- Home
- John Cooper Clarke
Ten Years in an Open Necked Shirt Page 2
Ten Years in an Open Necked Shirt Read online
Page 2
i realise these idle days
that come disguised as powder blue rays
hypnotised i only gaze
i cannot rise i can’t be phased
square eyes are the latest craze
double size double glazed
i’m stuck in a groove i’ll never be free
i can’t move somebody help me
boy in the backroom that’s my handle
living in a vacuum that’s my angle
90 degrees in my shades
90 degrees in my shades
invisible voice now don’t forget
you have no choice turn off your set
please mr voice not yet
white noise of a dying pet
any boy’s heart would regret
not one spark that i can see
i’m in the dark somebody help me
visiting the bathroom
that’s my format
living in a vacuum
keeps me warm at
90 degrees in my shades
90 degrees in my shades
psycle sluts: part one
this disc concerns those pouting prima donnas found within the rapacious ranks of the sexational psycle sluts – those nubile nihilists of the north circular the lean leonine leatherette lovelies of the leeds intersection luftwaffe angels locked in a pagan paradise – no cash a passion for trash – the tough madonna whose cro-magnon face and crab nebular curves haunt the highways of the UK whose harsh credo captures the collective libido like crazy their lips pushed in the neon arc of a bumper car – delightfully disciplined dum dum blonde deluxe deliciously deliciously deranged twin-wheeled existentialists steeped in the sterile excrement of a doomed democracy whose post nietzschean sensibilities reject the bovine gregariousness of a senile oligarchy – condemned to drift like forgotten sputniks in a fool’s orbit bound for the final roadblock fuelled on the corroding liquids of lurid hopelessness they live for now and again let the paper tigers flutter in their wake let the last bastions of the bourgeois quake let the yellow running dog lackies of imperialism stutter and shake the prayers of the squares squeal for the merciful oblivion of death and the stormtrooperettes of les punques nouveaux fifth column close in – on a diet of dead babies and do-nuts blonde barbarians do not bend their bloody road – it’s woman minus woman revenge by dark degrees – spraycan manifestoes of one word abound in the pleasure dromes and ersatz bodega bars of the free world the mechanics of love grind like organs of iron to a standstill
psycle sluts: part two
the dirty thirty
the naughty forty
the shifty fifty
the filthy five
zips clips whips and chains
wait for you to arrive
bike boys by the bus load
stupid how they strut
smoking woodbines till they’re banjoed
smirking at the swedish smut
life on the straight and narrow path
drives you off your nut
by day you are a psychopath
by night you’re a psycle slut
on a BSA with two bald tyres
you drove a million miles
you cut your hair with rusty pliers
and suffer with the pillion piles
built in obsolescence
and travel in your guts
you won’t reach adolescence
slow down psycle sluts
motorcycle mike
wants to buy a tank
only twenty-nine years old
and he’s learning how to wank
yesterday he was in the groove
today he’s in a rut
my how the moments move
brute fun psycle sluts
he cacks on your originals
peepee on his boots
he makes love like a footballer
he dribbles before he shoots
the goings on at the gang-bang ball
made the citizens tut tut tut
but what do you care: piss all
you tell ’em psycle sluts
your boyfriend burned his jacket
his ticket expired
his tyres are knackered
and his knackers are tired
tell your tale to the gutter press
get paid to peddle smut
now you’ve ridden the road of excess
leading to the psycle sluts
or you can dine and whine on stuff
that’s bound to give you boils
hot dogs direct from crufts
done in diesel oil
or the burger joint around the bend
where the meals are fast and skimpy
for you that’s how the world could end
not with a bang but a wimpy
the day my pad went MAD
somebody came this way and fled
from the heavy wretched scene
all the rooms were grey and red
with an epileptic gleam
i don’t know where i’m going
but when i get there i’ll be glad
i’m gonna sit right down and write this poem
called the day my pad went MAD
i was ankle deep in human waste
the toilet had been clogged
marrowbone jelly all over the place
i don’t even have a dog
the man upstairs he grips my arm
