Ten Years in an Open Necked Shirt Read online

  fucks all day and sleeps alone

  just a tiger rug and a telephone

  says a post-war glamour girl’s never alone

  in the seventh heaven on the thirteenth floor

  sweethearts’ counterparts kiss

  limbo dancers under the door

  where the human dynamoes piss

  adults only over her pubes

  debutantes they give her dubes

  beatniks visit with saxophones

  and the way she eats that toblerone

  says a post-war glamour girl is never alone

  mau mau lovers come and go

  dreamboats leave her behind

  in a baby-doll to go man go

  on the slopes of the adult mind

  a murder mystery walk-on part

  a dead body or a gangland tart

  near the knuckle close to home

  criminal connections you can’t condone

  a non-doctor’s anonymous drone

  says a post-war glamour girl’s never alone

  that section of the populace

  they call the clientele

  the moguls of metropolis

  defenestrate themselves

  in the clothes of a rabbit

  you develop a twitch

  one of the little sisters of the rich

  amorous cameras clamour and click

  her rosary beads are really bones

  rebel rebel they bug your phone

  the post war glamour girl’s never alone

  yes there’s always a method actor hanging about

  there goes mr tic-tac out the back

  with some bric-a-brac from the knick-knack rack

  the dumb waiter reminds you of home

  and the nice boy from sierra leone

  the action painter’s got up and gone

  nevertheless it’s never been known

  for a post-war glamour girl ever to be

  what you could call

  irrevocably

  alone

  full-time loser

  stop that horse

  he wears my shirt

  regret remorse

  o how they hurt

  i knock on doors

  they turn to dirt

  always the beggar

  never the chooser

  half-clever

  full-time loser

  from the slumberland

  that time forgot

  to the wonderland

  of a spineless clot

  who understands

  who calls the shots

  you might know

  it’s another user

  part-time poet

  full-time loser

  the new assassin

  skip the roadblock here she comes

  get a load of the pretty blue gun

  any slick trick under the sun

  she’ll do it if it isn’t done

  she made arrangements she couldn’t come

  she dresses like a secretary lives like a nun

  your crime is her radiant passion

  it’s time for the new assassin

  cool killer top of the class

  the other side of the shatterproof glass

  works fast as the cameras flash

  with the cyanide cigarettes and cs gas

  it’s her job doesn’t bat an eyelash

  she’s working for the perishing mass

  the breadline’s back in fashion

  it’s time for the new assassin

  a melody played on a hand grenade

  from the rifle range in the green arcade

  as the rain fell down on the big parade

  messed up the motorcade

  mucked up the masquerade

  secret weapons become displayed

  in the hands of half a dozen aides

  just four men and a couple of gay blades

  shantung suits and shatterproof shades

  shoot up anybody who happens to be passing

  everybody but the new assassin

  one link in a human chain

  in the city where it always rains

  no profit or personal gain

  are the silent rules in a lonesome game

  one face in a purple frame

  a black border round the name

  chalk marks around a blood stain

  thin blue line red light flashing

  it’s time for the new assassin

  what time did you see it happen

  it’s time for the new assassin

  the it man

  look who it isn’t it’s

  the it man maybe

  the physical description fits

  it man baby

  you like the julius caesar haircut

  middle market leisurewear but

  don’t let him be your teddy bear

  it man baby

  you want women wall to wall

  it man got

  meet the man who started it all

  it man got

  what’s it to be then john

  a brunetto or a bleeding blonde

  or the telltale tongue of a 2-tone taste bomb

  he’s the kiddy coming on

  like the it man baby

  take the sugar round the slums

  it’s a mug’s game

  take some bugger for a lump sum

  and bugger off to spain

  it’s an endless stream of fizzy drinks

  for it man

  whose dentures gleam like digital cufflinks

  it man baby

  who drove the van

  some all purpose also ran

  when the shit hits the fan

  whose gonna carry the can

  for it man

