Альбом Bob Geldof

Sha-la-la-la-la
Sha-la-la-la-lee
Sha-la-la-la-la
I feel free

When I woke up I was freezing
Shaking like a leaf
I was stuck up on a shelf
With the other guys in Room 19

Then the brain here right beside me
Speaking telepathically
Said "Hi, my name is Stalin
Glad to see you here in Room 19"

Yeah Tchaikovsky played the music
While Pasternak wrote poetry
As they sliced our brains to study
Why we ended up in Room 19

Well 'ol Sakharov was outraged
And said "Exactly what you mean?"
And Lenin said "There is no Heavan
So I can't believe in Room 19"

Set me free, free, free, etc.

Later on that evening when
I thought I'd had enough
I sat down in a restaurant and
Over powdered drugs
I ordered up some dew-soaked lettuce
Picked by virgin hands
Nestling on a bed of
Pearl encrusted clams
Well the waiter's name was Renee and
He told me how his aunt
Who had 47 children
And how they'd always planned
To grow the smallest vegetables in
All the kingdom's land
"They're poor," he said "but happy and
Well that's what really counts"
And every evening after
Their 20 hour day
They'd sleep content imagining
That restaurant far away
Where fat fucks in designer suits
Would order over deals
The smallest portions of these
Tiny morsels for their meals

Still the blood it clots
And the hearts get stricken
See everybody's searching for...that attitude chicken

My Porsche got stuck in traffic and
My girlfriend said get real
How dare you get me stuck here
How d'you think that made me feel
I got a Yamaha 5 Million
A bike was what I needed
With my name spelt on the number plate
Like Paul Revere on speed
Yes my girlfriend's name is Anne
But she says the K is silent
Put the H after the A or
She gets "rilly violent"
She wears designer jewels
And she's got designer clothes
Which go with her designer mouth
Eyes, ass, tits and nose

And she does another line
And she's talking finger lickin'
And that's my signal to send our for...that attitude chicken

A special breed
That fills the need
Is bred to feed
The endless greed

Yes it's poultry time
For all you little kittens
Let's get hip and do...attitude chicken

Now when she comes she screams designer screams
At precisely the right moment
Loud enough so the neighbours hear
And think I'm really potent
She's considerate like that
Which is why I guess I love her
And by that I hope you don't think
That I am trying to smother
Her uniqueness or her freedom
To find some other lovers
And express herself sexually
In attempting to discover
The inner self that every modern woman
In the land
Has a democratic right to
Which I as modern man
Of course respect and understand
And indeed can empathise with
Appreciate, articulate
Feel for and sympathise with
And any reference I might make
To her sexually
Has been vetted and approved of
by the Woman's Commissary

Still the plans get hatched
And the plots the thicken
See everybody's looking for...that attitude chicken

Neatly packaged politics
For all the little minds
it's the special interest lobby
For these multi-cultured times
The Politically Correct
Are the Nazis of our time
When it's the freedom of ideas
That makes man civilised

Let's drag out the old scapegoat
If he's still alive and kicking
And go riding off in glory for that...attitude chicken

Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble
Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck
Attitude chicken

I'd rather be a hammer than a nail

___________________________________________
*written by Bob Geldof
*taken from the album "The Happy Club"

Let the soil be your soft pillow
The grassy blankets keep you warm
Let the leafy branches cool you
And the blue skies keep you from all harm
Let the wind keep fresh your memory
Let it blow across the land
Let the rain refresh your spirit
Let the damp earth hold your hand

Memory is sometimes perfect
Sometimes clearer than the light
You can wade and wallow through it
In the hollows of the night

And I can see your white and tired face
Pale ghosts flitting through empty streets
There are Christs here of another faith
And no Christ will be beneath them

Now the evening sun is racing on
Lying flat on wintry fields
It carries on its restless winds
The sounds of fifty church bells peeling

And all the bells you've ever heard
Are ringing out for what you've done
Like all the dreams in all the world
You're shining reckless like the sun

And in the moment of your madness
In the center of that storm
You understood it takes the same time
For man to die as to be born
Someday, maybe
When it gets them down
They will understand your bodies
Have pulled them up
As they went down

And all the hope in all the world is weighing down on top of you

So come on
Show me what to do
I'll follow you
Down this road
And try to learn from you
This may not mean a lot to you
It means a lot to me

Your breath will still be breathing softly
In a nighttime filled with stars
Drifting like a dream in sleep
Softly beating in your heart

This may not mean a lot to you
It means a lot to me

Everybody's got a hole to fill
It doesn't matter if your name is Jack or Jill
Everybody's got a hole that they need filled

