All Lyrics by Judge Smith © 1993
TELL ME YOU LOVE ME
And though we know
Exactly what we want to say,
The words
When they emerge
Don’t quite come out that way.
The language circuit doesn’t work too good,
No wonder we all think that we’re misunderstood.
So tell me you love me
But tell me again in French,
Now in a Welsh accent.
Say it in Maggie Smith’s voice
Then say it like Judi Dench,
Tell me you love me.
And then
Just when
Our message should have hit the mark,
I fear
It’s all too clear
We’ve left them in the dark.
The thing that’s said is not the thing that’s heard,
That’s the trouble with the spoken word.
| What? | So tell me you love me |
| Quoi? | But tell me again in Dutch, |
| Que? | Shout it in Swedish, |
| Huh? | Whisper it in Norwegian, |
| Was? | I like that one very much, |
| Eh? | Tell me you love me. |
| What? | Plug in your Modem, |
| Quoi? | Select your transmit mode, |
| Que? | Give us a handshake. |
| Tell me in Fortran, tell me in Basic, | |
| Was? | Tell me in Binary Code, |
| Eh? | Tell me you love me. |
And on
The words have gone
All meaning long since lost.
Yes Squire,
We’ve got our wires
Spectacularly crossed.
It read ‘Send’ reinforcements,
we’re going to advance’.
You said ‘Send three-and-fourpence,
we’re going to a dance’.
| What? | So tell me you love me |
| Quoi? | But tell me again in Greek, |
| Que? | Ancient or Modern, |
| Huh? | Demotiki or Katharevousa, |
| Was? | I don’t care which one you speak, |
| Eh? | Just tell me you love me. |
| What? | Tell me in Chinese |
| Quoi? | And while we still have the chance, |
| Que? | Talk in Tibetan. |
| Huh? | Say it in Zulu, say it in Xhosa, |
| Was? | Say it in Afrikaans, |
| Eh? | Tell me you love me. |
| What? | Buzz me in Morse Code, |
| Quoi? | Flash me in Heliograph, |
| Que? | Flag me a signal. |
| Huh? | Will you try it in Esperanto |
| Was? | If I promise not to laugh? |
| Eh? | Tell me you love me. |
CARPET TILES
The redundancy scheme
Was linked to his salary;
A good few bob
A chance to set up on his own.
And they’d make a good team,
Raymond and Valerie.
He’d do the job,
She’d do the books and man the phone.
They made wonderful plans. Took a lock-up garage
Filled it to the doors ‘
With bankrupt stock they bought at auction.
They had a nice Luton van.
On each side, written quite large,
It said ‘RayVal Floors.
You’ve seen the rest, but we’re the best
For Carpet Tiles.
Estimates free for our Carpet Tiles,
Hard-wearing Wiltons in several styles.
No VAT on our Carpet Tiles.
From ten pounds a metre.’
He’s a nice little chap
And he’s doing his best,
Working late each night
But orders just aren’t coming through.
Val sits on his lap
She says “Don’t get depressed, It will be all right,
‘Cos I believe in you
And in those Carpet Tiles;
People will always need Carpet Tiles.”
Now look at him go; he’s all teeth and smiles.
He’s going to self you some Carpet Tiles,
Eight pounds a metre.
He jokes about sales staying on the floor
But the house is security
On the loan;
The ‘Caring Bank’ took care of that. .
And when he asks them for more,
They demand a fresh Guarantee.
“What else do you own?”
Then they wonder what he’s laughing at.
He says “Carpet Tiles,
All I’ve got left is the Carpet Tiles.
Take some of them, I’ve got miles and miles;
Carpet the whole bleeding British Isles
At five pounds a metre.”
He thinks of Val’s face
And he gets out the file,
The one on insurance.
He reads through the Policy,
Three o’clock in the morning,
He gets in the van.
He drives to the lock-up,
He takes out the matches …
Messrs Jobson & Lock,
Licensed Valuers and Auctioneers,
Suggest our Sale
For Business opportunities.
We have fire-damaged stock
Just perfect for new careers.
