Letras:
Ian Dury And The Blockheads

and I know what you do Every one of you, blackmail man I hate yoru guts, your Newington Butts I?m the blackmail man Hampton wick, Berkshire hunt Fraiser and Nash, Pony and

't too clever And it ain't not having one thing nor another Either, neither is it anything, whatever And it's not not knowing that their ain't nothing showing And

rhythm stick hit me slowly, hit me quick hit me, hit me, hit me! in the wilds of Borneo and the vineyards of Bordeaux Eskimo, Arapaho move their body to and

all about Blockheads? Why should you care what they do? Cos after all is said and done You're a Blockhead too Blockheads Blockheads Blockheads...

was with a woman I'd never ask her questions But if she did not want me to I would If I was with a woman I'd offer my indifference And make quite sure

mouth just went As serious as things do seem At least you've put me on the team And friends, do rule, supreme, OK Oh, pardon you, me With a capital 'C' And

move along Double decker move along My old man Later on he drove a Roller Chauffeuring for foreign men Dropped his aitches on occasion Said "Cor blimey!" now and

and my mask In proper distribution A fully-formed ablutions Formed an ocean of pollution In which I daredn't bask Some turds were teeny-tiny And some were big and

: If I'm about to stop living I want you before I go Something's gonna happen in the winter If I'm about to go mad I want to talk to you You and I make