His Majesty from BRICK ROAD by BLUEBIRD

The ageing, fat sirens, their half-witted parents
are clamouring out of tune. Being still wired,
taking a tumble. The melancholics are pure.

[chorus]
If you’ re lost at sea without cigar, be gentleman.
If there’ s nowhere place to drink a tea at five o’ clock,
the watchword that must be locked away sounds: “gentleman – a holy man”.
A scruff, a slob, a dweeb, an yahoo won’t be saved by etiquette.

A wedding cake’s tasting, hot winter and cold spring
stick out like a sore thumb. A glam kitsch and wise camp,
a day-to-day make up with psychedelic butch’s smile.

[bridge I]
The pure melancholics, the smiled psychopaths…
are looking at you, my cat.

[bridge II]
Don’t you suppose that all that world can be a mockup made up of teacups?
Touch the ban “Do not touch”. The fat siren spunk you delightfully. Watch:
Where did you go, my gentleman? The queen doesn’t exist.
Have you guts? Get naked! My gentleman, gentleman…

• Acoustic
• acoustic pop
• acoustic rock
• lyrical
• sixties
• thebeatles
• Poland