You couldn’t fail
With Lot 13, for instance which is
Carpet Tiles,
Two metric tons of new Carpet Tiles.
Early inspection would be worthwhile;
Executive quality Carpet Tiles
Worth twelve pounds a metre.
Carpet Tiles,
Simple to lay and so versatile
Featuring guaranteed flame-proof pile.
Now what am bid for these Carpet Tiles?
Can I hear two pounds a metre?
THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT
Here in the night hours,
When all the world is asleep,
Listen please, for a moment,
To the silence so deep.
At midnight just off the mainstreet
Or three AM in the Park,
You’ll know when you hear it,
It’s the Voice of the Dark.
It sings to the sleepless
Those alone, those in pain;
Cold beauty; cold comfort,
Inhuman refrain.
But the melody dies with the dawning,
It’s afraid of the light.
So sweet in the blackness,
It’s the Song of the Night.
The anthem has sounded
Since the night before time began;
The music of gods,
Unconcerned about Man.
And after the ultimate nightfall,
When the world is destroyed,
There will ring out forever
The Song of the Void.
DON’T POINT THAT THING AT ME
I was walking home
Down the dark road
where the streetlamps had blown.
He was just half-grown,
Showed me his pistol and asked for a loan.
And as he took my money I said
‘Don‘t point that thing at me.
I don’t want it going off,
I don’t like that kind of stuff.
Don’t point that thing at me.
It may feel good in your hand
But that don’t mean that you’re a real man.’
Talk on Channel 4
‘Risks of post-Soviet nuclear war’ Big map on the floor,
And they’ve just drawn a ring
round the airfield next door So as I fill my sandbags I say
‘Don’t point that thing at me.
I don’t want it going off,
Aw come on Mr. Gorbachev
Don’t point that thing at me.
It may feel good in your hand,
But that don’t mean that you’re a real man.’
Phoned my new friend Fay,
‘Can I come over, it’s been quite a day.’ We played Marvin Gaye
Arm round her waist, I was doing OK But as I moved in closer she said ‘Don’t point that thing at me.
I don‘t want it going off,
I just don’t know you well enough. Don’t point that thing at me.
It may feel good in your hand,
But that don’t mean that you’re a real man.’
Don’t point that thing at me.
Don’t point that thing at me.
Don’t point that thing at me.
WHAT’LL I DO WITHOUT YOU
I take disasters in my stride, they don’t upset me,
And those that mean me harm are sorry that they met me,
But what’ll I do without you?
Do without you?
What’ll I do without you?
Yes do without you, do without you.
I’ll have to find someone else.
If time and tide and life conspire to defeat me,
I smile and carry on. I never let them beat me,
But what’ll I do without you?
What’ll I What’ll I Do without you?
What’ll I do without you?
What’ll I What’ll I Yes do without you, do without you.
I must find somebody else.
And if my seven senses, one by one, should leave me,
In the silent darkness I would be all right, believe me,
But what’ll I do without you?
What’ll I What’ll I Do without you?
What’ll I do without you?
What’ll I What’ll I Yes do without you, do without you.
I can’t find somebody else.
If that Dark Angel raises bony hands to clutch me,
I will not fear his sting If he decides to touch me,
But what’ll I do without you?
What’ll I What’ll I Do without you?
What’ll I do without you?
What’ll I What’ll I Yes do without you, do without you.
And so just what’ll I do without you?
What’ll I What’ll I Do without you?
Oh no but what’ll I do without you?
What’ll I What’ll I Yes do without you, do without you.
I don’t want anyone else.
GIANT HAND
I love you and you love me
Oh how happy we should be.
But there’s a voice in my ear
And it’s hard not to hear.
It seems to say that the universe is a giant hand
And the finger’s pointing straight at me.
Felt no famine, fought no war,
So much to be grateful for.
But there’s that voice in my ear
And it’s speaking so clear.
It says the universe is a giant fist and it holds me tight
And it’s shaking me away from you.
Giant Hand. Giant Hand.
Giant Hand. Giant Hand.
There’s a flaming face in the fire,
There’s a sinister sign in the sky,
There’s a finger tracing my name
In letters a thousand miles high.
No fights, no arguments,
Every cause to be content.
There’s just that voice in my ear
But it fills me with fear.
It says the universe is a giant hand and the finger points
And you turn and walk away from me.
Giant Hand. Giant Hand.
Giant Hand. Giant Hand.
There’s a flaming face in the fire,
There’s a sinister sign in the sky,
There’s a finger tracing my name
In letters a thousand miles high.
I NEVER LOVED YOU ANYHOW
The gates are chained
And the tanks are drained
And there is no cause to linger.
There’s a long black car
With the door ajar,
There’s a diamond on her finger.
I never loved you anyhow…
I never loved you anyhow…
The crew all smiled
‘Cause I’m going wild
As fast as I am able,
But they can’t talk to me
About philosophy
When I’m dancing on the table.
I never loved you anyhow…
I never loved you anyhow…
The crew all say
That since I’ve been away
Only my eyes look older.
I don’t take no lip,
I run a real tight ship
Got a parrot on my shoulder.
I never loved you anyhow…
I never loved you anyhow..
I don’t care, I really don’t care.
I’m doing so much better without you.
I know it’s not what I said at the time.
I never give you a second thought.
I never loved you anyhow…
I never loved you anyhow…
I never loved you anyhow…
GOD SAVE THE TZAR
Address the nation
From the station,
A new Administration.
God save the Tzar.
You obey ’em
Just the same
But you can use his Christian name.
God save the Tzar.
No point explaining
That’s how things are,
No use complaining,
God save the Tzar.
You brought a
Reporter
To say the queues were shorter.
God save the Tzar.
Share the canteen
With the tea-ladies.
They come by train, you’ve got Mercedes’.
God save the Tzar.
No point explaining
That’s how things are,
No use complaining,
God save the Tzar.
Nothing changes,
Nothing changes,
Nothing changes,
Except the faces of the men in charge.
(“…. A revolution of peace,
A revolution of equality,
A revolution with a human face,
A revolution I will not allow to fail …”)
Oh what a shame.
Oh what a pity.
Everything must be passed by the Committee.
God save the Tzar.
Yes, to the breast;
No, to the nipple.
They know what’s best for us little people.
God save the Tzar.
No point explaining
That’s how things are,
No use complaining,
God save the Tzar.
Plus ça change,
Plus ça change,
Plus ça change,
Plus c’est Ia même chose.
We had a feeling
That’s who you are.
No use concealing,
Your mask is peeling,
Slowly revealing
The Tzar.
JIMMY-JIMMY
| I know that car looks fine, But it’s not yours, it’s mine. Remember what that magistrate said, She’ll send you down next time. She’s giving you up. She’s giving you up. |
|
| You don’t want to take those blues, | Jimmy-Jimmy |
| You know that stuff’s bad news | Jimmy-Jimmy |
| Remember what the hospital said | |
| And stick to your Special Brews. | Jimmy-Jimmy |
| They’re giving you up. | Jimmy-Jimmy-Jimmy |
| They’re giving you up, James. | Jimmy-Jimmy-Jimmy |
| Hitch that ride Back to East Kilbride. It’s dead and alive But it can’t be worse than Kilburn. |
|
| Now I know you like to fight, | Jimmy-Jimmy |
| Such fun to kick and bite. | Jimmy-Jimmy |
| But you pick on men much bigger than you | |
| Who are only trying to be polite. | Jimmy-Jimmy |
| Oh we’re giving you up. | Jimmy-Jimmy-Jimmy |
| I mean we’re giving you up, Jim. | Jimmy-Jimmy-Jimmy |
| Now when you’re in trouble with the law, | Jimmy |
| And they ask you what you do it for, | Jimmy |
| Just tell ‘em video nasties led you astray | |
| But you’ll never do it anymore. | Jimmy-Jimmy |
| Because you’ve given it up. | Jimmy-Jimmy-Jimmy |
| Just say ‘I’ve given it up, sir’. | |
| Poor little mite, Father Pat was right, If you’d only been bright You could have joined the army. Givin’ it up. Givin’ it up. Givin’ it up. Givin’ it up. |
A PLACE OF YOUR OWN
Seventeen or Eighteen
And it’s time to leave home.
Here are fresh young fields to plough
And wild oats to be sown
In a place of your own.
Thirty-two, Thirty-three,
And you’re seldom alone,
So you hide behind your eyes
From the kids and the phone
In a place of your own.
Eighty-four, Eighty-five,
Can’t get blood from a stone.
You won’t mind when they come,
Lay that flesh, lay that bone
In a place of your own.
THE JUDGE RIDES AGAIN
You tell me ‘Keep an open mind’. Oh, please …
I look best in a bonnet buzzing with bees.
I don’t care what clever Dicks say,
I’ll keep my idées firmly fixées.
The Judge rides again,
My hobby-horse between my knees.
I’m trying to ride the whirlwind, tame the gale.
I’m bumping into things, I’m parking in Braille.
Maybe I’m riding blind,
At least I know my own mind.
The Judge rides again,
My hobby-horse is hitting the trail.
Gee up, Silver,
Ride the whirlwind.
Yes, there’s a dozen points of view, old son,
That’s until you know the answer, then there’s just one.
True is true and lies are lies
And damn the Great British Compromise.
The Judge rides again,
And riding hobby-horses is fun.
You think I’m a beastly bore I s’pose it’s true.
Categorical, dogmatic, Pig-headed, Mule-ish. Help, I’m a zoo!
You put it down to middle age
‘Don’t set him off; don’t rattle his cage.’
The Judge rides again
His hobby-horse is galloping through.
You’re proud your mind is open wide.
You seize each new idea and stuff it inside.
You prove, beyond all doubt,
Garbage in means garbage out.
Higho Silver, Away! Scuse me, I gotta ride ..
Oh I gotta ride, oh I gotta ride, oh I gotta ride.
THE DYING OF THE LIGHT
At Parkhurst Prison on the Isle of Wight,
Jimmy-Jimmy learned to read and write.
He wrote a book called ‘The Criminal Neophyte: A Psychosocial View’.
Lord Longford made them set him free,
He got a Job with the BBC,
He’s now a Liberal MP.
Now would I lie to you?
The setting sun sets all aflame,
And what became of Whatshisname?
Ray and Val are still in debt
But you shouldn’t write them off just yet.
They’re working for a chap they met
At a Masonic Ladies’ Night.
Now Ray looks tough and Val looks cute
With the mobile phone and the power suit.
They’re selling time share apartments near Beirut,
Ray says “There’s a tunnel at the end of the light.”
But oh the night is falling.
They’re fading from our sight,
The shadows thickly crawling,
The dying of the light.
Me? I got a brand new hobby-horse
About World financial intercourse.
I’ll talk; but I’m an unattributable source,
Don’t want to die quite yet.
And my friend Fay moved to Aberdeen
With an Apple Mac and a fax machine.
She publishes a magazine
Called ‘Circle Dance Gazette’.
She said we had to stay in touch.
She never liked me all that much.
The Tzar’s doing what he does best,
He’s raised his flag in Bucharest.
It’s got more holes than an old string vest
But no-one seems to care.
‘Cause he’s the first of the gentle, new-age Tzars,
But you must attend his seminars,
And we all have flags with the Ring of Stars
And we wave them in the air.
But oh the night is falling.
He’s fading from our sight,
The shadows thickly crawling,
The dying of the light.
The darkness, all pervading,
Hides every face you’ve known,
But briefly, as it’s fading,
Each face looks like your own.
I must stop banging on this way
And work out what I’m trying to say.
The lives of everyone we’ve met
Are woven in a kind of net.
The twilight shows its silhouette
That’s hidden in the light of day.
But oh the night is falling.
It’s fading from our sight,
The shadows thickly crawling,
The dying of the light.
The darkness, all pervading,
Hides every face you’ve known,
But briefly, as it’s fading,
Each face looks like your own.
