Lyrics Baker St Muse.lrc Jethro Tull
[id: pshkitrz]
[ar: Jethro Tull]
[al: Minstrel In The Gallery (Remastered)]
[ti: Baker St Muse]
[length: 16:39]
[00:31.56]Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel.
[00:38.80]Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel.
[00:46.97]In the underpass, the blind man stands. With cold flute hands.
[00:57.73]Symphony match-seller, breath out of time –
[01:03.16]You can call me on another line.
[01:10.46]Indian restaurants that curry my brain.
[01:17.61]Newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station
[01:28.49]Stand. With cold print hands.
[01:36.73]Symphony word-player, I’ll be your headline.
[01:42.12]If you catch me another time.
[01:49.37]Didn’t make her – with my Baker Street Ruse.
[02:02.92]Couldn’t shake her – with my Baker Street Bruise.
[02:11.03]Like to take her – I’m just a Baker Street Muse.
[02:22.74]Ale-spew, puddle-brew – boys, throw it up clean.
[02:29.93]Coke and Bacardi colours them green.
[02:37.19]From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess with great finesse.
[02:48.99]Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty feet down in the Baker
[02:56.19]Street underground.
[03:00.66]What the Hell?
[03:02.46]I didn’t make her – with my Baker Street Ruse.
[03:12.33]Couldn’t shake her – with my Baker Street Bruise.
[03:23.24]Like to take her – I’m just a Baker Street Muse.
[03:33.27]
[04:24.54]Walking down the gutter thinking,
[04:26.32]”How the Hell am I today?
[04:29.97]Well, I didn’t really ask you but thanks all the same.
[04:36.02]
[05:13.29]Big bottled Fraulein, put your weight on me,
[05:17.70]” said the pig-me to the
[05:18.74]Whore, desperate for more in his assault upon the mountain.
[05:26.80]Little man, his youth a fountain. Overdrafted and still counting.
[05:32.27]Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting close to where he came from.
[05:41.26]In the doorway of the stars, between Blandford Street and Mars;
[05:47.57]Proposition, deal. Flying button feel. Testicle testing.
[05:56.67]Wallet ever-bulging. Dressed to the left, divulging the wrinkles of his
[06:03.83]Years.
[06:05.60]Wedding-bell induced fears.
[06:07.43]Shedding bell-end tears in the pocket of her resistance.
[06:14.60]International assistance flowing generous and full to his never-ready tool.
[06:22.72]Pulls his eyes over her wool. And he shudders as he comes –
[06:29.93]And my rudder slowly turns me into the Marylebone Road.
[06:37.78]
[07:47.54]And here slip I – dragging one foot in the gutter –
[07:55.64]In the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap radios.
[08:06.51]And there sits she – no bed, no bread nor butter –
[08:14.66]On a double yellow line where she can park anytime.
[08:24.58]Old Lady Grey; Crash-barrier Waltzer –
[08:33.56]Some only son’s mother. Baker Street casualty.
[08:44.50]Oh, Mr. Policeman – blue shirt ballet master.
[08:52.57]Feet in sticking plaster – Move the old lady on.
[09:03.35]Strange pas-de-deux – His Romeo to her Juliet.
[09:11.58]Her sleeping draught his poisoned regret.
[09:23.24]No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the crowded emptiness.
[09:33.12]Oh officer, oh let me send her to a cheap hotel –
[09:41.22]I’ll pay the bill and make her well – like hell you bloody will!
[09:52.18]No do-good over kill. We must teach them to be still more independent
[10:07.66]
[10:54.37]I have no time for Time Magazine or Rolling Stone.
[11:10.64]I have no wish for wishing-wells or wishing bones.
[11:31.36]I have no house in the country I have no motor-car.
[11:47.65]And if you think I’m joking, then I’m just a one-line joker in a public
[11:58.44]Bar.
[12:05.60]And it seems there’s no-body left for tennis; and I’m a one-band-man.
[12:22.76]And I want no Top Twenty funeral or a hundred grand.
[12:38.11]There was a little boy stood on a burning log, rubbing his hands with glee.
[12:48.97]He said,
[12:50.73]”Oh Mother England, did you light my smile; or did you light
[12:56.18]This fire under me?
[13:02.41]One day I’ll be a minstrel in the gallery.
[13:08.84]And paint you a picture of the queen.
[13:15.12]And if sometimes I sing to a cynical degree –
[13:20.51]It’s just the nonsense that it seems.
[13:26.86]So I drift down through the Baker Street valley, in my steep-sided
[13:33.16]Un-reality.
[13:38.55]And when all’s said and all’s done – couldn’t wish for a better one.
[13:45.81]It’s a real-life ripe dead-certainty – that I’m just a Baker Street Muse.
[13:55.77]Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same old way.
[14:01.12]I tried to catch my eye but I looked the other way.
[14:07.49]Indian restaurants that curry my brain –
[14:14.63]Newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station
[14:23.72]Stand. Circumcised with cold print hands.
[14:34.57]Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel.
[14:42.69]Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel.
[14:49.80]In the underpass, the blind man stands. With cold flute hands.
[15:00.71]Symphony match-seller, breath out of time –
[15:06.12]You can call me on another line.
[15:13.32]Didn’t make her – with my Baker Street Ruse.
[15:23.20]Couldn’t shake her – with my Baker Street Bruise.
[15:33.19]Like to take her – I’m just a Baker Street Muse.
[15:41.36]I’m just a Baker Street Muse. Just a Baker Street Muse.
[15:44.96]Just a Baker Street Muse
[16:09.24]