She wakes up
Still looking lost
And says what's the point of this
And I say not a lot
Still she gets up
And through her weary smile
She tries to find the strength
To carry on a while
Two days ago
She wrote away
To a mail order guru
Her postal sage
Who promised answers
By return of mail
Explaining why
Sometimes it seems
The world has failed
He wrote back

I left the pub last night
And I was just in time
To see them break my windows
And slash my tyres
I'm a liberal I thought
As I felt my anger rise
I was desperately searching
For my feminine side
But my feminine side
Was on her morning coffee break
I beat the shit out of one
And boy, I felt great
Hey Bob, he said don't get annoyed
We all find different ways
To fill up the void
And I said yeah
Everybody's got a hole to fill
Everybody's got a hole to fill
t doesn't matter if your name is Jack or Jill
Everybody's got a hole that they need filled
(x 5)

Over there across the river,
Comin' in over the sea,
Flyin' in the salt sky,
Washed up on the beach,
Over and across the sand dunes,
Up among the broken reeds,
Up there past the rushes,
In among the marshy reeds,
Way up in the branches,
Higher up than the trees,
If you listen hard you can the sounds
Blowin' in on the breeze,
Sayin' "Come back, Baby come back.
"Come back, Baby come back."

There's a place you can go when you're empty,
The older you are and you get,
If you concentrate you'll catch up,
But sometimes you have to forget.
And as the years make hearing hard,
There's a secret place that I know,
Take my hand across this blasted land,
We can listen to them sigh and moan,
Whisper, "Come back, Baby come back.
"Come back, Baby come back."

Where is your culture? It's been stolen.
Where are your ideals? They've been stolen.
Where is your nation? It's been stolen.
Where is your language? Gone.
Where are your traditions? Robbed.
Where is your future? It's been stolen.
Who are you now? We don't know.
We're nothing now, we are gone.
But whispered secret voices,
Who we have already withdrawn
We are shadows of what we were.
We're long, long shadows.
And in that shadows is a shape,
And in that shape is a name,
And where we hide it is dark,
But in the dark it is warm,
We are born in this dark,
And we're safe.

When it's time,
We'll come again,
When it's time,
We'll come back in,
When it's time,
We'll come again,
When it's time,
We'll come again,
Baby come back,
Come back.
Baby come back.

Gone, gone, gone.
Gone, gone, gone.
Gone, gone, gone.

All the birdies swimming in the sea
All the fishies hanging in the trees
All the people down on their knees
Rise up as one and sing
And in the middle of my troubled sleep
My hippy angel came to me
Saying chill out, be cool, stay free
I said I'm not sure what you mean
And she said

Love is all around
It's coming up from under the ground
Live like radiation
Radiate across the entire nation
Love for you and me
Moving out across the EEC
Love it goes so far
Travelling out across the USSR
Loving going all the way
Stretching right across the USA
Love in Asia Minor
Africa, India, Australia and China
Come on

All the people in their cardboard boxes
The old and lonely in their tower blockses
The frightened ones who need some calm
My hippy angel said we all must chant
And all the birdies swimming in the sea
And all the people hanging from the trees
And all the fishies down on their knees
Rise up as one and sing
Love is all around

She must be mad.

Every morning
'Bout the break of day
Every evening
She comes up and she says
Na, Na, Na....

She gets up
Then she goes outside
She don't know what she does
But it feels alright
She says I
I'm a sunny girl
Yeah I'm feeling good
And it's a shiny world
Well here she comes
Na, Na, Na....

She feels good
She feels great today
When I asked she said
"Hey, it's the Happy Club way"
I don't know
I don't know what to do
But I know if I could
Then I would do too
Na, Na, Na....

I feel great
I feel fine today
I joined the Happy Club
And the Happy Club says
I feel good
I feel great today
Now I know what to say
Na, Na, Na...

___________________________________________
*written by Bob Geldof and Karl Wallinger
*taken from the album entitled "The Happy Club"

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Too late
It's too late God
Didn't you get my message
Too late
It's too late God
Didn't you get my call
How long
How long con
Combien ans avant mon respond
How long
Un a cent
Un a cent a mort (or more)

Time flies
Like a brick
Sliding down my face like jelly roll
Try to hide
My belly slide
Half-way to being old

Things you do
Things you don't do
Things you do or don't will haunt you
It's harder to
Start anew
And I wouldn't if I could do

Fell in love
Fell out of love
Melted down like Chernobillyboil
Fell in love my turtledove
Turtles fly too slow

Incarnate
Re-incarnate
Incarnate me in my muddy hole
Won't come back
As a rat
Wouldn't if I could do

