Pop's Gone And Bought A Gun, by The Spanish Amanda

Pop's Gone And Bought A Gun

by The Spanish Amanda

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1.	Broken Toys Are Art 04:45	lyrics	buy track
Lyrics: Broken toys are art Broken toys are art Some just break your heart Broken toys are art Broken toys Broken toys For broken girls and boys Broken toys Broken toys are art Broken toys are art Made to fall apart Broken toys Decapitated – art! Mutilated – art, art, art! Pieces missing – art! Lethal wiring – art, art, art, art! Broken toys are art Broken toys are art (sometimes they’re bad art) Broken toys are art Broken toys are art And with the most precious ones You just can’t work out what’s gone wrong But something always has gone wrong Yeah, something somewhere’s always wrong Full of sawdust – art! Rusty clockwork – art, art, art! Stitching severed – art! Ruined forever, broken toys are art. Broken toys are art Broken toys are art Silent in the dark Broken toys are art Broken toys Broken toys Made to be destroyed Broken toys Broken toys are art Broken toys are art Crush them underfoot Broken toys No instructions – art! Nothing functions – art, art, art! Leaky batteries – art! No guarantees – art, art, art, art! Broken toys are art Broken toys are art (sometimes they’re great art) Broken toys are art Broken toys are art Toys live lives of paradoxes Look fantastic in their boxes But they’re not in them very long That’s where things start going wrong Patched together – art! Lost forever – art, art, art! Wheels not turning – art! Something’s burning, broken toys are art. Broken toys are art Broken toys are art Broken toys are art Broken toys are art Decapitated – art! Mutilated – art, art, art! Pieces missing – art! Lethal wiring – art, art, art, art! No instructions – art! Nothing functions – art, art, art! Leaky batteries – art! No guarantees – art, art, art, art! Rusty clockwork – art, art, art! Full of sawdust – art! Patched together – art! Lost forever, broken toys are art.
2.	Tear Along The Dotted Line 04:30	lyrics	buy track
Lyrics: When I ended it with Mata Hari It never crossed my mind That she’d move to the party house next door Where they groove to the Rolling Stones Put on each others’ clothes Smoke Dutch cheroots on cushions on the bare stone floor I hear her in the wee small hours Sharing make-up tips with Brian Jones And it goes beyond my powers Not to break into their garden Trash the flowerbeds like a madman Tear down the satellites Tear up the paper moon Tear along the dotted line to oblivion Tear along the dotted line Dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot… When I split up with Boadicea To my intense surprise She rocked up at the house next door as well Fedex’d back my Centurion’s helmet My freshly dry-cleaned toga Casually she made my life a living hell Says she doesn’t miss my hypocaust ‘Cos Mata Hari keeps her warm Sometimes I get so lost It takes an ordnance survey To make the colours go away Tear up the chromosomes Tear down the cells Tear along the dotted line to just as well Tear along the dotted line Dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot... When I broke it off with Brigitte Bardot Any fool would know Just where she’d take her nineteen Shetland ponies I hear her singing for them through the wall Feeds them sugar lumps Barking orders at her Front Nationale cronies And if I knocked the wall down I know I’ll find nothing there No one to see me fall down No one to stitch my bleeding hands Or quench my overactive glands Tear down your portfolio Tear up your shares Tear along the dotted line to anywhere Tear down Britannia Tear up the maps Tear along the dotted line to steady, chaps Tear up the book of Moses Tear down the cross Tear along the dotted line to nothingness Tear along the dotted line Dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot…
3.	Leeds Or Karatsu 02:44	lyrics	buy track
Lyrics: I feel fine I feel finite Just give me 14,000 volts And I’ll feel more I’ll feel mortal No prayers can keep this tub afloat Skimmed out like pebbles cross the deep Aegean sea A land that has no word for blue I feel you I feel useless I guess you should feel useless, too Beautiful but pretty useless too I feel me I feel meagre Sweet consigliere, what’s the score? What’s the score? ‘Cos I feel free I feel freakish Won’t wear your mask and cape no more Shot down like angels through the orange city mist This could be Leeds or Karatsu I feel whole I feel hollow I guess you should feel hollow, too Soft as gold but pretty hollow, too
4.	I Shall Never Play The Dane 05:38	lyrics	buy track
Lyrics: I shall never play the Dane No, I shall never play the Dane I shall never lay me down on Jutland sands Nor shall I dine on honeyed bacon Overlooking Copenhagen It’s a shame Yes, it’s a shame But I shall never play the Dane Don’t judge me for my Quaint, provincial little ways I am not an immigrant by choice Remember I Walked with gods In my land But in this German sailor bar I can scarcely hear a thing Through the siren call of diesel oil And screaming solar winds Where the years Fall through your fingers Just like sand Like sand So I shall never play the Dane No, I shall never play the Dane Sweet Polonius will never taste my blade And God knows how much he’s hurting Turning grey behind his curtain All in vain All in vain For I shall never play the Dane It’s written through us Just like sticks of Blackpool dynamite We