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Ça Suffit, Sophie, C'est Mauvais Pour Les Dents EP

by The Spanish Amanda

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1.
Words: I’m only interested in one thing The sacred writings of the evil emperor Ming He’s put a sugar Brahmin in my mouth With just one kiss he could redecorate your boathouse But I can’t get drunk on your love I just get stung on your hugs I can’t get drunk on your love I just get stung on your hugs I’ve got a fridge the size of Norway You’d have it full of Gertrude Stein if you had your way I have my people buy a special brand of soap Cleanses the places that I’d dearly like your hands to go But I can’t get drunk on your love I just get stung on your hugs No I can’t get drunk on your love I just get stung on your hugs I’m only interested in you I’m only interested in everything you do Wanna come down with your flu It’s your hair and nobody else’s hair I want to chew I’m only interested in you I’m only interested in everything you do I get sticky from your surplus glue It’s your hair and no-one else’s hair I want to chew I’m only interested in you I’m only interested in everything you do Wanna come down with your flu It’s your hair and no-one else’s hair I want to chew It’s your hair It’s your hair It’s your hair
2.
Words: That unexpected blood clot, no matter how banal And I could end up dying in this town Or tumbling blotto head first into the canal And I could end up dying in this town That funny smell of burning I neglected for so long A murderous delegation of the women I have wronged Or crushed to death by cheap tinned soup I hoarded by the ton Yeah, I’ve already lived here far too long I could die happy on my yacht in San Tropez So long Or freedom fighting in the Palestine campaign Far too long My own wicker effigy up in the Scottish isles So long Expiring in Miami in my art deco pile Some crude provincial sex game played with oranges and scarves And I could end up dying in this town Some local bus stop no-mark wants to show his mates he’s hard And I could end up dying in this town Or drown in supermarket Saint Emilion Or lose my mind on mushrooms in my search for Avalon Or fly headlong down the staircase having tripped on my sarong Yeah, I’ve already lived here far too long I could die happy on my yacht in San Tropez So long Or freedom fighting in the Palestine campaign Far too long My own wicker effigy up in the Scottish isles So long Decaying in Miami in my art deco pile I could get shanked by car park homophobes who think my face looks wrong Or some verminous wee tumour growin’ where it don’t belong Torn limb from limb by cockerpoos whose owners hate my song Yeah, I’ve already lived here far too long I could die happy on my yacht in San Tropez So long Or freedom fighting in the Palestine campaign Far too long My own wicker effigy up in the Scottish isles So long Croaking in Miami in my art deco pile Far too long Some Brooklyn wise guy popping caps into my ass So long Save me a plot in the Cimetière du Montparnasse Roll over, Serge I’m coming home
3.
Words: Man of the people, Mister Cummings Well, I’ve been trying to read your mind I sense you’ve got a plan for me And my particular talents Pierre Bourdieu – he’s on the line He say he’ll hold, he’s doing fine On the other side from me In his clinic in Paris He always said he could sense Twenty marks of privilege And there’s your telltale fingerprints On the pastis bottle in his fridge And your diplomatic number plates Just seem a trifle rich Pack up that Landy, drive away Man of the people, Tommy Robinson Look at the frescos on your wall They say it all, we think they’re swell In all their monochrome glory Paul from the Jam just sent this fax You’ve got his licks, he wants them back I’m sitting comfortably, let’s begin Your unbelievable story I always knew I could smell Twenty scents of privilege And there’s a bum note in your cologne That really makes my eyeballs twitch And what plays well on B Wing Won’t help you get down with the kids Back up to Luton with you, Tom I didn’t get the education to escape a proper job When all I ever wanted was to be an art school snob But I have learned to live with it – can you live with it, Bob? Hey, Bobby, where’s my backstage pass? Man of the people, mister Laurence Tell us that rags to riches tale It never fails to make us smile When you do the faces and voices You say that you were raised by Foxes What’s in a species or a name? You’re not to blame, you never are For your ridiculous choices I always thought I could tell Twenty shades of privilege But I fell down the rabbit hole When I stumbled on your YouTube vids And I couldn’t help but be impressed At how your foxhounds tear apart a snitch I think it’s time I called you out: So I say… You are Kolley Kibber and I demand my five pound note..!! Yes, Laurence, you are Kolley Kibber and I demand my five pound note..!! And Tommy, you also are Kolley Kibber and I demand my five-pound note..!! And Dominic, you are Kolley Kibber and I demand my five-pound note right now…
4.
Words: What doesn’t kill me Maybe kills somebody else The viper meant for me Finds someone else’s trouser leg And what doesn’t kill me Tears my confidence to shreds Touching down in Reykjavik In my Kevlar vest What doesn’t kill me Means another mouth to feed Generations of entitlement An eternity of greed Have I shown you greed..? ‘Cos I could show you greed. What doesn’t kill me Makes me cold and self-obsessed Have you met my brother, Abel? (He bores me half to death) What doesn’t kill me Leaves me slightly less humane Tedious at parties Impervious to pain What doesn’t kill me Makes me arrogant and stupid Fond of flags and guns and People equally deluded Sometimes it’s fun to be deluded Let’s do it together. Let’s be deluded. What doesn’t kill me Makes me an affront to God Suicidal hubris From a dull provincial clod What doesn’t kill me Maybe kills me after all My shrapnel moves an inch and it’s Goodnight, Vienna What doesn’t kill me Maybe wasn’t even there I’m pretty sure you skewered me But couldn’t really swear And I don’t know if I really care Well… I’d take a bullet for the queen of Holland I’ll take a bullet for a glimpse of the future I’ll take a bullet for the price of a coffee (I take mine with Sweet 'n Low) I’ll take a bullet for the president-elect I’d take a bullet for the Carabinieri I’d take a bullet for Lazlo the Moondog Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah I’d take a bullet for the horn section I’d take a bullet for the bugs on the windshield I’d take a bullet for the Spanish Amanda NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO..!! I’d take a bullet for a cure for veruccas I’d take a bullet for an hour with Costello I’d take a bullet for a ticket to Swansea Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah And I’d take a bullet for you I’d take your bullet I’d take a bullet for you Can I choose which bit it goes through? I’d take a bullet for the six-fingered man And I’d take a bullet for you What doesn’t kill me, kills me What doesn’t kill me makes me me

about

Well... last year's 'Pop's Gone And Bought A Gun' LP brought down Trump, and now this EP is going to do the same for Boris Johnson. Are you listening to us, Johnson? YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED. Possibly even your hours. Seriously, though... there are definitely voodoo powers at work with this 'un. Fred (the Spanish Amanda's cat) goes completely berserk whenever he hears 'Kolley Kibber', and there was this unearthly banging on the nextdoor's wall during the entire 14-hour marathon mixing session for 'It's Your Hair'. Try explaining THAT, science.

Oh - and (as always) - please don't pay us anything for this. If you have surplus cash, we say send it to UNICEF instead (which is what we'll do with anything Paypal'd over...). An email is always welcome, however, and it's kind when people mention our stuff to their mates or that bloke they know from the Neighbourhood Watch Scheme who DJ's on 6 Music... ahem, ahem.

Kindest regards to youse all from beneath the Luton approach flight path. Stay well, now, d'j'hear..?

Amanda xxxxx

PS - One of our "associate" bands (ie., "us, but under a different name") has recently released its first EP, also on BandCamp. They... we... it... is/are called The False Dawns - and while we suspect that the project may be utterly, utterly doomed, we nonetheless urge you to go have a listen. It might be just your cup of (downbeat, introspective, mildly synthetic) tea. Or it might be rubbish, and we may need to agree to Never Speak Of This Moment Again.

credits

released October 4, 2021

All the dirty deeds hereon were undertaken by Huw Darling and Ivan Darling. Jo Darling brought coffee and dunkies, tutted occasionally under her breath, and made some pithy observations regarding the mixing... which we now wish we'd listened to. Annik Darling wouldn't have a jot to do with this EP - "too busy modelling", apparently. She'll come back, though - they always do, they always do...

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The Spanish Amanda England, UK

The SpanAm: at it since the 90's & still UTTERLY UNCORRUPTED by success, recognition or fame..!!

(PS - *PLEASE* go visit our 'little sister' band, the Chickpea Darlings - thechickpeadarlings.bandcamp.com - they're completely divine...)
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