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John Cooper Clarke
John Cooper Clarke


Background information
Born January 25, 1949
Born place Salford, England
Genre(s)
Years active 1977—present



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  J  →  John Cooper Clarke  →  Albums  →  Me and My Big Mouth

John Cooper Clarke Album


Me and My Big Mouth (1981)
1981
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The milky way she walks around
All feet firmly off the ground
Two worlds collide, two worlds collide
Here comes the future bride
Gimme a lift to the lunar base
I wanna marry a monster from outer space

I fell in love with an alien being
Whose skin was jelly - whose teeth were green
She had the big bug eyes and the death-ray glare
Feet like water wings - purple hair
I was over the moon - I asked her back to my place
Then I married the monster - from outer space

The days were numbered - the nights were spent
In a rent free furnished oxygen tent
When a cyborg chef served up moon beams
Done super rapid on a laser beam
I needed nutrition to keep up the pace
When I married the monster from outer space

We walked out - tentacle in hand
You could sense that the earthlings would not understand
They'd go.. nudge nudge ...when we got off the bus
Saying it's extra-terrestial - not like us
And it's bad enough with another race
But fuck me... a monster ...from outer space

In a cybernetic fit of rage
She pissed off to another age
She lives in 1999
With her new boyfriend - a blob of slime
Each time I see her translucent face
I remember the monster from outer space

. . .


Here he comes now....

The fast fingers, the expert eyes
And the same old 'how'd you do'
Disgust is just his dumb disguise
He wants a word with you

His problems are the end
His mouth needs exercise
The last thing I need is another friend
I don't want to be nice

I don't want to be nice
I think it's clever to swear
Better seek some sound advice
Better look elsewhere

Your face is an obvious case
You shouldn't put it about
This is neither the time nor place
To sort these matters out

What you see is what you get
You only live twice
A friend in need is a friend in debt
I don't want to be nice

No we never met before
I'm very happy to say
Far from perfect strangers
I'd like to keep it that way

I'm not your psychoanalyst
I'd rather talk to mice
You're so easy to resist
I don't want to be nice

I don't want to be nice
I think it's clever to swear
Better seek some sound advice
Better look elsewhere

Your face is an obvious case
You shouldn't put it about
This is neither the time nor place
To sort these matters out

What you see is what you get
You only live twice
A friend in need is a friend in debt
I don't want to be nice

. . .


The windows are frigidaire icebergs
Frozen in prickly heat
The vanishing cream victims
Are drip-fed amnesia neat
Where the test card melodies warm you
In powder blue pseudo Bel Air
Germs and flies alarm you
They whisper the word expelair
The eyes of the night sub-zero
Peep through the windows of sleep
Everyone's husband is a hero
And ghost insurance men creep
Through the valley of the long-lost women
Dreaming under the driers
Eating and sleeping and slimming
According to what is required
They walk through three-colour brochures
Depicting palms on aqua-marine
In the half-built hotels out of focus
They're mending the vending machines
Where sixty Italian love songs
Are sung to a million guitars
They lick their frozen drinks on sticks
Among the men with important cigars
Numb to the digital numbers
None two three
Four five six
Lost in a far away rhumba
Where the oil-drums are beaten with sticks
She left her heart in Frisco
She left her room in a mess
She left her hat in the disco
She never left her address
The diving board springs to assistance
Throws you off from the shore
Telephones ring in the distance
There are lifts getting stuck between floors
A truck turns into a cul-de-sac
Springtime turns to ice
Rucksacks turn into hunchbacks
Musclemen turn into mice
In a painless panorama
With its perpendicular might
The women are going bananas
And disappearing from sight

...what do the girls say?

. . .


