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Morrissey is the greatest living poet and lyricist of our time. Proof of this:
From the ice-age to the dole-age There is but one concern I have just discovered : Some girls are bigger than others Some girls are bigger than others Some girl’s mothers are bigger than Other girl’s mothers Some girls are bigger than others Some girls are bigger than others Some girl’s mothers are bigger than Other girl’s mothers As anthony said to cleopatra As he opened a crate of ale : Oh, I say : Some girls are bigger than others Some girls are bigger than others Some girl’s mothers are bigger than Other girl’s mothers Some girls are bigger than others Some girls are bigger than others Some girl’s mothers are bigger than Other girl’s mothers Send me the pillow ... The one that you dream on ... Send me the pillow ... The one that you dream on ... And I’ll send you mine | |
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lilgish said: Proof of this:
From the ice-age to the dole-age There is but one concern I have just discovered : Some girls are bigger than others Some girls are bigger than others Some girl’s mothers are bigger than Other girl’s mothers Some girls are bigger than others Some girls are bigger than others Some girl’s mothers are bigger than Other girl’s mothers As anthony said to cleopatra As he opened a crate of ale : Oh, I say : Some girls are bigger than others Some girls are bigger than others Some girl’s mothers are bigger than Other girl’s mothers Some girls are bigger than others Some girls are bigger than others Some girl’s mothers are bigger than Other girl’s mothers Send me the pillow ... The one that you dream on ... Send me the pillow ... The one that you dream on ... And I’ll send you mine You don't know your poets, mate. There are three sides to every story. My side, your side, and the truth. And no one is lying. Memories shared serve each one differently | |
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Shapeshifter said: You don't know your poets, mate. I am the son And the heir Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar I am the son and heir Of nothing in particular You shut your mouth How can you say I go about things the wrong way ? I am human and I need to be loved Just like everybody else does I am the son And the heir Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar I am the son and heir Oh, of nothing in particular You shut your mouth How can you say I go about things the wrong way ? I am human and I need to be loved Just like everybody else does Oh ... Oh ... There’s a club, if you’d like to go You could meet somebody who really loves you So you go, and you stand on your own And you leave on your own And you go home, and you cry And you want to die When you say it’s gonna happen now Well, when exactly do you mean ? See, I’ve already waited too long And all my hope is gone Oh ... Oh ... You shut your mouth How can you say I go about things the wrong way ? I am human and I need to be loved Just like everybody else does Ok ? Sounds like poetry to me | |
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I am actually quite a fan:
hairdresser on fire: here is London is it home of the free, or what? can you squeeze me into an empty page of your diary and psychologically save me I've got faith in you I sense the power in the fingers within an hour the power can totally destroy me or it could save my life here is London 'home of the brash, outrageous and free' you are repressed but you're remarkably dressed is it Real? but you're far to busy busy scissors busy clippers hair dresser on fire all around Sloane Square and you're far too busy to see me "busy,busy" hairdresser on fire was a client over-cautious he made you nervous and when he said "I'm gonna sue you" I really felt for you so can you squeeze me into an empty page of your diary and supernaturally change me CHANGE ME, CHANGE ME [Edited 3/30/05 8:03am] posture your mandables towards the sky
and oscilate them in an apathetic manner throw your hands in the air and wave 'em like you just don't care | |
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I beg to differ. IMHO and millions of other people, Bob Dylan is the greatest living poet and lyricist of our time. I don't want to get into a debate, but I can guarantee you that there are millions more people in this world that would choose Bob over Morrisey any day of the week. Bob will go down in history for his writing abilities and will be remembered hundreds of years from now. There are several universities across the globe that offer courses on Bob's lyrics. He is a facinating man with a great talent and no one alive today comes even close to him as a lyricist. | |
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kisscamille said: I beg to differ. IMHO and millions of other people, Bob Dylan is the greatest living poet and lyricist of our time. I don't want to get into a debate, but I can guarantee you that there are millions more people in this world that would choose Bob over Morrisey any day of the week. Bob will go down in history for his writing abilities and will be remembered hundreds of years from now. There are several universities across the globe that offer courses on Bob's lyrics. He is a facinating man with a great talent and no one alive today comes even close to him as a lyricist.
I like Bob Johnny’s in the basement Mixing up the medicine I’m on the pavement Thinking about the government The man in the trench coat Badge out, laid off Says he’s got a bad cough Wants to get it paid off Look out kid It’s somethin’ you did God knows when But you’re doin’ it again You better duck down the alley way Lookin’ for a new friend The man in the coon-skin cap In the big pen Wants eleven dollar bills You only got ten Maggie comes fleet foot Face full of black soot Talkin’ that the heat put Plants in the bed but The phone’s tapped anyway Maggie says that many say They must bust in early may Orders from the d. a. Look out kid Don’t matter what you did Walk on your tip toes Don’t try no doz Better stay away from those That carry around a fire hose Keep a clean nose Watch the plain clothes You don’t need a weather man To know which way the wind blows Get sick, get well Hang around a ink well Ring bell, hard to tell If anything is goin’ to sell Try hard, get barred Get back, write braille Get jailed, jump bail Join the army, if you fail Look out kid You’re gonna get hit But losers, cheaters Six-time users Hang around the theaters Girl by the whirlpool Lookin’ for a new fool Don’t follow leaders Watch the parkin’ meters Ah get born, keep warm Short pants, romance, learn to dance Get dressed, get blessed Try to be a success Please her, please him, buy gifts Don’t steal, don’t lift Twenty years of schoolin’ And they put you on the day shift Look out kid They keep it all hid Better jump down a manhole Light yourself a candle Don’t wear sandals Try to avoid the scandals Don’t wanna be a bum You better chew gum The pump don’t work ’cause the vandals took the handles Morrissey's delivery is way better, I find him to be more incendiary and clever, I just perfer it over Bob...but Bob is considered tops by most. someone tell Morrissey to do simple twist of fate. | |
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Love most of his records but I'm tired of his nobody loves me I've got no friends, they're all dead.. world | |
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...maybe not the greatest..but he's pretty damn good.."How Soon Is Now" is a prime example..."...the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar..."...classic!!!... | |
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no bloody way. I used to like a few Smiths songs, but there are countless better lyricists/poets around in music today. | |
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Dylan:
Once upon a time you dressed so fine You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you? People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall" You thought they were all kiddin' you You used to laugh about Everybody that was hangin' out Now you don't talk so loud Now you don't seem so proud About having to be scrounging for your next meal. How does it feel How does it feel To be without a home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone? You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely But you know you only used to get juiced in it And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street And now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it You said you'd never compromise With the mystery tramp, but now you realize He's not selling any alibis As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes And ask him do you want to make a deal? How does it feel How does it feel To be on your own With no direction home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone? You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns When they all come down and did tricks for you You never understood that it ain't no good You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat Ain't it hard when you discover that He really wasn't where it's at After he took from you everything he could steal. How does it feel How does it feel To be on your own With no direction home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone? Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things But you'd better lift your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe You used to be so amused At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal. How does it feel How does it feel To be on your own With no direction home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone? VOTE....EARLY | |
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kisscamille said: I beg to differ. IMHO and millions of other people, Bob Dylan is the greatest living poet and lyricist of our time.
Some of Dylan's lyrics are great... shame about the singing voice. I think Joni Mitchell is better than him, however.... ----- Downtown My darling dime store thief In the War of Independence Rock 'n' roll rang sweet as victory Under neon signs A girl was in bloom And a woman was fading In a suburban room I said take me to the dance Do you want to dance? I love to dance And I told him They don't take chances They seem so removed from romance They've been broken in churches and schools And molded to middle class circumstance And we were rolling rolling rock 'n' rolling Downtown The dance halls and cafes Feel so wild you could break somebody's heart Just doing the latest dance craze Gail and Louise In those push-up brassieres Tight dresses and rhinestone rings Drinking up the band's beers Young love was kissing under bridges Kissing in cars kissing in cafes And we were walking down Main Street Kisses like bright flags hung on holidays In France they kiss on Main Street Amour, mama, not cheap display And we were rolling, rolling, rock 'n' rolling Downtown In the pinball arcade With his head full of pool hall pitches And songs from the hit parade He'd be singing "Bye Bye Love" While he's racking up his free play Let those rock 'n' roll choir boys Come and carry us away Sometimes Chickie had the car Or Ron had a car Or Lead Foot Melvin with his hot-wire head We'd all go looking for a party Looking to raise Jesus up from the dead And I'd be kissing in the back seat Thrilling to the Brando-like things that he said And we'd be rolling rolling rock 'n' rolling [Edited 3/30/05 18:01pm] | |