are all still children of the north: Articulate And passionate Soulful as the permafrost is deep But Death grins at the living From the corner of the bar Death dances to the jukebox And she drives a Swedish car And me and Her We’ve an appointment We must keep So I shall never play the Dane No, I shall never play the Dane I can only sit and nurse my Danish blues For to rampage like a Viking May have been quite to my liking It’s a pain Yes, it’s a pain That I shall never play the Dane I shall never play the Dane No I shall never play the Dane I shall never haunt the battlements of dawn Or see my ghostly father staring Through the mists of Elsinore there In the rain The pouring rain No, I shall never play the Dane In the rain The pouring rain No, I shall never play the Dane It’s a shame Such a shame But I shall never play the Dane There ain’t anything you can name That is anything like a Dane There ain’t anything you can name That is anything like a Dane…
5.	"What Do The English Do All Day?" 03:39	lyrics	buy track
Lyrics: What do the English, do the English do all day? What do they do, what do the English do, the English do all day? They look up their symptoms In an ancient leather book Take their trousers off To the ticking of an unseen clock They cross the Indian Ocean In fleets of paper boats Run naked through the orchard They take your hat and coat What do the English, do the English do all day? What do they do, what do the English do, the English do all day? They wave their arms like windmills In their cotton vests and pants They comb their southern coastline For unexploded ordnance They raise a glass in praise of spring They sing, they sing along They raise their voices to their gods Though they don’t know the song What do the English, do the English do all day? What do they do, what do the English do, the English do all day? God bless you, Boris God bless you, Nigel God bless you, Jacob And your legion of pale-skinned children They drop dead in the kitchen garden Drop dead in their sleep They drop dead on their bicycles And on the shingle beach They drop dead after Sunday School Drop dead on the bus Dropping dead for you and me And every man-jack of us That’s what the English, what the English do all day That’s what they do, that’s what the English do, the English do all day. That’s what the English, what the English do all day That’s what they do, that’s what the English do, the English do all day.
6.	Better That Rome Should Burn 04:35	lyrics	buy track
Lyrics: Better that Rome should burn Than Rome should slide beneath the waves Better Rome should scream Than disappear without a trace Hey, this would make a hell of a view Don’t you think? Without the animals, the trees and the school Better than Rome should burn But I don’t think the gods would dare They know who picks up the cheques (It’s me who picks up the cheques...) Hey, can you hear me from up there? The cream always floats to the top Tastes divine I just don’t know if I can stop But take care, citizen! Be careful where you tread Provincials live like termites, each can lay a thousand eggs They’re swarming out of Albion, they’re swarming out of Gaul First they’ll all want Nectar cards, but soon they’ll want it all Better that Rome should feast Than live on water, bread and cheese Better Rome should bloat Than crawl through Tescos on its knees Some say you are what you eat But not me I’m a reptile down to my feet But watch out, citizen! Be careful where you tread Provincials live like termites, each can lay a thousand eggs They’re swarming out of Albion, they’re swarming out of Gaul First they’ll all want Volkswagens, but soon they’ll want it all So… make mine a diesel, make it something quite refined And make it lethal, a Texas 99 Yeah, make mine a diesel, scorch a path across my mind I’ve seen the whole wide world, don’t care if I go blind In this, and in each pound of flesh Here but for the glory of Rome..!! In this, and in my minty breath Here but for the glory of Rome..!! In this, and in each queue I jump Here but for the glory of Rome..!! The hand that pumps the stomach pump Here but for the glory of Rome..!! In this, and in each moral stance Here but for the glory of Rome..!! In this, and my designer pants Here but for the glory of Rome..!! In this, and when I shoot the shit Here but for the glory of Rome..!! In this, and in each vein I hit Here but for the glory of Rome..!! In this, and when I dye my hair Here but for the glory of Rome..!! In this, and in my underwear Here but for the glory of Rome..!! In this, and in each vicious shove Here but for the glory of Rome..!! In this, and in each calfskin glove Here but for the glory of Rome..!! (and... so on... ad nauseam...)
7.	Baby Got No Sea Legs 03:47	lyrics	buy track
Lyrics: Baby got no sea legs Baby don’t got any legs at all That girl has all but disappeared ’Cos when the tide turned tail and ran My baby’s all washed out to sea She’s never coming back to me Baby won’t go dancing Can’t pull the crayfish from her hair Baby needs her vitamins and sleep Her bed’s an oil slick Can’t keep a grip on all her dreams She’s treading water in the deep Baby got commitments Baby is the patron saint of sex And hoovers, baby lotion, broccoli, the river police She gives her benedictions They’re queuing right around the block Yeah, my baby gets no peace Baby’s got her sea legs Walked from La Rochelle to Dungeness She lost her name along the way Maybe the catfish got her tongue ’Cos she got nothing much to say ‘Cept: “Chill. Be ill. Enjoy your day. Chill. Be ill. Enjoy your day. Chill. Be ill. Enjoy your day. Chill, be ill, enjoy your day…”
