Alba s touto skladbou:
Thick as a Brick 2,
Where did it come from, where's it going?
Upper sixth loan shark, numbers flowing
from the pen that never forgets,
recording ledgers, each-way safe bets.
Fauntleroys and first form fags, allowances all overspent.
Pater's guilty generosity safely deposited against rainy day.
There's money in those goddamn hills.
Interest in sugar-coated bitter pills.
Margins made from Tompkins Minor
Float aspirations, nothing finer...
Education, micro-managed.
MBA: a doddle mastered.
City-bound, Canary Wharf.
A cushy number, fluky bastard.
Banker bets and banker wins, never missed yet, for all his sins
Hedge funds, wraps and equities.
Lackeys, aides in fierce attendance.
Trusts and gilts, reserve currencies.
Liquid gold in safe ascendance.
Banker bets and banker wins, never missed yet, for all his sins.
Treat myself to quality time, test a porsche and snort a line,
Eat Hermione for lunch.
Set that glum PA a-jumping,
Book front row tickets for something after we munch.
Fast-tracked futures, hard-nut traders.
Feeding frenzy, pigs a-troughing.
Fuelled by forecasts, and hot share options.
Big fat bonus in the offing.
Draconian calls for regulation
Are drowned in latte with Starbucks muffin.
Mortgage melt-down: non est mea culpa.
Threatened exit, stage left, laughing...
Banker bets and banker wins, never missed yet, for all his sins.
Banker bets, cheque's in the post: not worth the ink it's written in.
I was no good on the rugger field.
Pushing and kicking, brutish boys bothered me.
Sensitive and caring seemed the lighter, brighter way to be.
Mr Jennings, good housemaster, seemed instinctively to understand.
Touched me with his gentle presence.
Under bedclothes, underhand. Underhand.
Overnight, he did a runner, threatened with harsh expose.
I fell to pieces, dropped out of classes into life's endless melee.
Endless melee.
Parents listened, didn't get it. Poof and Jesse, Daddy said.
Mummy tried but fussed and fretted, skeletons best left under bed.
Under the bed.
Camden Market in the winter,
A cold stone's throw from Kentish Town.
Got a minute? Just the ticket!
Meet the boys and mess around.
And mess around.
Independence far from suburbia.
Doss down and dirty, tucked up tight.
How's your father? Not too chipper?
Serves the bugger flippin' right.
Flippin' right.
Parents listened, didn't get it. Poof and Jesse, Daddy said.
Mummy tried but fussed and fretted, skeletons best left under bed.
On the streets a rude survival, hot like-minded overtures.
Sad departure, sweet arrival. If you don't like it, right up yours!
There comes a point when deep conviction bears down hard on who you are.
Pointless to don cloak of denial,
Get the lead out and swing it far... swing it far...
Swing it far... swing it far... swing it far... swing it...