36 hours in the mystery chair
36 hours in the quizzical glare
Of the naked lights and the visible hardware

Another bloke is leaving in a wheelchair
No joke, here comes the punchline
Lights out... sack time

Steel shoes on the stone cold floor
I hear the screws screaming in the corridor
The bad news and the slammin' of the door
The "what did i do's" and the "what am I here for's"
Shades of doubt fall deeper than the slag mine
Lights out... sack time

Hard cheese and a chest complaint
One man sneezes, another two faint
Sufferin' jesus, this ain't my venue
The man through the mesh says it's time to crash
The creeping flesh of a nervous rash
The last man to make a dash
Is on the menu

Here's the boss with a mouthful of emeralds
A maltese cross and a pocket full of chemicals
Jack frost snappin' at the genitals
Wash my cosh it's a visit from the general
Rule out sub section nine
Lights out... sack time

The killer gorilla with the perspex hat
Says I say so... and that's that
Take out the dog bring back the cat
Scrape out the cafeteria rats
Stab the rabbit feed the swine lights out... sack time

Time flies ... slides down the wall
Part of me dies under my overalls
I close my eyes and a woman calls
From a nightmare
The chronic breath of the dead collides
With a rattle of the waste disposal slides
No flowers for the man who dies
In the bombscare
He's in the frigidaire

Freezing in these paper jeans
Standing stiff in a dead man's dream
Tobacco barons and the closet queen
Walk on the walls... wank in the beans
Shave... shit... a shower and a shoe shine
That's it... sack time
Everybody looks like ernest borgnine
That's it

36 hours on the battery farm
A blindfold and a broken arm
I got the cold shoulder sleepin' in the barn
Whose barn... what barn... their barn
The old soldier and his old-world charm
Lift that weight, drag that woodbine
Lights out mate sackarooni time
Lights out... sack time

. . .


Look who it isn't, it's, the 'It Man' maybe.
The physical description fits, 'It Man' baby.
You had a Julia Caeser haircut,
Middle market leisure wear,
But don't let him be your teddy bear...
Could be 'It Man' ...baby

You want women, wall-to-wall
'It Man' got.
Meet the man who started it all,
'It Man' got.

What's it to to be then John?
A brunetto, or a bleeding blonde?
The tell-tale tongue of a two-ton taste bomb,
Is the kiddy coming on?
Like the 'It Man' baby.

Take the sugar. Dump the crumbs.
It's a mugs game.
Take some bugger for a lump sum,
And bugger off to Spain.

An endless stream of fizzy drinks for 'It Man.'
Who's dentures gleam like sovereign cuff-links,
'It Man' baby

Who drove the van?
Some all purpose also ran.
When the shit hits the fan,
Who's gonna carry the can?
For 'It-man.'

He's after all your stuff
His motto is... 'receive.'
Too much is not enough now,
Let's not be naive

Drip-dry, zip-fly, 'It Man.'
Kiss the girls and make them die, 'It Man' baby
Underneath that yellow shirt,
Beats a heart of solid dirt
The most disgusting man on earth, 'It Man' baby.

No back chat was ever written
For It Man's 'tart.'
The cute cat or the stiff kitten,
'It Man' took her apart.
He shook away the poison pen,
Next thing... 'News-at-Ten.'

Ladies and Gentlemen... 'It Man'

Well well, bloody hell, 'It Man.'
Checking you out and ringing your bell,
You better quit man.

He's walking around, taking names
Looking for money in the burnt remains,
All stories finish in flames for 'It Man.'

'It Man.'

'It Man' baby

. . .


Outside the take-away, Saturday night
A bald adolescent, asks me out for a fight
He was no bigger than a two-penny fart
He was a deft exponent of the martial art
He gave me three warnings:
Trod on me toes, stuck his fingers in my eyes
And kicked me in the nose
A rabbit punch made me eyes explode
My head went dead, I fell in the road

I pleaded for mercy
I wriggled on the ground
He kicked me in the balls
And said something profound
Gave my face the millimetre tread
Stole me chop suey and left me for dead

Through rivers of blood and splintered bones
I crawled half a mile to the public telephone
Pulled the corpse out the call box, held back the bile
And with a broken index finger, I proceeded to dial

I couldn't get an ambulance
The phone was screwed
The receiver fell in half
It had been kung fu'd

A black belt karate cop opened up the door
Demanding information about the stiff on the floor
He looked like an extra from Yang Shang Po
He said "What's all this then
Ah so, ah so, ah so."
He wore a bamboo mask
He was gen'ned on zen
He finished his devotions and he beat me up again

Thanks to that embryonic Bruce Lee
I'm a shadow of the person that I used to be
I can't go back to Salford
The cops have got me marked
Enter the Dragon
Exit Johnny Clarke

. . .