saying don’t i know your dad
all i could hear was the fire alarm
the day my pad went MAD
the kitchen had been ransacked
ski trails in the hall
a chicken had been dansacked
and thrown against the wall
in walks this dumb waiter
with a fountain pen and pad
saying how do you want this alligator
the day my pad went MAD
the hamster had been slaughtered
the parrot bound and gagged
the guard dog had been sorted out
and absolutely shagged
the goldfish drowned the cat was found
kicked around and stabbed
the radio did not make a sound
the day my pad went MAD
the pop-up toaster refused to pop
the chandelier was smashed
the starter motor would not stop
the tyres had been slashed
there was no way out of there
i was stuck with what i had
out of order beyond repair
the day my pad went MAD
yesterday i had the place rewired
and i slung out all my junk
a tumble dryer and a two-bar fire
and a telephone now defunct
i peep through the Venetian blinds
and the rain fell down so sad
on the broken home i left behind
the day my pad went MAD
i married a monster from outer space
the milky way she walks around
both feet firmly off the ground
two worlds collide two worlds collide
here comes the future bride
give me a lift to the lunar base
i want to marry a monster from outer space
i fell in love with an alien being
whose skin was jelly whose teeth were green
big bug eyes death ray glare
feet like water wings purple hair
i was over the moon
i asked her back to my place
and then i married the monster from outer space
the days were numbered the nights were spent
in a rent-free furnished oxygen tent
a cyborg chef serves up cuisine
the colour of which i’ve never seen
i needed nutrition to keep up the pace
when i married the monster from outer space
we walked out tentacle in hand
you could sense that the earthlings would not
understand
they would whisper when we got on the bus
it’s extra-terrestial not like us
it’s bad enough with another race
but fuck me a monster from outer space
in a cybernetic fit of rage
she pissed off to another age
she lives in 1999
with her new boyfriend a blob of slime
each time i see a translucent face
i remember the monster from outer space
belladonna
no falling chimes
no call to arms
no siren whines
false alarms
down the telephone lines
at the side of the farms
arm in arm down hemlock row
where the flowers of evil never grow
under one heartbeat heavy but slow
walking together in the purple snow
charming breezes bring the rain
it’s gonna run like rats
down the gutters and the drains
it’s gonna run like a river
down the window panes
down a web of cracks like twisted veins
a stranger calls my name
between the rollerama and the junk yard
where the panorama looks like mars
and the belladonna looks like stars
behind the Panamanian bars
in the dying gardens down below
walking together in the purple snow
withering birds they only wail
drag the waterways to no avail
clutch the steel rails as we go
walking together in the purple snow
no falling chimes
no call to arms
no siren whines
false alarms
down the telephone lines
at the side of the farms
arm in arm down hemlock row
where the flowers of evil never grow
in the dying gardens down below
walking together in the purple snow
i wanna be yours
let me be your vacuum cleaner
breathing in your dust
let me be your ford cortina
i will never rust
if you like your coffee hot
let me be your coffee pot
you call the shots
i wanna be yours
let me be your raincoat
for those frequent rainy days
let me be your dreamboat
when you wanna sail away
let me be your teddy bear
take me with you anywhere
i don’t care
i wanna be yours
let me be your electric meter
i will not run out
let me be the electric heater
you get cold without
let me be your setting lotion
hold your hair
with deep devotion
deep as the deep
atlantic ocean
that’s how deep is my emotion
deep deep deep deep de deep deep
i don’t wanna be hers
i wanna be yours
readers’ wives
make a date with the brassy brides of britain
the altogether ruder readers’ wives
who put down their needles and their knitting
at the doorway to our dismal daily lives
a fablon top scenario of passion
things stick out of holes in leatherette
they seem to be saying in their fashion
i’m freezing charlie have you finished yet
cold flesh the colour of potatoes
in an instamatic sitting room of sin