  he’s after all your stuff

  his motto is receive

  too much is not enough now

  let’s not be naive

  drip dry zip fly

  it man kiss the girls and make them die

  it man baby

  underneath that yellow shirt

  beats a heart of solid dirt

  the most disgusting man on earth

  it man baby

  no back chat was ever written

  for it man’s tart

  the cute cat was a stiff kitten

  it man took her apart

  he stuck her with a poison pen

  next thing news at ten

  ladies and gentlemen

  it man

  well well bloody hell

  it man

  checking you out and ringing your bell

  you’d better quit man

  he’s walking around taking names

  looking for money in the burnt remains

  all good stories finish in flames

  for it man

  evidently chicken town

  the fucking cops are fucking keen

  to fucking keep it fucking clean

  the fucking chiefs a fucking swine

  who fucking draws the fucking line

  at fucking fun and fucking games

  the fucking kids he fucking blames

  are nowhere to be fucking found

  anywhere in chicken town

  the fucking scene is fucking sad

  the fucking news is fucking bad

  the fucking weed is fucking turf

  the fucking speed is fucking surf

  the fucking folks are fucking daft

  don’t make me fucking laff

  it fucking hurts to look around

  everywhere in chicken town

  the fucking train is fucking late

  you fucking wait you fucking wait

  you’re fucking lost and fucking found

  stuck in fucking chicken town

  the fucking view is fucking vile

  for fucking miles and fucking miles

  the fucking babies fucking cry

  the fucking flowers fucking die

  the fucking food is fucking muck

  the fucking drains
are fucking fucked

  the colour scheme is fucking brown

  everywhere in chicken town

  the fucking pubs are fucking dull

  the fucking clubs are fucking full

  of fucking girls and fucking guys

  with fucking murder in their eyes

  a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed

  waiting for a fucking cab

  you fucking stay at fucking home

  the fucking neighbours fucking moan

  keep the fucking racket down

  this is fucking chicken town

  the fucking train is fucking late

  you fucking wait you fucking wait

  you’re fucking lost and fucking found

  stuck in fucking chicken town

  the fucking pies are fucking old

  the fucking chips are fucking cold

  the fucking beer is fucking flat

  the fucking flats have fucking rats

  the fucking clocks are fucking wrong

  the fucking days are fucking long

  it fucking gets you fucking down

  evidently chicken town

  the day the world stood still

  deafening whispers loud and clear

  the sound of nothing reached my ears

  i get the message and i know the drill

  this is the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  no traffic noise or sparrows trill

  from the dead flowers on the window sill

  this is the day the world stood still

  into the mirror stand and stare

  like i figure nobody there

  time to spare time to kill

  this is the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  from the underground to the overspill

  no trouble not even at the mill

  this is the day the world stood still

  specs of dirt and static flies

  in spacelike spots before my eyes

  a cup of coffee and a couple of pills

  this is the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  the big freeze-up gimme a chill

  no sense in feeling ill

  this is the day the world stood still

  i got a whole town to myself

  i clear the drugstore shelf by shelf

  i couldn’t pay i had my fingers in the till

  this is the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  drink and drugs and a thousand thrills

  from now on it’s straight downhill

  this is the day the world stood still

  i’m falling from the top of my voice

  i wreck the vehicles of my choice

  a rolls-royce a coupe de ville

  this is the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  the last train to Clarksville

  ran off the rails nobody killed

  this is the day the world stood still

  i’m driving in a company car

  i’m jiving in the tango bar

  i’m dining at the luxury grill

  this is the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  the day the world stood still

