Ten Years in an Open Necked Shirt

by John Cooper Clarke

  i realise these idle days

  that come disguised as powder blue rays

  hypnotised i only gaze

  i cannot rise i can’t be phased

  square eyes are the latest craze

  double size double glazed

  i’m stuck in a groove i’ll never be free

  i can’t move somebody help me

  boy in the backroom that’s my handle

  living in a vacuum that’s my angle

  90 degrees in my shades

  90 degrees in my shades

  invisible voice now don’t forget

  you have no choice turn off your set

  please mr voice not yet

  white noise of a dying pet

  any boy’s heart would regret

  not one spark that i can see

  i’m in the dark somebody help me

  visiting the bathroom

  that’s my format

  living in a vacuum

  keeps me warm at

  90 degrees in my shades

  90 degrees in my shades

  psycle sluts: part one

  this disc concerns those pouting prima donnas found within the rapacious ranks of the sexational psycle sluts – those nubile nihilists of the north circular the lean leonine leatherette lovelies of the leeds intersection luftwaffe angels locked in a pagan paradise – no cash a passion for trash – the tough madonna whose cro-magnon face and crab nebular curves haunt the highways of the UK whose harsh credo captures the collective libido like crazy their lips pushed in the neon arc of a bumper car – delightfully disciplined dum dum blonde deluxe deliciously deliciously deranged twin-wheeled existentialists steeped in the sterile excrement of a doomed democracy whose post nietzschean sensibilities reject the bovine gregariousness of a senile oligarchy – condemned to drift like forgotten sputniks in a fool’s orbit bound for the final roadblock fuelled on the corroding liquids of lurid hopelessness they live for now and again let the paper tigers flutter in their wake let the last bastions of the bourgeois quake let the yellow running dog lackies of imperialism stutter and shake the prayers of the squares squeal for the merciful oblivion of death and the stormtrooperettes of les punques nouveaux fifth column close in – on a diet of dead babies and do-nuts blonde barbarians do not bend their bloody road – it’s woman minus woman revenge by dark degrees – spraycan manifestoes of one word abound in the pleasure dromes and ersatz bodega bars of the free world the mechanics of love grind like organs of iron to a standstill

  psycle sluts: part two

  the dirty thirty

  the naughty forty

  the shifty fifty

  the filthy five

  zips clips whips and chains

  wait for you to arrive

  bike boys by the bus load

  stupid how they strut

  smoking woodbines till they’re banjoed

  smirking at the swedish smut

  life on the straight and narrow path

  drives you off your nut

  by day you are a psychopath

  by night you’re a psycle slut

  on a BSA with two bald tyres

  you drove a million miles

  you cut your hair with rusty pliers

  and suffer with the pillion piles

  built in obsolescence

  and travel in your guts

  you won’t reach adolescence

  slow down psycle sluts

  motorcycle mike

  wants to buy a tank

  only twenty-nine years old

  and he’s learning how to wank

  yesterday he was in the groove

  today he’s in a rut

  my how the moments move

  brute fun psycle sluts

  he cacks on your originals

  peepee on his boots

  he makes love like a footballer

  he dribbles before he shoots

  the goings on at the gang-bang ball

  made the citizens tut tut tut

  but what do you care: piss all

  you tell ’em psycle sluts

  your boyfriend burned his jacket

  his ticket expired

  his tyres are knackered

  and his knackers are tired

  tell your tale to the gutter press

  get paid to peddle smut

  now you’ve ridden the road of excess

  leading to the psycle sluts

  or you can dine and whine on stuff

  that’s bound to give you boils

  hot dogs direct from crufts

  done in diesel oil

  or the burger joint around the bend

  where the meals are fast and skimpy

  for you that’s how the world could end

  not with a bang but a wimpy

  the day my pad went MAD

  somebody came this way and fled

  from the heavy wretched scene

  all the rooms were grey and red

  with an epileptic gleam

  i don’t know where i’m going

  but when i get there i’ll be glad

  i’m gonna sit right down and write this poem

  called the day my pad went MAD

  i was ankle deep in human waste

  the toilet had been clogged

  marrowbone jelly all over the place

  i don’t even have a dog

  the man upstairs he grips my arm

  saying don’t i know your dad

  all i could hear was the fire alarm

  the day my pad went MAD

  the kitchen had been ransacked

  ski trails in the hall

  a chicken had been dansacked

  and thrown against the wall

  in walks this dumb waiter

  with a fountain pen and pad

  saying how do you want this alligator

  the day my pad went MAD

  the hamster had been slaughtered

  the parrot bound and gagged

  the guard dog had been sorted out

  and absolutely shagged

  the goldfish drowned the cat was found

  kicked around and stabbed

  the radio did not make a sound

  the day my pad went MAD

  the pop-up toaster refused to pop

  the chandelier was smashed

  the starter motor would not stop

  the tyres had been slashed

  there was no way out of there

  i was stuck with what i had

  out of order beyond repair

  the day my pad went MAD

  yesterday i had the place rewired

  and i slung out all my junk

  a tumble dryer and a two-bar fire

  and a telephone now defunct

  i peep through the Venetian blinds

  and the rain fell down so sad

  on the broken home i left behind

  the day my pad went MAD

  i married a monster from outer space

  the milky way she walks around

  both feet firmly off the ground

  two worlds collide two worlds collide

  here comes the future bride

  give me a lift to the lunar base

  i want to marry a monster from outer space

  i fell in love with an alien being

  whose skin was jelly whose teeth were green

  big bug eyes death ray glare

  feet like water wings purple hair

  i was over the moon

  i asked her back to my place

  and then i married the monster from outer space

  the days were numbered the nights were spent

  in a rent-free furnished oxygen tent

  a cyborg chef serves up cuisine

  the colour of which i’ve never seen

  i needed nutrition to keep up the pace

  when i married the monster from outer space

  we walked out tentacle in hand

  you could sense that the earthlings would not
understand

  they would whisper when we got on the bus

  it’s extra-terrestial not like us

  it’s bad enough with another race

  but fuck me a monster from outer space

  in a cybernetic fit of rage

  she pissed off to another age

  she lives in 1999

  with her new boyfriend a blob of slime

  each time i see a translucent face

  i remember the monster from outer space

  belladonna

  no falling chimes

  no call to arms

  no siren whines

  false alarms

  down the telephone lines

  at the side of the farms

  arm in arm down hemlock row

  where the flowers of evil never grow

  under one heartbeat heavy but slow

  walking together in the purple snow

  charming breezes bring the rain

  it’s gonna run like rats

  down the gutters and the drains

  it’s gonna run like a river

  down the window panes

  down a web of cracks like twisted veins

  a stranger calls my name

  between the rollerama and the junk yard

  where the panorama looks like mars

  and the belladonna looks like stars

  behind the Panamanian bars

  in the dying gardens down below

  walking together in the purple snow

  withering birds they only wail

  drag the waterways to no avail

  clutch the steel rails as we go

  walking together in the purple snow

  no falling chimes

  no call to arms

  no siren whines

  false alarms

  down the telephone lines

  at the side of the farms

  arm in arm down hemlock row

  where the flowers of evil never grow

  in the dying gardens down below

  walking together in the purple snow

  i wanna be yours

  let me be your vacuum cleaner

  breathing in your dust

  let me be your ford cortina

  i will never rust

  if you like your coffee hot

  let me be your coffee pot

  you call the shots

  i wanna be yours

  let me be your raincoat

  for those frequent rainy days

  let me be your dreamboat

  when you wanna sail away

  let me be your teddy bear

  take me with you anywhere

  i don’t care

  i wanna be yours

  let me be your electric meter

  i will not run out

  let me be the electric heater

  you get cold without

  let me be your setting lotion

  hold your hair

  with deep devotion

  deep as the deep

  atlantic ocean

  that’s how deep is my emotion

  deep deep deep deep de deep deep

  i don’t wanna be hers

  i wanna be yours

  readers’ wives

  make a date with the brassy brides of britain

  the altogether ruder readers’ wives

  who put down their needles and their knitting

  at the doorway to our dismal daily lives

  a fablon top scenario of passion

  things stick out of holes in leatherette

  they seem to be saying in their fashion

  i’m freezing charlie have you finished yet

  cold flesh the colour of potatoes

  in an instamatic sitting room of sin

  all the required apparatus

  too bad they couldn’t get her head in

  in latex pyjamas with bananas going ape

  identities are cunningly disguised

  by a six-inch strip of insulating tape

  strategically stuck across their eyes

  wives from Inverness to inner london

  prettiness and pimples co-exist

  pictorially wife-swapping with someone

  who’s happily married to his wrist

  i was a teenage werewolf – or was i

  i scream all the way to the chair

  and in the face of tanks

  i take the stairway to the stairs

  and i scream thanks

  fake snakes and mock crocs

  and killers cut my throat

  that’s me in the callbox

  stepping out of my coat

  i’ve found a reason for living

  every day i die

  i was a teenage werewolf

  or was i

  fall off trains

  torture dames

  i like to keep in the swim

  i get slain

  on memorex lane

  where the people say oh it’s him

  easy money play hard to get

  these love toys to amuse

  the non-doctor’s penthouse pets

  who drink champagne from shoes

  walk in rooms and out of rooms

  that’s my cup of tea

  i seen the world i didn’t like it

  what’s in it for me

  invisible girls go haywire

  i’ll be their go-go guy

  i was a teenage werewolf

  or was i

  murder victims talk to me

  detectives come and go

  their dangling receivers

  tell me all i want to know

  we only live once or do we

  take advice from mickey spillane

  me hood nazi blood brother

  never give the right name

  those dead delicious nudes

  they hang around the neck

  of a moving raincoat

  by the sliding door of a discothèque

  where boys are boys and girls are toys

  not programmed to reply

  i was a teenage werewolf

  or was i

  a love story in reverse

  like a nite klub in the morning

  you’re the bitter end

  like a recently disinfected shithouse

  you’re clean round the bend

  you give me the horrors

  too bad to be true

  all of my tomorrows

  are lousy cos of you

  you put the cunt in scunthorpe

  you put the pain in spain

  happy days are done for

  and you’re the one i blame

  you’re certainly no raver

  commonly known as a drag

  do us all a favour

  wear this polythene bag

  you’re like a dose of scabies

  i’ve got you under my skin

  you make life a fairy tale

  grimm

  a sumo wrestler’s armpits

  have nothing on your shoes

  show me any two half-wits

  and they’re twice as smart as you

  i think about thrombosis

  every time we touch

  i say you have acute halitosis

  you say ‘thank you very much’

  you’re very pleasant

  but i know it’s just a fad

  your very presence

  makes me really mad

  i hear your knock upon my door

  i gotta get out of town

  i hit the lights i hit the floor

  i turn the TV down

  people mention murder

  the moment you arrive

  i’d consider killing you

  if i thought you were alive

  you’ve got this slippery quality

  it makes me think of phlegm

  and a dual personality

  i hate both of them

  your bad breath vamps disease

  destruction and decay

  please please pleas
e please

  take yourself away

  like a death at a birthday party

  you have to spoil the fun

  like a sucked and spat-out smartie

  you’re no use to anyone

  like a black widow spider

  in the shadows of disgrace

  speaking as an outsider

  what do you think of the human race

  you went to a progressive psychiatrist

  he recommended suicide

  before scratching your bad name off his list

  and pointing the way outside

  laughter from the playground

  breaks your bleeding heart

  you’re heading for a breakdown

  better pull yourself apart

  your dirty name is passed about

  when something goes amiss

  your attitudes are platitudes

  they make me want to piss

  what kind of creature bore you

  was it some kind of bat

  they can’t find a good word for you

  but i can

  twat

  this heart disease called love

  one kiss became a weapon

  i don’t wanna bleed in vain

  clouds collide in the heavens

  i surrender to the rain

  the death bells that also rang

  like madness from above

  i’m going out with a bang

  and a heart disease called love

  ninety-nine below zero

  would feel like fever now

  you know me: no hero

  don’t even ask me how

  i’m down in the deep deep freeze

  what was i thinking of

  in the painful breeze

  by the frozen trees

  with a heart disease called love

  after dinner mints

  a new lover

  and the coffee so bitter and black

  your fingerprints

  they cover

  this knife sticking outa my back

  you overlooked the fine detail

  you should’ve worn your gloves

  i’ve got a girl in jail

  and a house for sale

  and a heart disease called love

  post-war glamour girl

  expresso bongo snaps of rome

  in the latin quarter of an ideal home