all the required apparatus
too bad they couldn’t get her head in
in latex pyjamas with bananas going ape
identities are cunningly disguised
by a six-inch strip of insulating tape
strategically stuck across their eyes
wives from Inverness to inner london
prettiness and pimples co-exist
pictorially wife-swapping with someone
who’s happily married to his wrist
i was a teenage werewolf – or was i
i scream all the way to the chair
and in the face of tanks
i take the stairway to the stairs
and i scream thanks
fake snakes and mock crocs
and killers cut my throat
that’s me in the callbox
stepping out of my coat
i’ve found a reason for living
every day i die
i was a teenage werewolf
or was i
fall off trains
torture dames
i like to keep in the swim
i get slain
on memorex lane
where the people say oh it’s him
easy money play hard to get
these love toys to amuse
the non-doctor’s penthouse pets
who drink champagne from shoes
walk in rooms and out of rooms
that’s my cup of tea
i seen the world i didn’t like it
what’s in it for me
invisible girls go haywire
i’ll be their go-go guy
i was a teenage werewolf
or was i
murder victims talk to me
detectives come and go
their dangling receivers
tell me all i want to know
we only live once or do we
take advice from mickey spillane
me hood nazi blood brother
never give the right name
those dead delicious nudes
they hang around the neck
of a moving raincoat
by the sliding door of a discothèque
where boys are boys and girls are toys
not programmed to reply
i was a teenage werewolf
or was i
a love story in reverse
like a nite klub in the morning
you’re the bitter end
like a recently disinfected shithouse
you’re clean round the bend
you give me the horrors
too bad to be true
all of my tomorrows
are lousy cos of you
you put the cunt in scunthorpe
you put the pain in spain
happy days are done for
and you’re the one i blame
you’re certainly no raver
commonly known as a drag
do us all a favour
wear this polythene bag
you’re like a dose of scabies
i’ve got you under my skin
you make life a fairy tale
grimm
a sumo wrestler’s armpits
have nothing on your shoes
show me any two half-wits
and they’re twice as smart as you
i think about thrombosis
every time we touch
i say you have acute halitosis
you say ‘thank you very much’
you’re very pleasant
but i know it’s just a fad
your very presence
makes me really mad
i hear your knock upon my door
i gotta get out of town
i hit the lights i hit the floor
i turn the TV down
people mention murder
the moment you arrive
i’d consider killing you
if i thought you were alive
you’ve got this slippery quality
it makes me think of phlegm
and a dual personality
i hate both of them
your bad breath vamps disease
destruction and decay
please please pleas
e please
take yourself away
like a death at a birthday party
you have to spoil the fun
like a sucked and spat-out smartie
you’re no use to anyone
like a black widow spider
in the shadows of disgrace
speaking as an outsider
what do you think of the human race
you went to a progressive psychiatrist
he recommended suicide
before scratching your bad name off his list
and pointing the way outside
laughter from the playground
breaks your bleeding heart
you’re heading for a breakdown
better pull yourself apart
your dirty name is passed about
when something goes amiss
your attitudes are platitudes
they make me want to piss
what kind of creature bore you
was it some kind of bat
they can’t find a good word for you
but i can
twat
this heart disease called love
one kiss became a weapon
i don’t wanna bleed in vain
clouds collide in the heavens
i surrender to the rain
the death bells that also rang
like madness from above
i’m going out with a bang
and a heart disease called love
ninety-nine below zero
would feel like fever now
you know me: no hero
don’t even ask me how
i’m down in the deep deep freeze
what was i thinking of
in the painful breeze
by the frozen trees
with a heart disease called love
after dinner mints
a new lover
and the coffee so bitter and black
your fingerprints
they cover
this knife sticking outa my back
you overlooked the fine detail
you should’ve worn your gloves
i’ve got a girl in jail
and a house for sale
and a heart disease called love
post-war glamour girl
expresso bongo snaps of rome
in the latin quarter of an ideal home