Jethro Tull Album

Sitting on a park bench
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot is running down his nose
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Hey Aqualung!

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Hey Aqualung!
Feeling like a dead duck
spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
Hey, Aqualung!

Sun streaking cold
an old man wandering lonely.
Taking time
the only way he knows.
Neck hurting bad,
as he bends to pick a dog end
He goes down to the bog and
warms his feet.
Feeling alone
the army's up the road
salvation a la mode and
a cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend
don't ya start away uneasy
you poor old sot
you see it's only me.

Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze
when the ice that clings on to your beard
was screaming agony
Hey, did you snatch your rattling last breaths
with deep-sea diver sounds,
and the flowers bloom like
madness in the spring.

Sun streaking cold
an old man wandering lonely.
Taking time
the only way he knows.
Neck hurting bad,
as he bends to pick a dog end
He goes down to the bog and
warms his feet.
Feeling alone
the army's up the road
salvation a la mode and
a cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend
don't ya start away uneasy
you poor old sot
you see it's only me.

De de, de de, de de, de de, de de,
De de, de de, de de, de de, de de
Aqualung my friend
don't ya start away uneasy
you poor old sot
you see it's only me.

Sitting on a park bench
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot's running down his nose
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Hey Aqualung!

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Hey Aqualung!
Feeling like a dead duck
spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
Hey, Aqualung!

Who would be a poor man, a beggar man, a thief -
If he had a rich man in his hand.
And who would steal the candy from a laughing baby's mouth
If he could take it from the money man.
Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again.
She signs no contract but she always plays the game.
She dines in Hampstead village on expense accounted gruel,
and the jack-knife barber drops her off at school.
Laughing in the playground-gets no kicks from little boys:
would rather make it with a letching grey.
Or maybe her attention, is drawn by Aqualung
who watches through the railings as they play.
Cross-eyed Mary finds it hard to get along.
She's a poor man's rich girl and she'll do it for a song.
She's a rich man's stealer but her favour's good and strong:
she's the Robin Hood of Highgate-helps the poor man get along.

On Preston platform do your soft shoe shuffle dance.
Brush away the cigarette ash that's falling down your pants
And then you sadly wonder does the nurse treat your old man the way she should.
She made you tea, asked for you autograph -
what a laugh.

As I did walk by Hampstead Fair
I came upon Mother Goose - So I turned her loose -
she was screaming.
And a foreign student said to me - was it really true there are elephants and lions too in Piccadilly Circus?

Walked down by the bathing pond to try and catch some sun.
Saw at least a hundred schoolgirls sobbing into handkerchiefs as one.
I don't believe they knew I was a schoolboy.

And a bearded lady said to me - If you start your raving, and your misbehaving -
you'll be sorry.
Then the chicken-fancier came to play -
with his long red beard (and his sister's weird:
She drives a lorry).

Laughed down by the putting green - I popped 'em in their holes.
Four and twenty labourers were labouring - digging up their gold.
I don't believe they knew that I was Long John Silver.

Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds
in his jet-black 'mac (which he won't give back) -
stole it from a snowman.

Wond'ring aloud -
how we feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset -
my hand in her hair.
We are our own saviours
as we start both out hearts beating life
into each other.

Wond'ring aloud -
will the years treat us well.
As she floats in the kitchen,
I'm tasting the smell
of toast as the butter runs.
Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
and I shake my head.
And it only the giving
that makes you what you are.

Take you to the cinema
and leave you in a Wimpy Bar -
you tell me that we've gone too far -
come running up to me.
Make the scene at Cousin Jack's -
leave him to put the bottles back -
mends his glasses that I cracked -
Well that one's up to me.
Buy a silver cloud to ride -
pack the tennis club inside -
trouser cuffs hung far too wide-
well it was up to me.
Tyres down on your bicycle -
your nose feels like an icicle-
the yellow fingered smoky girl
is looking up to me.
Well I'm a common working man
with a half of bitter - bread and jam
and if it pleases me I'll put one on you man -
when the copper fades away.
The rainy season comes to pass -
the day-glo pirate sinks at last -
and if I laughed a bit too fast.
Well it was up to me.

Oh people - what have you done -
locked Him in His golden cage.
Made Him bend to your religion -
Him resurrected from the grave.
He is the god of nothing -
If that's all you can see.
You are the god of everything
He's inside you and me.
So lean upon Him gently
and don't call on Him to save you
from your social graces
and the sins you used waive.
The bloody Church of England -
in chains of history -
requests you earthly presence at
the vicarage for tea.
And the graven image you - know - who -
with His plastic crucifix -
he's got him fixed -
confuses me as to who and where and why -
as to how he gets his kicks.
Confessing to the endless sin -
the endless whining sounds.
You'll be praying till next Thursday to
all the gods that you can count.

Our father high in heaven-smile down upon your son.
who's busy with his money games - his women and his gun
Oh jesus save me!

And the unsung Western hero, killed an Indian or three,
and then he made his name in Hollywood
to set the white man free.
Oh jesus save me!

If jesus saves-well, He'd better save Himself
from the gory glory seekers who use His name in death.
Oh jesus save me!

Well I saw him in the city and on the mountains of the moon -
His cross was rather bloody -
He could hardly roll His stone.
Oh jesus save me.

Well the lush separation unfolds you -
and the products of wealth
push you along on the bow wave
of their spiritless undying selves.
And you press on God's waiter your last dime -
as he hands you the bill.
And you spin in the slipstream -
tideless - unreasoning -
paddle right out of the mess.

In the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath
Runs the all time loser
Headlong to his death

He feels the pistons scraping
Steam breaking on his brow
Old Charlie stole the handle and
The train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He sees his children jumping off
At the stations one by one
His woman and his best friend
In bed and having fun

He's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees
Old Charlie stole the handle and
The train it won't stop going
No way to slow down, yeah

He hears the silence howling
Catches angels as they fall
And the all time winner
Has got him by the balls

He picks up Gideons Bible
Open at page one
God He stole the handle and
The train won't stop going
No way to slow down

When I was young and they packed me off to school
and the taught me how not to play the game.
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success
or if they said that I was just a fool.
So I left there in the morning with their God tucked underneath my arm -
their half - assed smiles and the book of rules.
And I asked this God a question and by way of firm reply
He said - I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
before I'm through, I'd like to say my prayers -
I don't believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong -
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
and have all the Bishops harmonise these lines -
How do you dare to tell me that I'm my Father's son
when that was just an accident of Birth.
I'd rather look around me - compose a better song
'cos that's the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me
as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
I don't believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong -
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.