Spilt Beans - John Cooper Clarke, The Prime Time Suckers

I told you once — don’t trust men

They’ll do you down — and they’ll do it again

When all the dead body heavyness splits your spine

What’s your game — what’s his line

Late home — no TV

Walk with the zombies — talk to the sea

Sand in your shoes — money in your jeans

It’s no good crying over — spilt beans

All the fancy Dan’s at the Palais de Dance

Offer you assistance in the firm’s vans

With the stupid stories and the bad dream lovers

Clean socks — love their mothers

And the ghost train trashed the tunnel of love

Fingers bleed — better wear your gloves

And wave on wave of Germoline

Says no good crying over — spilt beans

In the mindless misfits mohair sweaters

Poison pens and begging letters

Finger bells — ding ding ding

Like they was in some sort of sling

Paidback — with just one look

A prayer wheel and a big fat book

Tells you not to be clever but clean

And close to the real meaning of the beans

The Three Stooges — the four just men

The Magnificent Seven — the terrible ten

Lord Rockinghams Eleven and the Famous Five

Three Men in a Boat — the good lady wives

Twelve apostles and the iddlers three

Ten Green Bottles and the Three Degrees

And all the oval teenage beauty queens

Crying about everything but — spilt beans

The ring of fear — that’s the key

To the anorexia housemaid’s knee

Who made groovy gravy oh mother of meat

Since we’ve wed all I do is eat

Too fat to fuck — sorry about that

I got a scrotum fitted with a thermostat

Switch in the kitchen — giggle and scream

Don’t let me hear you — spilt beans