I’ll give you the grid ref, you might like to goĬould this be heaven, would that be the Severnįollowing a commendable stab at “Sylvia”, Helen shouted at the guitarist:
To the east Brokeback Mountain, to the west Benny Hill On touching the trig point, I found my thrill Your optimism strikes me like junk mail addressed to the dead Were the goalkeeper’s gloves to you tossed? You never hear of folk getting knocked on the bonceĪlthough there was a drive-by shouting once There’s a man with a mullet going mad with a mallet in Millets And he’s also a fan of making puns that wouldn’t even have occurred to anyone else… He’s seen me, and we both realise that we’re going to have to put into operationīlackwell has two particular skills as a wordsmith – first off, although not displayed as often as his humour, he can have a brilliant way with metaphor and phrasing. Is somebody I know, but not like a brother So I’m walking down the road, and heading towards me Hotly tipped, highly anticipated and slated for release” Though yes, we’re really excited about going back into the studio Its aesthetic pretext is the entertainment of those who are bored Its moral purpose is the acquisition of money
“Well of course music these days is the slave of mammon, and as a result has become corrupt and shallow I want to perch myself halfway up a metal staircase with the Polydor girls and talk about meerkats Don’t be calling him Fred or Archie, with all its cheeky but lovable working class scamp connotations, unless you really do have plans for him to spend his life in William Hill’s waiting for them to weigh in at Newton Abbot. Bit of advice: call him Rupert, it fits, and besides it’s a good name. (The Light At The End of the Tunnel (Is The Light Of An Oncoming Train))Ī woman who described herself as “A little bit Bridget, a little bit Ally, a little bit Sex And The City” and chose to call her baby boy Fred as a childishly rebellious attempt at a clever reaction to those who might have expected her to call him Julian or Rupert. Where the cocaine is fair trade, and frequently displayed She said it was the place she needs to be She stayed with me until she moved to Notting Hill Miserable to who? I quite like a bit of drizzle, so stick to the facts! Opinionated weather forecasters who tell me it’s going to be a “miserable day” Granted, bull’s a double and an out – but I know that they don’t know Worse than this, though, is when cheers are raised for the bull No-one’s scoring, and there’s too much chat between each throw Not long now before lollipop men are called Darrenĭarts in soap operas: oh so wrong, oh so wrong Actually, don’t.Įven men with steel hearts love to see a dog on the pitchĭo you switch the kitchen light off with your chin? And if you’ve never listened to HMHB, in the Spotify age there’s really no excuse not to start.
SHALLOW LYRICS JAR OF HEARTS LYRICS ARCHIVE
If you want to browse more Blackwell excellence, there’s now – finally – a pretty much complete archive online, courtesy of this excellent site (a far cry from the days when searching for “…Dukla Prague Away Kit” lyrics would give you reference to something called “Sub-U-Dome”). Grouped into three loose categories, with ten in each, I’m sure I could come up with thirty different ones on another day, but here are the first batch to occur to me here and now. In honour of the band’s recently-announced summer gig in London (their first visit for almost three years), and the fact that I’d eerily been listening to a bunch of tracks with a view to putting a blog post like this together before said gig was announced, have a list of thirty reasons why Half Man Half Biscuit songwriter Nigel Blackwell is, to my mind, this country’s greatest living poet and satirist.
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