Flatter and Deceive
You can call me Vinny Peculiar but it’s not my real name
I made it up all because my real one is lame
I was born in 57 in the county of Worcestershire
I was raised a Methodist with Jesus in my earI went to Sunday school
I said my prayers
In teenage makeup and Levi flares
I joined the boys brigade couldn’t wait to leave
I learned to flatter and deceiveI married young and I was happy
happy with my lot
Had a little baby girl I became a baby swot
Bought a house in Birmingham and joined the CND
Travelling by Midland Red to the asylum and the nurseryI went to
training school to become a nurse
I saw the sex pistols and the adverts
I swore I loved you then and that I’d never leave
But I’d learned to flatter and deceive 17 years later I’m
writing this song
I know now what other people have known all along
The presents and the flowers that I’m sending you today are,
Pitiful excuses from the dad who went awayI’d go to festivals
I’d go abroad
I’ve still got Sleeping Gas but not Reward
In this reality I only make believe
Having learned to flatter and deceive
Suicide Dad
Waiting at the 7-11
For the word to get back from heaven
Suicide dad where did you goYou were stuck in the middle of nowhere
Just how long had you been there?
Suicide dad I need to knowThey found your car in the lay by
Said your house looked like a pig sty
It was not a very beautiful ending
You said I mean it
They said he’s just pretendingHose-pipe or analgesic
Tell your mummy I feel sick
Suicide dad where did you goUnhappy ever after
A statistical disaster
Suicide dad where did you go?Mind over matter heart over head
If only you’d done X, Y and Z
Still the only clue that remains to this day
Is a final demand from the CSASomeone said they think it’s
all overIt is now…Suicide dad where did you
Suicide dad we want to
Suicide dad where did you go???And are you ever coming back
Never coming back….
Jesus stole my girlfriend
She’s hanging out with the men in dresses
Evensong and evening classes
A sweet contentment in her eyes
I’m trying hard not to act surprisedOh yeah Jesus stole my
girlfriend
Oh yeah Jesus stole my girl
Oh yeah Jesus stole my girlfriend
And I can’t get her back
And I just want her back…She’s going off to church on
Sunday
The Harvest Festival on Monday
We go to bed but we don’t make love
Cause her thoughts are lost to the one aboveCHORUSI know you’re
up there listening
So go ahead and do the decent thing
Perform a little miracle
I must preferred her
Cynical,
Miserable,
Impossible
Hysterical,
Illogical,
Despicable….Now all I seem to do is mope around the house
Feeling like the antichrist
She says she’s training to be missionary or such like….ChorusOh
what does he care ….
One Great Artist
There’s only enough room in this kitchen
For one great artist and that is me
My paintings line the walls from floor to ceiling
And they’re laden with sardonic imageryThis one’s called
the mess I made in high school
And this one’s called responsibility
I haven’t got a favourite subject matter
I only try to capture what I seeMake a photo-fit for life
Doing time with the brush and knife
For good reason that I no longer recall
Perfecting each and every fake is my genius my escape
Critical acclaim can wait you can keep it allMy work is expensive
nay it’s priceless
Encapsulates the essence of the soul
I’m not afraid of dying in obscurity
Nor hooking up with Judas on paroleChorusMy work has been compared
to the so called greats
Pollock, Rothko, Blake and Kandinksky
I know some of you will understand
Most of you will pity meStill there’s only enough room in
this kitchen
For one great artist
Only enough room in this kitchen
For me me me me me me………
Forgive Me
Who stole the Christmas money from your Gran?
Now it’s too late to pay it back she’s dead and gone
You were caught out pissing in the vestry sink
You were worse for wear with the drink
Now you’re jabbering on to a shrinkForgive meIt may take a
while to shame you into feeling
It’s never too late to address the true meaning
You have made a blind fit of the crime there’s no escaping
Still the wounds are bare and they’re gaping
Still the rules are there for the breakingForgive meAt 4 o’clock
on the dot
The session ends with a tear
The shrink unwrap the tissue packs
And says get out of hereThat was my first and last experience in
confession
But it didn’t teach me a lesson
And it didn’t fix my depression
I called you from the station and we met and talked for hours
I bought a bunch of flowers
You said it’s not your place it’s oursF.O.R.G.I.V.E.
Forgive me….
