington haze.
Salamander, burn for me and i'll burn for you.
4.Taxi Grab
Shake a leg, it's the big rush, can't find a taxi can't find a
bus.
Bodies jammed in the underground evacuating london town.
Nowhere to put your feet as the big store shoppers and the
pavements meet.
Red lights --- pin stripes --- short step shuffle into the
night.
Tea time calls --- the bingo halls open at seven in the old
front stalls.
How about a taxi grab.
There's an empty cab by the taxi stand driver's in the
caf？washing his hands.
Big diesel idles --- the keys inside --- c'mon sally let's take
a ride.
Flag down --- uptown --- no sweat. for rush hour travel, it's
the best bet yet.
Taxi grab.
5.From A Dead Beat To An Old Greaser
From a dead beat to an old greaser, here's thinking of you.
You won't remember the long nights; coffee bars;
Black tights and white thighs in shop windows where blonde
assistants fully-fashioned a world made of dummies (with no
mummies or daddies to reject them).
When bombs were banned every sunday and the shadows played
f.b.i. and tired young sax-players sold their instruments of
torture --- sat in the station sharing wet dreams of charlie
parker, jack
Ac, ren'e magritte, to name a few of the heroes who were too
wise for their own good --- left the young brood to go on living
without them. old queers with young faces --- who remember your
nam
Ough you're a dead beat with tired feet; two ends that don't
meet. to a dead beat from an old greaser. think you must have me
all wrong. i didn't care, friend. i wasn't there, friend, if
it's th
Ce of pint that you need, ask me again.
6.Bad-eyed And Loveless
Bad-yes'n she's bad-eyed and she's loveless. a young man's fancy
and an old man's dream. i'm self raising and i flower in her
company. give me no sugar without her cream. she's a warm fart
at ch
As. she's a breath of champagne on sparkling night. yes'n she's
bad-eyed and she's loveless. turns other women to envious green.
yes'n she's bad-eyed and she's loveless. she's a young man's
visi
- in my old man's dream.
7.Big Dipper
The mist rolls off the beaches：the train rolls into the station.
weekend happiness seekers --- pent-up saturation. well, we don't
mean anyone any harm, we weren't on the glasgow train. see you
E pleasure beach：roller-coasting heroes. big dipper riding ---
we'll give the local lads a hiding if they keep us from the
ladies hanging out in the penny arcades. shaking up the tower
ballroom
Wing up in the bathroom. landlady's in the backroom --- i'm the
big dipper --- it's the weekend rage. rich widowed landlady give
me your spare front door key. if you're 39 or over, i'll make
lov
You next thursday --- i may stay over for a week or two drop a
postcard to my mum. i'll see you at the waltzer --- we'll go
big-dipping daily.
8.Too Old To Rock 'n' Roll： Too Young To Die
The old rocker wore his hair too long, wore his trouser cuffs
too tight. unfashionable to the end --- drank his ale too light.
death's head belt buckle --- yesterday's dreams --- the
transport c
Rophet of doom. ringing no change in his double-sewn seams in
his post-war-babe gloom. now he's too old to rock'n'roll but
he's too young to die. he once owned a harley davidson and a
triumph bo
Lle. counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs and prays
that he always will. but he's the last of the blue blood greaser
boys all of his mates are doing time：married with three kids up
by
Ing road sold their souls straight down the line. and some of
them own little sports cars and meet at the tennis club do's.
for drinks on a sunday --- work on monday. they've thrown away
their b
Uede shoes. now they're too old to rock'n'roll and they're too
young to die. so the old rocker gets out his bike to make a ton
before he takes his leave. up on the a1 by scotch corner just
like
Ed to be. and as he flies ---
Tears in his eyes --- his wind-whipped words echo the final take
and he hits the trunk road doing around 120 with no room left to
brake. and he was too old to rock'n'roll but he was too young t
. no, you're never too old to rock'n'roll if you're too young to
die.
9.Pied Piper
Now if you think ray blew it, there was nothing to it. they
patched him up as good as new. you can see him every day ---
riding down the queen's highway, handing out his small cigars to
the kids
School. and all the little girls with their bleached blond curls
clump up on their platform soles. and they say ''hey ray ---
let's ride away downtown where we can roll some alley bowls.''
and
Rins from ear to here, and whispers... so follow me. trail
along. my leather jacket's buttoned up. and my four-stroke song
will pick you up when your last class ends; and you can tell all
your f
S：the pied piper pulled you, the mad biker fooled you, i'll do
what you want to：if you ride with me on a friday anything goes.
so follow me, hold on tight. my school girl fancy's flowing in
fr
Ight. i've a tenner in my skin tight jeans. you can touch it if
your hands are clean. the pied piper pulled you, the mad biker
folled you, i'll do what you want to：if you ride with me on a
frid
Ything goes.
10.The Chequered Flag(Dead Or Alive)
The the disc brakes drag, the chequered flag sweeps across the
oil-slick track. the young man's home; dry as a bone. his helmet
off, he waves：the crowd waves back. one lap victory roll.
gladiat
Ul. the taker of the day in winning has to say, isn't it grand
to be playing to the stand, dead or alive. the sunlight streaks
through the curtain cracks, touches the old man where he sleeps.
th
Se brings up a cup of tea --- two biscuits and the morning paper
mystery. the hard road's end, the white god's-send is nearer
everyday, in dying the old man says, isn't it grand to be
playing to
Stand, dead or alive. the still-born child can't feel the rain
as the chequered flag falls once again. the deaf composer
completes his final score. he'll never hear the sweet encore.
the chequer
Ag, the bull's red rag, the lemming-hearted hordes running ever
faster to the shore singing, isn't it grand to be playing to the
stand, dead or alive.
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