Like a Night Club in the morning, you're the bitter end
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you're clean round the bend
You give me the horrors
Too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow's
Are lousy coz of you
You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain

You're certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag
Do us all a favour, here... wear this polythene bag

You're like a dose of scabies
I've got you under my skin
You make life a fairy tale... Grimm!

People mention murder, the moment you arrive
I'd consider killing you if I thought you were alive
You've got this slippery quality
It makes me think of phlegm
And a dual personality
I hate both of them

Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away
Like a death a birthday party
You ruin all the fun
Like a sucked and spat our smartie
You're no use to anyone
Like the shadow of the guillotine
On a dead consumptive's face
Speaking as an outsider
What do you think of the human race

You went to a progressive psychiatrist
He recommended suicide...
Before scratching your bad name off his list
And pointing the way outside

You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart
You're heading for a breakdown
Better pull yourself apart

Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss
Your attitudes are platitudes
Just make me wanna piss

What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can't find a good word for you
But I can...

TWAT

. . .


Fasten your seatbelts says a voice
Inside the plane you can't hear no noise
Engines made by Rolls Royce
Take your choice
...make mine Majorca

Check out the parachutes
Can't be found
Alert those passengers
They'll be drowned
A friendly mug says "settle down"
When i came round i was gagged and bound
...for Majorca

And the eyes caress
The neat hostess
Her unapproachable flip finesse
I found the meaning of the word excess
They've got little bags if you wanna make a mess
I fancied Cuba but it cost me less
...to Majorca

(Whose blonde sand fondly kisses the cool fathoms of the blue mediteranean)

They packed us into the white hotel
You could still smell the polycell
Wet white paint in the air-conditioned cells
The waiter smelled of fake Chanel
Gauloises... garlic as well
says if i like... i can call him "Miguel"
...well really

I got drunk with another fella
Who'd just brought up a previous paella
He wanted a fight but said they were yella'
...in Majorca

The guitars rang and the castinets clicked
The dancer's stamped and the dancer's kicked
It's likely if you sang in the street you'd be nicked
The Double Diamond flowed like sick
Mother's Pride, tortilla and chips
Pneumatic drills when you try to kip
...in Majorca

A stomach infection put me in the shade
Must have been something in the lemonade
But by the balls of Franco i paid
Had to pawn my bucket and spade
Next year I'll take the international brigade
...to Majorca

. . .


She didn't like the rib cage / the coat-hanger hips
The razor-sharp shoulder blades / always give her jip
She's reading Edward De Bono under the palms
He sprays Odorono under his arms
I was to say the least alarmed
When the bronze adonis got her...

I lay beneath the parasol / watched him with the chicks
Horsing around with his aerosol / they whispered about his odd trick
"Send no cash... fear no man / you can be a love leviathan"
She's a fan of the man with a tan from a can
The bronze adonis got her

Mr and Mrs Universe / the folks who live in the gym
Each night she sleeps in a room marked her / he sleeps in a room marked him
Muscle bound for stardom / the apollo of your eye
Can't seem to get a hard on / oh Christ i wonder why
The bronze adonis got her

They honeymoon on muscle beach to cries of "beat it mac"
He plucks some puny pansy's peach / how do you like that
The bronze adonis got her

There stands the body gorgeous / men worship girls admire
He bravely bears the scourges and the squelch of squashed desire
What a physical jerk / no time for sex
Where's me bleedin' bullworker, baby oil and leopard kecks
Oh yeah / the bronze adonis got her

Hubba hubba yum yum wow / what a hunk of beef
Who made you the sacred cow / who hangs around his briefs
In the corner sauna / with his mates
Wanking away unwanted weight
That's his idea of a heavy date
The bronze adonis got her

. . .


