Lyrics Spilt Beans - John Cooper Clarke, The Prime Time Suckers

Spilt Beans

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