Sitting on a park bench Eyeing little girls with bad intent
Snot running down his nose Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes Hey, Aqualung
Drying in the cold sun Watching as the frilly panties run Hey, Aqualung
Feeling like a dead duck Spitting out pieces of his broken luck Whoa, Aqualung
Sun streaking cold An old man wandering lonely Taking time the only way he knows Leg hurting bad As he bends to pick a dog-end He goes down to the bog and warms his feet
Feeling alone The army's up the road Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea Aqualung, my friend Don't you start away uneasy You poor old sod, you see, it's only me
Do you still remember December's foggy freeze When the ice that Clings onto your beard was Screaming agony? Hey! And you snatch your rattling last breaths With deep-sea diver sounds And the flowers bloom like Madness in the spring
Sun streaking cold An old man wandering lonely Taking time the only way he knows Leg hurting bad As he bends to pick a dog-end He goes down to the bog and warms his feet Ohh
Feeling alone The army's up the road Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea Aqualung, my friend Don't you start away uneasy You poor old sod, you see, it's only me Ohh
Dee dee dee dee dee...
Aqualung, my friend Don't you start away uneasy You poor old sod, you see, it's only me
Sitting on a park bench Eyeing little girls with bad intent
Snot running down his nose Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes Hey, Aqualung
Drying in the cold sun Watching as the frilly panties run Hey, Aqualung
Feeling like a dead duck Spitting out pieces of his broken luck Hey, Aqualung
Who would be a poor man, a beggarman, a thief If he had a rich man in his hand? And who would steal the candy from a laughing baby's mouth If he could take it from the money man? Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again She signs no contract, but she always plays the game She dines in Hampstead village on expense accounted gruel And the jack-knife barber drops her off at school
Laughing in the playground, gets no kicks from little boys Would rather make it with a letching grey Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung Who watches through the railings as they play Cross-eyed Mary finds it hard to get along She's a poor man's rich girl and she'll do it for a song. She's a rich man stealer, but her favour's good and strong: She's the Robin Hood of Highgate, helps the poor man get along.
Laughing in the playground, gets no kicks from little boys Would rather make it with a letching grey Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung Who watches through the railings as they play Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again She signs no contract, but she always plays the game She dines in Hampstead village on expense accounted gruel And the jack-knife barber drops her off at school
On Preston Platform Do your soft shoe shuffle dance Brush away the cigarette ash That's falling down your pants And then you sadly wonder Does the nurse treat your old man The way she should? She made you tea Asked for your autograph-- What a laugh
As I did walk by Hampstead Fair, I came upon Mother Goose, So I turned her loose-- She was screaming. And a foreign student said to me Was it really true There are elephants, lions too, Piccadilly Circus?
Walked down by the bathing pond To try and catch some sun. Saw at least a hundred school girls Sobbing into handkerchiefs as one. I don't believe they knew I was a schoolboy.
And a bearded lady said to me If you start your raving And your misbehaving, You'll be sorry. And the chicken fancier came to play With his long red beard, And his sister's weird-- She drives a lorry.
Laughed down by the putting green, I popped 'em in their holes. Four and twenty labourers were labouring And digging up their gold. I don't believe they knew That I was Long John Silver.
Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds In his jet black mac Which he won't give back-- Stole it from a snowman. As I did walk by Hampstead Fair, I came upon Mother Goose, So I turned her loose-- She was screaming.
Walked down by the bathing pond To try and catch some sun. Must have been least a hundred school girls Sobbing into handkerchiefs as one. I don't believe they knew I was a schoolboy.
Wond'ring aloud -- How we feel today. Last night sipped the sunset -- My hands in her hair. We are our own saviours As we start both our hearts beating life Into each other.
Wond'ring aloud -- Will the years treat us well. As she floats in the kitchen, I'm tasting the smell Of toast as the butter runs. Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed And I shake my head. And it's only the giving That makes you what you are.