There I was
Here I am
A responsible citizen
A pillar of
All that's good
Put myself to sleep

Hormone twitch
Get the itch
Headfirst into male-o-menopause
Like a twat
Dye my thatch
Get an eighteen year old girl

Friends of mine
Leave their wives
For a top-down B.M.W
They seemed so sane yesterday
Life is really strange

Here we go
Here we go
Singing like some soccer hooligan
Call you back
When I'm at
70 years old

_______________________________________________________
*written by Bob Geldof, Rick Smith, and Karl Hyde
*taken from the album entitled "The Happy Club"

I'm driving on the road that Hitler built
I'm driving on the road that Hitler built
This is the place where history stopped to shit
And I'm driving on the road that Hitler built

I'm driving on the road that Stalin built next
There's more holes in Joe's than Adolf's
But what would you expect
I wonder what the Germans did
To fall from history's nest
And I'm driving on the road that Stalin built next

On the roads of Germany
On the roads of Germany
These are the roads of the 20th century
And there's blood and steel and leather
Mixed into that concrete
When you're riding on the roads of high Germany

I'm cruising on Konrad's Autobahn
Konrad's got a Beetle and Ludwig a Trabant
And Willy's got a Merc and Erich's got a tank
But that road only took me to a concrete dead end trap

We're driving on the road that never ends
All roads lead to exit signs and then they start again
And Helmut's building on the wheel of history as it spins
And history never ends 'cos it's too busy beginning

On the roads of Germany
On the roads of Germany
These are the roads of the 20th century
And there's blood and steel and leather
Mixed into that concrete
When you're riding on the roads of high Germany

And I'm walking in a Black Forest lane
And I step into the trees for to get some leafy shade
And I fall asleep in some dappled sunlit glade
And I dream and in my dream I am lost and afraid
And it grows dark, it grows damp and I shiver and I'm cold
And deep inside the forest something obscenely old
Stirs and shakes and comes awake and in it's putrid pit
It belches and it squirms in its own dirt and filth
And slithers on it's stinking slime while everything holds its breath
And its slow thighs, blank eyes pitiless as the past
Reborn from its fitful sleep, its hour come again at last
Slouches towards its own Jerusalem to be re-cast
And in my horror I recognise myself in it as it passes
Familiar and repulsive and as old as mortal man
This philosophy of brutality, ignorance and hate
Buried deep in everyone waiting to escape
And you must kill it before it kills you and everything in its wake
And I take my knife and I kill it, and it screams and then I wake
And I'm terrified and horrified and in this mortal state
I stagger toward the curbside of the 4 lane motorway
"Drive" I say and we drive and soon I stop shaking
But I can't stop thinking 'bout these dreams and revelations
Except it's not a dream it's real and it's of our own making
And it's not just Germany it's everywhere and the whole world is a-quaking
As we turn onto this road we all seem to be taking
And you can't help thinking these things on the roads of Germany

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I got off the 45A somewhere around the new estates which were
advertised as being in Killarney but were really in just a field.
And I was going to the house at the top of the world.

Brian Carroll lived around here somewhere. And after school
I'd sometimes go back to his place and sing with his brother
Dermot. He knew all the Motown songs. Sometimes I think about
him and I heard that he's a civil servant in Cork which is
funny for a guy who used to sing Motown songs.

Soon I'd come to the Leopardstown dual carriageway. It was the
first motorway in Ireland and it was a 100 yards long. I liked
the name. I don't remember a town being there and I never saw
no leopards. But I had to cross it anyway to get to the house
at the top of the world.

Everyone thought the dual carriageway was the great and modern and
every Saturday the bowsies, yahoos, guttersnipes and corner boys
would empty out of the pubs and scream like wild Saturday night
leopards drunk and fast and delirious for that blessed 100 yards.
People were always getting killed.

Well I ducked and weaved and it was fun and I made it over and
up the small road, past the Silver Tassie, along the river bank,
past the Proddie church and off left up the lane to the house
at the top of the world where you lived.

Your mother in her sensible shoes and you father in his tea-cosy
wooly hat, bright eyes and roomful of old hoarded yellowing
newspapers and 1920's photos of the Burren and you busy in the
kitchen half-glad to see me, half nervous with your parents around.

You'd take me for a walk around the field and down the lane and
when the evening fell your father would light the peat fire and
show me pictures of the West taken in the 20's and then he'd
go to bed. And the night was full of you and the evening and the
peat fire in the house on the top of the world.

And then it was time to go and risk death again in the dark of
the Leopardstown dual carriageway.

And on the way back I felt I could just jump the whole bloody thing.