lirik lagu jethro tull – baker st muse (medley) – 2002 remastered version
windy bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel
shady gentleman. fly-b-tton. feel
in the underp-ss, the blind man stands. with cold flute hands
symphony match-seller, breath out of time –
you can call me on another line
indian restaurants that curry my brain
newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station
stand. with cold print hands
symphony word-player, i’ll be your headline
if you catch me another time
didn’t make her – with my baker street ruse
couldn’t shake her – with my baker street bruise
like to take her – i’m just a baker street muse
ale-spew, puddle-brew – boys, throw it up clean
c-ke and bacardi colours them green
from the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess with great finesse
fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty feet down in the baker
street underground
what the h-ll?
i didn’t make her – with my baker street ruse
couldn’t shake her – with my baker street bruise
like to take her – i’m just a baker street muse
walking down the gutter thinking
“how the h-ll am i today?
well, i didn’t really ask you but thanks all the same
big bottled fraulein, put your weight on me
” said the pig-me to the
wh-r-, desperate for more in his -ssault upon the mountain
little man, his youth a fountain. overdrafted and still counting
vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting close to where he came from
in the doorway of the stars, between blandford street and mars;
proposition, deal. flying b-tton feel. t-st-cl- testing
wallet ever-bulging. dressed to the left, divulging the wrinkles of his
years
wedding-bell induced fears
shedding bell-end tears in the pocket of her resistance
international -ssistance flowing generous and full to his never-ready tool
pulls his eyes over her wool. and he shudders as he comes –
and my rudder slowly turns me into the marylebone road
and here slip i – dragging one foot in the gutter –
in the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap radios
and there sits she – no bed, no bread nor b-tter –
on a double yellow line where she can park anytime
old lady grey; crash-barrier waltzer –
some only son’s mother. baker street casualty
oh, mr. policeman – blue shirt ballet master
feet in sticking plaster – move the old lady on
strange pas-de-deux – his romeo to her juliet
her sleeping draught his poisoned regret
no drunken b-ms allowed to sleep here in the crowded emptiness
oh officer, oh let me send her to a cheap hotel –
i’ll pay the bill and make her well – like h-ll you bl–dy will!
no do-good over k!ll. we must teach them to be still more independent
i have no time for time magazine or rolling stone
i have no wish for wishing-wells or wishing bones
i have no house in the country i have no motor-car
and if you think i’m joking, then i’m just a one-line joker in a public
bar
and it seems there’s no-body left for tennis; and i’m a one-band-man
and i want no top twenty funeral or a hundred grand
there was a little boy stood on a burning log, rubbing his hands with glee
he said
“oh mother england, did you light my smile; or did you light
this fire under me?
one day i’ll be a minstrel in the gallery
and paint you a picture of the queen
and if sometimes i sing to a cynical degree –
it’s just the nonsense that it seems
so i drift down through the baker street valley, in my steep-sided
un-reality
and when all’s said and all’s done – couldn’t wish for a better one
it’s a real-life ripe dead-certainty – that i’m just a baker street muse
talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same old way
i tried to catch my eye but i looked the other way
indian restaurants that curry my brain –
newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station
stand. circ-mcised with cold print hands
windy bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel
shady gentleman. fly-b-tton. feel
in the underp-ss, the blind man stands. with cold flute hands
symphony match-seller, breath out of time –
you can call me on another line
didn’t make her – with my baker street ruse
couldn’t shake her – with my baker street bruise
like to take her – i’m just a baker street muse
i’m just a baker street muse. just a baker street muse
just a baker street muse
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