Take her to the cinema And leave you in a Wimpy bar You tell me that we've gone too far Come running up to me Make the scene at cousin Jack's Leave him to put the bottles back Mends his glasses that I cracked Well that one's up to me, hey
Oh, it's up to me It's up to me
I buy a silver cloud to ride Pack the tennis club inside Trouser cuffs hung far too wide Well, it was up to me Tyres down on your bicycle Your nose feels like an icicle The yellow fingered smoky girl Is looking up to me, yeah
Whoa, you know it's up to me, yeah
Well I'm a common working man With a half of bitter, bread and jam And if it pleases me I'll put one on you, man When the cuppa fades away
Whoa, it's up to me Whoa, I said, it's up to me, yeah
The rainy season comes to pass The day-glo pirate sinks at last And if I laughed a bit too fast Well, it was up to me Take you to the cinema And leave you in a Wimpy bar You tell me that we've gone too far Come running up to me, hey
Whoa, you know it's up to me, yeah I said it's up to me, yeah
People what have you done? Locked Him in His golden cage Golden cage
Made Him bend to your religion Him resurrected from the grave From the grave
He is the God of nothing If that’s all that you can see You are the God of everything He’s inside you and me
So lean upon Him gently And don't call on Him to save You from your social graces And the sins you used to waive You used to waive
The bloody Church of England In chains of history Requests your earthly presence At the vicarage for tea
And the graven image You know who With his plastic crucifix He's got Him fixed Confuses me as to who and where and why As to how he gets his kicks He gets his kicks.
Confessing to the endless sin With endless whining sounds You'll be praying 'til next Thursday To all the gods that you can count
Well, the lush separation unfolds you And the products of wealth Push you along on the bow wave Of their spiritless undying selves And you press on God's waiter your last dime As he hands you the bill And you spin in the slipstream Timeless, unreasoning Paddle right out of the mess And you paddle right out of the mess
In the shuffling madness Of the locomotive breath Runs the all time loser Headlong to his death Oh, he feels the pistons screaming Steam breaking on his brow Old Charlie stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down
He sees his children jumpin’ off At stations one by one His woman and his best friend In bed and having fun So he's crawling down the corridor On his hands and knees Old Charlie stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down
He hears the silence howling Catches angels as they fall And the all time winner Has got him by the balls Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible Open at page one I think God, he stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down
No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down
When I was young and they packed me off to school And taught me how not to play the game I didn't mind if they groomed me for success Or if they said that I was just a fool.
So I left there in the morning With their God tucked underneath my arm Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules
And I asked this God a question And by way of firm reply He said, “I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays”
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares) Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
I don't believe you You had the whole damn thing all wrong He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays. Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school And have all the bishops harmonize these lines
How do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son? When that was just an accident of birth I'd rather look around me, compose a better song 'Cos that's the honest measure of my worth In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me As you lick the boots of death born out of fear
When I was young and they packed me off to school And taught me how not to play the game I didn't mind if they groomed me for success Or if they said that I was just a fool I left there in the morning With their God under my arm Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules
Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school Have all the bishops harmonize these lines
When I was young and they packed me off to school And they taught me how not to play the game I didn't mind if they groomed me for success Or if they said that I was just a fool
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares) Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school And have all the bishops harmonize these lines
I don't believe you You had the whole damn thing all wrong He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays
I'll see you at the weighing in When your life's sum-total's made And you set your wealth in godly deeds Against the sins you've laid
So place your final burden On your hard-pressed next of kin Send the chamber pot back down the line To be filled up again.
Take your mind off your election And try to get it straight And don't pretend perfection You'll be crucified too late
And he'll say “you really should make the deal” As he offers round the hat. Well, you'd better lick your fingers clean I’ll thank you all for that
And as you join the good ship earth And you mingle with the dust Be sure to leave your underpants With someone you can trust
And the hard-headed social worker Who bathes his hands in blood Will welcome you with arms held high And cover you with mud
And he'll say “you really should make the deal” As he offers round the hat. Well, you'd better lick your fingers clean Well, I’ll thank you all for that
When I was young and they packed me off to school And taught me how not to play the game I didn't mind if they groomed me for success Or if they said that I was just a fool.
So I left there in the morning With their God tucked underneath my arm Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules
And I asked this God a question And by way of firm reply He said, “I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays”
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares) Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
I don't believe you You had the whole damn thing all wrong He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays. Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school And have all the bishops harmonize these lines
How do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son? When that was just an accident of birth I'd rather look around me, compose a better song 'Cos that's the honest measure of my worth In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me As you lick the boots of death born out of fear
When I was young and they packed me off to school And taught me how not to play the game I didn't mind if they groomed me for success Or if they said that I was just a fool I left there in the morning With their God under my arm Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules
Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school Have all the bishops harmonize these lines
When I was young and they packed me off to school And they taught me how not to play the game I didn't mind if they groomed me for success Or if they said that I was just a fool
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares) Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school And have all the bishops harmonize these lines
I don't believe you You had the whole damn thing all wrong He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays
