Chumbawamba - Morality Play In Three Acts lyrics
[Chumbawamba - Morality Play In Three Acts lyrics]
Act one, the smell of green
Leather, French polish, quite pristine
Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle
Not a
Crease, the silverware all clean exquisite
Chaussures grace marble floors, be
Upstanding, for men of yore
But wait, who's this, sticky
Under the collar in Elsinore? Enter
Silent comedy geek with
Dynamite down his pants nervous
Shuffling on his feet, leading a merry
Song and dance a back seat
Driver of good moral fibre
Holding up the light he's made his own bed
Now he's got to lie in it
Ha ha! Serves him right
Act two, a new New England, watch the good
Seed grow but who is
This miss out-of-wedlock
With children of her own? Enter witch finder
General, of melancholy humor
And irascible power
All dressed in goody-goody two shoes
Pulling the heads of flowers 'Let
This be, ' said he
'a lesson, your dirty linen is
Your own reflection' Said I, 'Somehow it
Just doesn't wash, away with your
Petty inquisition in the vernacular
Most unkind sir
Fk with me and you will see the flesh
And blood and bone, the black
Eye of thine enemy' Dance, dance
Act three, 'I am the lord of the dance
' said he john the Baptist, dripping wet
Playing sir
Politick-would-be backslapping, backsliding
Back to basic instincs, backfiring by your
Own choice you're on a hiding to nothing
I ask you which is more
Comforting? The thought that
I am bad seed, gone to seed, turned sour
By TV sex and violence or even worse
Am I unleashed by my own volition
To do you ill? 'Condemn a little more
Understand a little less'
Oh sad sir, thou jest! Ha
Ha! I am Prometheus
Prepare thee to meet thy nemesis
Leather, French polish, quite pristine
Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle
Not a
Crease, the silverware all clean exquisite
Chaussures grace marble floors, be
Upstanding, for men of yore
But wait, who's this, sticky
Under the collar in Elsinore? Enter
Silent comedy geek with
Dynamite down his pants nervous
Shuffling on his feet, leading a merry
Song and dance a back seat
Driver of good moral fibre
Holding up the light he's made his own bed
Now he's got to lie in it
Ha ha! Serves him right
Act two, a new New England, watch the good
Seed grow but who is
This miss out-of-wedlock
With children of her own? Enter witch finder
General, of melancholy humor
And irascible power
All dressed in goody-goody two shoes
Pulling the heads of flowers 'Let
This be, ' said he
'a lesson, your dirty linen is
Your own reflection' Said I, 'Somehow it
Just doesn't wash, away with your
Petty inquisition in the vernacular
Most unkind sir
Fk with me and you will see the flesh
And blood and bone, the black
Eye of thine enemy' Dance, dance
Act three, 'I am the lord of the dance
' said he john the Baptist, dripping wet
Playing sir
Politick-would-be backslapping, backsliding
Back to basic instincs, backfiring by your
Own choice you're on a hiding to nothing
I ask you which is more
Comforting? The thought that
I am bad seed, gone to seed, turned sour
By TV sex and violence or even worse
Am I unleashed by my own volition
To do you ill? 'Condemn a little more
Understand a little less'
Oh sad sir, thou jest! Ha
Ha! I am Prometheus
Prepare thee to meet thy nemesis