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"Ten Years in an Open Neck Shirt, Part 1" lyrics |
 This is the first part of my life story.
Again.
Take a look at me now.
Genius or a madman.
All the answers are forth... the answers are forthcoming in the following chapters.
Ten years in an open neck shirt.
The real story.
From slums to stardom.
Well, not even slums.
Not even... I used to dream of living in...
The Gyp... Gypsies used to come 'round and complain about me.
No, wait a minute, that's their version.
See, I've written a censored version for the "News of the World".
Don't want to offend anybody, do I?
Right then.
John C. Clarke, that's me.
Right?
The bastard offspring of Count Otto Drechstrasse (the Lard Mogul) and Tracy.
Wait a minute - I've got it written.
The Lard Mogul and Tracy.
The Count died of self-inflicted stab wounds three weeks before his birth.
And Tracy, four months later perished along with her sapphires the victim of a mau-mau hit squad.
Leaving Jack with the one thing money can't buy: poverty.
A kindly aunt mailed, mailed the hapless child to a friend in Canada.
But he was erroneously delivered to the Eros Luxury Club, a converted charabang in the bowels of Manchester sub-terrain.
The proprietor produced a pearl-handled flick knife and opened the parcel with psychotic expertise.
Jack gazed into the face of this his first stranger and what he saw was pure malevolence.
More later.
More after the holidays.
Yes, it's holiday time.
Arriba, arriba.
Carumba
Arivaderci Roma
Major...
What did he say?
Objections about my hair?
I was once married to a creature from another planet.
Her name was it and this is tale of our great ?
Falling victim to intergalactic racism wherever it rears its ugly head.
They are the enemies, I point the fingers.
Jack, you say
Allow me to inform you of the contents of my dustbin.
I enjoy talking, don't you?
This is just a book of shirt designs.
You've got to have your finger in more than one pie in this day and age.
That's what they say.
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