English Boy(Live From The Brooklyn Academy Of Music, New York / USA / 7th August 1993)

歌詞

RUTH: Hello, Ruth Streeting here once again with "Streeting's Street", where you get the word straight from the street. This is the show that dishes the dirt on the dirt. Strictly no rock star bullshit on my show. I don't review pop anymore, I talk about anything I like, or anything I hate. Talking of which, remember that clapped-out 60's hell-raiser Ray High? Rumor has it the sad old lush can't do it anymore... I mean make records. I'm an English boy I was brought up right Hold me down And I will bite I know no fear I serve with joy I'm proud to be here An English boy I feel like a stray dog Blurred like a movie You say you've come to arrest me But you're just trying to test me I'm bored with your prejudice Spreading like a fever Your promises to train me Are just attempts to restrain me I am an English boy Precisely made You can pin me down I am not afraid I show no fear I will serve with joy Proud to be here An English boy Use me like a headline Cut pieces to pieces I'm black on the tube line Red on the touch line Freezing up the future Stopping every stopwatch You say we're moving like an oil slick Thicker than a house brick I'm an English boy I was brought up right If you raise your dress Then I will bite My voice is clear I got perfect poise Good to be down here With all the English boys And I don't know where I am now Or where I'm gonna go I keep going round and round on the circle line Like some demented kinda commuter Trying to avoid paying for my ticket I'm a lost soul I read about myself in the newspapers I'm a pig I'm a thug I've got nowhere to go but down RUTH: I hear his manager, Rastus Knight, is pulling what's left of his hair out. The only thing Ray's writing these days are large checks to his booze merchants. He's a serious recluse now. Hasn't seen daylight or another woman since his old lady walked out two years ago. Poor little sausage, brooding in that twenty-two room glass mansion. Life's a bitch, and so am I. Feel like I'm kicking at a dead man Kicking in the chorus I'm broken by hatred While politicians just ignore us You never gave me any value You didn't give me any reason There's no tools and no toys For any English boys I'm an English boy I was brought up right Hold me down And I will bite I know no fear I will serve with joy Proud to be here An English boy, yeah I'm an English boy, yeah I'm an English boy I'm an English boy No tools, no toys for any English boy English boy English boy English boy RAY: Look, I need something more than playing empty halls for you and your fucking Freemason cronies. RASTUS: What you need Ray is a kick up the bloody ass! I'm running out of your money! If you must be introspective, at least do it in public. Millions want to share in your loneliness and your misery. You'll have to put out something new. Soon, you'll have no choice. You'll have to try. RAY: The press slaughtered me, Rastus. I need to be back in control of my own existence. Until then, leave off. RASTUS: What are you up to Ray, eh? What keeps you amused? How do you stand this solitude after all that bloody fun? What are you now? You're mature. RAY: Mature?! I'm not mature, I'm ... I'm just derelict! Look, inside I'm the same as I ever was.