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jtfolden said: I think Joni Mitchell is better than him, however.... true, that - Joni is amazing... I came upon a child of God walking down the road I asked him, where are you going? And this he told me He said I'm going down to Yasgur's Farm, Just join in a rock and roll band. Get back to the land and set my soul free. (He said) we are stardust, we are golden, And we got to get ourselves back to the garden. So can I walk beside you? I've come here to lose the smog, I feel like I'm a cog in something turning round and round. Maybe it's just the time of year, Maybe it's the time of man. I don't know who I am, But life is for learning. (And then)we are stardust, we are golden, And we got to get ourselves back to the garden. We are stardust, we are golden, And we got to get ourselves back to the garden. By the time we got to Woodstock, We were half a million strong Everywhere you look there was a song and hope and a celebration. And I dreamed I saw the bomber death planes Riding shotgun in the sky, Turning into butterflies Above our nation. We are stardust, we are golden, And we got to get ourselves back to the garden. We are stardust,we are a billion year old carbon, we are golden We just got caught up in some devil's bargain And we got to get ourselves back to the garden. To some semblance of a garden. VOTE....EARLY | |
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DiminutiveRocker said: Dylan:
Hollis Brown He lived on the outside of town Hollis Brown He lived on the outside of town With his wife and five children And his cabin fallin' down You looked for work and money And you walked a rugged mile You looked for work and money And you walked a rugged mile Your children are so hungry That they don't know how to smile Your baby's eyes look crazy They're a-tuggin' at your sleeve Your baby's eyes look crazy They're a-tuggin' at your sleeve You walk the floor and wonder why With every breath you breathe The rats have got your flour Bad blood it got your mare The rats have got your flour Bad blood it got your mare If there's anyone that knows Is there anyone that cares? You prayed to the Lord above Oh please send you a friend You prayed to the Lord above Oh please send you a friend Your empty pockets tell yuh That you ain't a-got no friend Your babies are crying louder It's pounding on your brain Your babies are crying louder It's pounding on your brain Your wife's screams are stabbin' you Like the dirty drivin' rain Your grass it is turning black There's no water in your well Your grass is turning black There's no water in your well You spent your last lone dollar On seven shotgun shells Way out in the wilderness A cold coyote calls Way out in the wilderness A cold coyote calls Your eyes fix on the shotgun That's hangin' on the wall Your brain is a-bleedin' And your legs can't seem to stand Your brain is a-bleedin' And your legs can't seem to stand Your eyes fix on the shotgun That you're holdin' in your hand There's seven breezes a-blowin' All around the cabin door There's seven breezes a-blowin' All around the cabin door Seven shots ring out Like the ocean's pounding roar There's seven people dead On a South Dakota farm There's seven people dead On a South Dakota farm Somewhere in the distance There's seven new people born | |
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kisscamille said: I beg to differ. IMHO and millions of other people, Bob Dylan is the greatest living poet and lyricist of our time. He is a facinating man with a great talent and no one alive today comes even close to him as a lyricist.
You said it first!!! | |
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Morrissey is good, but he's no Jesse McCartney.
"Come To Me" Under the silver stars, Right where he broke your heart. Girl you know, I'd give you everything. I wanna hold your hand, And say the words he never said. I'll make you promises you can believe. [Chorus] Let me be the one, Telling you it's alright Sharing the smiles and tears you cry. Let me be the one, Loving you when you're weak. For all of the strength you need, You can come to me. When you're down and you feel so lonely Turn around, you can come to me When you're down baby, i will be the only Come to me You can just be yourself, 'Cause I don't want nobody else. All of your secrets are safe with me. For the kind of love you can trust, For more than just a crush, Baby, won't you just come to me? [Chorus] Let me be the one, Telling you it's alright Sharing the smiles and tears you cry. Let me be the one, Loving you when you're weak. For all of the strength you need, You can come to me. When i got you in my arms Say it's where you wanna be (where you wanna be, yeah) 'Cause girl i'm down on my knees Promising my heart oh, my heart Genius, I tell ya. a psychotic is someone who just figured out what's going on | |
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puh-lease.
tom waits, please stand up. A cab combs the snake, Tryin' to rake in that last night's fare, And a solitary sailor Who spends the facts of his life like small change on strangers... Paws his inside P-coat pocket for a welcome twenty-five cents, And the last bent butt from a package of Kents, As he dreams of a waitress with Maxwell House eyes And marmalade thighs with scrambled yellow hair. Her rhinestone-studded moniker says, "Irene" As she wipes the wisps of dishwater blonde from her eyes And the Texaco beacon burns on, The steel-belted attendant with a 'Ring and Valve Special'... Cryin' "Fill'er up and check that oil" "You know it could be a distributor and it could be a coil." The early mornin' final edition's on the stands, And that town cryer's cryin' there with nickels in his hands. Pigs in a blanket sixty-nine cents, Eggs - roll 'em over and a package of Kents, Adam and Eve on a log, you can sink 'em damn straight, Hash browns, hash browns, you know I can't be late. And the early dawn cracks out a carpet of diamond Across a cash crop car lot filled with twilight Coupe Devilles, Leaving the town in a-keeping Of the one who is sweeping Up the ghost of Saturday night... | |
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