  no trouble not even at the mill

  at the end of the day i pay no bill

  this is the day the world stood still

  i travel in biscuits

  the sound of the daylight

  the smell of the urine

  the rain on the drainpipes

  the filthy two-two time

  i should know better

  how an animal feels

  a real go-getter

  a wolf on all wheels

  white collar whizz kids

  button three mohair

  i travel in biscuits

  getting me nowhere

  munchety munch

  this is the punchline

  crunchety crunch

  they last you a lunchtime

  who can resist it

  who can be so square

  i travel in biscuits

  getting me nowhere

  can you afford it

  this is the crunch

  orders are audits

  a kiss or a punch

  a dangerous neighbourhood

  don’t push it too far

  i feel like i’m made of wood

  i stay in the car

  i have to risk it

  i have to go there

  i travel in biscuits

  getting me nowhere

  they keep their crispness

  more than just one day

  got some for Christmas

  ate them last monday

  if you resist it

  i’m gonna go spare

  i travel in biscuits

  getting me nowhere

  the critical daylight

  the smell of the urine

  the rain on the drain pipes

  the filthy two-two time

  life is precarious

  a long way from home

  in alien areas

  always alone

  i look like a misfit

  no one i know there

  i travel in biscuits

  getting me nowhere

  salome maloney

  i was walking down oxford road

  dressed in what they call the mode

  i could hear them spinning all the smash hits

  at the mecca of the modern dance: the ritz

  feet foxtrotted shoulders did the shimmy

  the bouncer on the door said gimme gimme gimme

  i gave him the ticket he gave me the shits

  no healthy argument it’s the ritz

  standing by the cig machine who did i see

  in lurex and terylene she hypnotised me

  i asked her name and she said it’s

  salome maloney el supremo of the ritz

  lacquered in a beehive her barnet didn’t budge

  wet-look lips smiled as sweet as fudge

  she had a number on her back sequins on her tits

  the sartorial requirements for women in the ritz

  a man making like fred astaire spats and tails

  douglas fairbanks moustache dirty fingernails

  whose chosen vernacular was subtle as the blitz

  charlie macdracula the phantom of the ritz

  standing in the dandruff light trying to get pissed

  among the headlice old spice brut and bodymist

  how could she be seen dead dancing with that prick

  and her being salome el supremo of the ritz

  a smart move a dangerous curve

  sent him arse over bollocks with a body swerve

  he started with a cartwheel finished in the splits

  leaving salome with his toupee in her mits

  tables flew bottles broke the bouncers shouted lumber

  the dummy got too chummy in a bing crosby number

  the glass globe dropped chopped the crowd to bits

  meanwhile what about salome of the ritz

  when the ambulances came she was lying on the deck

  she fell off her stiletto heels and broke her fucking neck

  the band threw down their instruments the management threw fits

  she’s dead she don’t bring the business to the ritz

  the over twenty-one’s night said it was a shame

  the divorcee club will never be the same

  joe loss kills himself and vic sylvester quits

  when the death dance drama did away with the ritz

  the last waltz wilts the quickstep stops

  the ladies�
� excuse me was permanently blocked

  and mecca make a living selling little bits

  of salome maloney in the wreckage of the ritz

  midnight shift

  there’s a body in the basement

  the tv’s full of guns

  in the room adjacent

  cold water runs

  the sound of the cisterns

  sizzling bacon or chips

  footsteps in the distance

  she’s working on the midnight shift

  the room is getting colder

  start jumping jack

  you’re the bluebird over her shoulder

  the monkey on her back

  she left your taxi fare

  there’s a message in her gift

  you got more than she could spare

  she’s working on the midnight shift

  feedback screams on a twisted riff

  luxembourg by night

  the cheapjack dream of the midnight shift

  doesn’t work out right

  he’s got to shoot he’s got to shoot

  put his face about

  it’s like a long abandoned baseball boot

  with the tongue hanging out

  the perfume of the essence rare

  that lingers in the lift

  he’s a prince among the peasants where

  she’s working on the midnight shift

  you’re gonna find her stuck in the lift

  to the wonderland of vice

  you’re gonna find her on the midnight shift

  with feet like blocks of ice

  she carried water for the mailman

  she had to walk the streets

  she married the door-to-door salesman

  who worked away all week

  she lived with an empty chair

  until the final rift

  she didn’t have a thing to wear

  she had to work on the midnight shift

  you’re gonna find her frozen stiff

  you think you been hurt

  you’re gonna find her on the midnight shift

  standing in the dirt

  you like to put yourself about