[Pommy moves into a high-rise building. At number 7 every night, he and his friends practise their music and drive Steve's car full of equipment, to the occasional gig.]
(S. Rists)
There's a lady who bangs,
On the wall every night
When we're trying to practise our chords
She tells us we should stop
Making noise and be quiet
Or she'll dob us into the land lo-o-ord
ooooh And she's climbing the stairway to seven
There's a sign on the wall
'bout restrictions to noise
But you know we never take no notice
I sleep all of the day
Then I round up the boys
And we play despite shouts from the neighbours
oooh.. it makes them thunder
oooh.. that note was blundered
There's a feeling I get
When I look out the door
And the rentman is crying for money
I slam it shut in his face
'Cos he always wants more
And here's me living on bread and honey
oooh.. it makes me chunder
oooh.. Really makes me chunder
The drummer's drumming and he won't go
Because he don't know,
Rehearsals finished two hours since
He's prob'ly brain dead
Or at least he is very slow
Why we don't sack him, I don't know.
And it makes me wonder
Your head is humming and it won't go
Because you don't know
What was the stuff you have just smoked?
And as we drink-drive down the road
Reactions slower than we'd hope
Here comes a cop car we all know
Flashing blue lights, oh God no!
And if Steve breathes in very hard
Before he blows into his bag
The license may not go too far
Because we need it for the band.
And we're hoping he don't get suspended.
|
|