Hey Jimmy, gimme the gimmix
Another day - another fad
Funk, yes, even for a minute.
They're not bad - dad
From the barmy days of the hoola hoop craze
To the skate board panic of today
Amused, amazed, aghast we gaze
We don't get in the way
Tune in the idle chatter
Turn a blind eye to the scream
At the shatter proof heart of the matter
Things are as they seem
Mahatma Gandhi's loin cloth
The cosa nostra kiss
Cola cans and coin-op cops
Amphetamine psychosis
Sick, sick, sick, or something
Talk is cheap and loud
Dying of consumption
Join the lonely crowd

Look inside the freezer
Watch the pop up toaster pop
The blinking Mona Lisa
Is blinking at me non stop
Beauty aids, commodity art
And things that are for things
Tea's Maids, cushions that fart
The Lord of the Rings

Let's hear both sides of the story
Please don't put me on
Trial by Juke Box Jury
They send me, I'm gone

Chicken runs will sort out
The sheep from the proverbial goats
Speed's in, Sport's out
We will not be approached
Caught in the metal of a straight career
Wn a bent assembly line
Looking younger than last year
Marching men mark time
Boy next door seeks girlfriend
Outdoor type seeks fun
Swim, sing, cycle and swing
No matter what time of the month
Stereotypical playmates
Supplied and not get bored
With impotent anxiety states
Collectively called the norm

In ideal homes where missing persons
Appear and disappear
The sound of iron curtains
Cuts the atmosphere
What's going on behind the green door
The war, the watusi, or what
The condition of admission is a haircut
A Tony Curtis or a Cooper Clar-ar-ar-ar-ar

. . .


Far from crazy pavements -
The taste of silver spoons
A clinical arrangement
On a dirty afternoon
Where the fecal germs of Mr Freud
Are rendered obsolete
The legal term is null and void
In the case of Beasley Street

In the cheap seats where murder breeds
Somebody is out of breath
Sleep is a luxury they don't need
- a sneak preview of death
Belladonna is your flower
Manslaughter your meat
Spend a year in a couple of hours
On the edge of Beasley Street

Where the action isn't
That's where it is
State your position
Vacancies exist
In an X-certificate exercise
Ex-servicemen excrete
Keith Joseph smiles and a baby dies
In a box on Beasley Street

From the boarding houses and the bedsits
Full of accidents and fleas
Somebody gets it
Where the missing persons freeze
Wearing dead men's overcoats
You can't see their feet
A riff joint shuts - opens up
Right down on Beasley Street

Cars collide, colours clash
Disaster movie stuff
For a man with a Fu Manchu moustache
Revenge is not enough
There's a dead canary on a swivel seat
There's a rainbow in the road
Meanwhile on Beasley Street
Silence is the code

Hot beneath the collar
An inspector calls
Where the perishing stink of squalor
Impregnates the walls
The rats have all got rickets
They spit through broken teeth
The name of the game is not cricket
Caught out on Beasley Street

The hipster and his hired hat
Drive a borrowed car
Yellow socks and a pink cravat
Nothing La-di-dah
OAP, mother to be
Watch the three-piece suite
When shit-stoppered drains
And crocodile skis
Are seen on Beasley Street

The kingdom of the blind
A one-eyed man is king
Beauty problems are redefined
The doorbells do not ring
A lightbulb bursts like a blister
The only form of heat
Here a fellow sells his sister
Down the river on Beasley Street

The boys are on the wagon
The girls are on the shelf
Their common problem is
That they're not someone else
The dirt blows out
The dust blows in
You can't keep it neat
It's a fully furnished dustbin,
Sixteen Beasley Street

Vince the ageing savage
Betrays no kind of life
But the smell of yesterday's cabbage
And the ghost of last year's wife
Through a constant haze
Of deodorant sprays
He says retreat
Alsations dog the dirty days
Down the middle of Beasley Street

People turn to poison
Quick as lager turns to piss
Sweethearts are physically sick
Every time they kiss.
It's a sociologist's paradise
Each day repeats
On easy, cheesy, greasy, queasy
Beastly Beasley Street

Eyes dead as vicious fish
Look around for laughs
If I could have just one wish
I would be a photograph
On a permanent Monday morning
Get lost or fall asleep
When the yellow cats are yawning
Around the back of Beasley Street

. . .


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