| Shabby boy’s kept you up all night
|
| Oh sentimental drinkers
|
| Sing songs that end in fights about fights
|
| And they’ll swear to you
|
| That they just can’t help it
|
| That poem in their head
|
| That painting of your bed
|
| It must out
|
| Does time stand still when you cross the room
|
| Oh surely it must do
|
| When they write a song
|
| That goes on, and on about you
|
| Does your golden hair, fall in waves
|
| No mention of a spot
|
| Tantrum or tooth rot
|
| No not for them
|
| Just pearly smiles and Mona Lisa wiles
|
| For your coterie of stars
|
| Your barrel of charlatans
|
| Celebrate, and they will venerate
|
| Hold their heads in the morning glare
|
| For with some faint praise
|
| They will hold you gaze
|
| And dedicate
|
| It all to you
|
| Yeah dedicate it all to you
|
| Oh you live you life
|
| In black and white
|
| No subtlety for you
|
| No mercy for the muse
|
| It’s true
|
| Come in again number 10
|
| Your army of typewriters
|
| Your consequence of biters
|
| Won’t last long
|
| And life will burden you not
|
| Love will carry on with a thrust
|
| And they’ll swear to you
|
| That they just can’t help it
|
| That poem in their head
|
| That painting of your bed
|
| It must out
|
| Celebrate, and they will venerate
|
| Hold their heads in the morning glare
|
| For with some faint praise
|
| They will hold you gaze
|
| And dedicate
|
| It all to you
|
| Yeah dedicate it all to you |