Operation
I had an operation when I was just a lad
They removed my heart that’s why I can’t feel happy
or sad
And nobody believes me, nobody understands
When I stamp my feet
I really mean to clap my hands…I had a beautiful girlfriend
but love died
I felt no pain I never cried
And nobody believes me nobody wants to knowThe nurses look impressive
in their snow white nylon dresses as the lights go down
The Dr’s dehydrated the orderly frustrated as the tea comes
round
Are you one of them or one of us do you drive a car or take the
bus have you come to fix the lights or check the drugs, that kill
imagination…Damn the operation…They put me back under
the knife when I was a man
To take away my mind was their plan…
And nobody can tell me the exact time or the place
But I still dream of the theatre and I know that look on the surgeons
face…Damn the operation…
Dirty Weekend
You said anywhere will do just as long as I’m with you
Just get the tickets just book the room
We can be who we want escape where we’re from
We’ll be back so quick no one will know we’re goneOn
the seat of the bus you made me go red
Then finished me off on the hotel bed
I had stars in my eyes you were older and wiser than I wasMy dirty
weekend
All grown up playing happy pretend
Getting caught out in the end
When I said goodbye I knew that I would never see you againThere
were photographs in the drawers of a naked man called David
With a large and flaccid cock cowboy boots and an earring
A spy hole in the wall for the pervert in the hall
I played the gigolo you played the whore
And we painted the town all the usual shades
Holding hands and making promises in the light house rays
I’d put on your makeup you’d put on a show
For the boy in reception before we had to goAnd when I woke in a
dream like state last night it was as if I was 19 again in ScarboroughMy
dirty weekend
All grown up playing happy pretend
We’re all caught out in the end
When I said good bye I knew that I would never see you again
Mr Low
Can I get my ball back Mr Low
I lost it in your garden many years ago
Been hanging on to stuff that others have let go
So can I get my ball back?Do I want to get my teeth into this life?
Do I want the job, the mortgage and the wife?
You used to tell me everything would be alright
So can I get my ball back…Mr Low?The house is on fire and
the children have gone
Back to the place they are from
As bury my head in a time capsule with a prize day poem from junior
schoolCan I get my ball back Mr Low?
It’s bright and cheap it’s all I’ve got to show
Sorry for the trouble the lengths you had to go
But can I get my ball back?There’s no time like the past to
reinvent the wheel
To change the way you are distort the way you feel
I’ve done it or so long now I’ve no idea what’s
real
So can I get my ball back?Mr Low…The Davenports man brings
beer to your home
Rolfs on TV with a stylophone…
And your Dad’s having a moanSo can I get my ball back??
A Beautiful Woman in Public Sector Management
She was a beautiful woman in public sector management
And I imagined her naked
And vulnerable
As the meeting expired we were all so tiredAll messed up in domestic
bliss
With a baby a house and a job I swore I’d never miss
From that day to thisSo I laid my traps in her in tray
Brushed against her on the stairs
She looked like a country singer
And I fantasised in my despair
About the beautiful woman in public sector managementI didn’t
try to resist cause I hopelessly bitten
I was tragically smitten by loves clichés
But they were never enoughAll wrapped up in domestic bliss in some
hazy lazy life I swore I’d never miss
And I’d never look from that day to this
All those big decisions she made
Budgets set and wages paid
The health service looks good today
Good todaySometimes all you can do is follow your heart
I know that love songs are not very smart
But if you’ve ever had a false start you’ll appreciate
it can come too lateSo I took my chance and I held on for all I
was worth
And this one goes out to the ones that let go
And never get what they deserveShe was a beautiful woman in public
sector management
My Father the Organist
He goes there every week
My father the organist he never got to see the light
Still the sermons don’t come cheap
They hang around like lazy ghosts
To haunt him in his sleep at night
He’s been 40 years the spirited observer
In the holy theatre of the absurd
Says he don’t believe a word
The congregation stands
The new disciples wave their hands
The minister begins to preach
A woman speaks in tongues
Interpreted by chosen ones
Salvation still just out of reach
40 years of counting out the blessing
Examining the fickle heart of faith
He says he’s left it all too late
My father the organist
All words and music written by Vinny Peculiar
except Operation which was written by Vinny Peculiar and Tim Browne
copyright control 2002