8.	Raising Sam Peckinpah 04:33	lyrics	buy track
Lyrics: The salad bar at the Miramar Is deader than your vegan shoes They’re running low at the blood bank Of everything but Royal Blue At the House Of Pain down Leather Lane They’re flogging everything Filling the street with the stench of meat As the people raise their voice to sing They’ve brought a lifetime of pain and un-cried tears Smith & Wesson tomahawks and burning spears Tonight they’re raising Sam Peckinpah Summoning him out of the dirt Raising Mr Peckinpah Sam’s going to take away their hurt They’re raising Sam Peckinpah Summoning him out of the dirt Raising Mr Peckinpah They’re boarding up the Kenyan theme bar The care homes, the synagogues In the light of burning sick notes The townsfolk swarm like dogs With murmured incantations Of bewilderment and rage Through the melting tarmac Sam’s cowboy boots emerge They pull him backwards from the seething pit A moment later, he’s on his feet Tonight we’re raising Sam Peckinpah Summoning him out of the dirt Raising Mr Peckinpah Sam’s going to take away our hurt We’re raising Sam Peckinpah Summoning him out of the dirt Raising Mr Peckinpah And when we thought that it had all come to an end Out of the hole come all Sam’s friends Ma Barker! Ma Barker! Frank Sinatra, Margaret Thatcher! Peter Rachman; John Wayne! Nixon, Nixon; Charlemagne..! Bill Grundy, Ted Bundy Catherine de Medici! Imelda Marcos! Kim Il-Sung! Stalin’s children, one by one Pontius Pilate, Cruella de Ville General Franco, Harry Flashman Gerald Ratner, Mark Thatcher The Mitford sisters, the child catcher, Lon Cheney, Bela Lugosi Salome, Salome, Salome, Salome! Bonnie and Clyde, Idi Amin Empress of India – Victoria (Queen) Judge Dredd, Columbus Sid Vicious, his missus Lord forgive me, and bless-a my soul One by one, crawling out of the hole… One by one by one by one by One by one, crawling out of the hole… One by one by one by one by One by one crawling out of the hole… Oh no
9.	Pop's Gone And Bought A Gun 05:01	lyrics	buy track
Lyrics: Taste is not for queens or kings, her hangman or his knave Taste fights shy of plutocrats, their concubines and slaves Taste runs rings round Cambridge dons, the wine and stubble crew Taste’s best left to the experts – the likes of me and you Taste’s a toxic love bite that penetrates the bone Makes you flee the mothership, your kith and kin, your home From Stevenage to Doncaster, taste sanctifies the flesh Taste burns you like an allergy, preserves you after death Love is not for scientists, love is not for the police Love is not for surgeons, psychologists or priests Love is not for the common man, nor for the bourgeoisie Love’s best left to the experts – the likes of you and me Love binds you up with coats and scarves, love glues you to the wall Pours sugar in your petrol tank, love makes you twist and crawl Love takes you off to Camden Town, love rains on your weekend Love telephones you late at night, impersonates your friends Pop is not for traffic wardens, pop is not for thieves Pop is not for courtesans, or barristers with briefs Pop is not for dental nurses, guttersnipes or fools Pop’s best left to the experts – the likes of me and you Pop fills your lungs with chewing gum and luminescent dust Pop runs on AA batteries and acetone and lust Desperate and loyal, pop’s gone and bought a gun For taking out jazz infidels and rock’s arriviste scum Pop keeps it short Love keeps it sweet Taste makes it good enough to eat And we should jump in with both feet Let’s just jump in with both feet, yeah
10.	Oh..!! Mister Peacock..!! 01:58	lyrics	buy track
Lyrics Oh..! Mister Peacock..!! To fuck up is human But to ‘fess up is divine You could try it sometime You should try it sometime Oh Mister Peacock Oh Colonel Partridge The playing fields of Eton Must be beaten out of you I’ll form a queue Spared the rod and spoiled the child Oh, you ran wild Oh Colonel Partridge Oh Doctor Pigeon While you’ve slapped the one cheek Don’t think about the other Don’t think your house is too big to blow down Oh Mister Peacock To ‘fess up is human But to fuck up is divine You should try it sometime You could try it sometime Oh Mister Peacock You could try it sometime Yeah, you should try it sometime Dear Mister Peacock You should try it sometime Then go enjoy the sunshine Mr Peacock

about

July 2023:

Now (very, very lightly) remastered, following the acquisition of some delightful new technology at Amanda Towers - hurrah..!! Probably due for a 'proper' remix, too, at some point (it's quite reverb-y, in places, isn't it..? Bit much..?), but that may have to wait a few months...

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

June 2020:

Mostly pieced together during a mad flurry of writing in the spring and summer of 2019... when the rhetoric around Brexit seemed to be drifting very close to the knuckle. Seeing Microdisney in Dublin in February was also a spur to record again. 'Broken Toys Are Art' was an older song that just seemed to find its home here... and pop purists can reassure themselves that (unlike in 'Dim Sum') NO GUITAR SOLOS managed to creep into this recording. They tried... but Jo put her foot down. Best not mess with a lass like Jo, I say.

credits

released June 25, 2020

Huw, Ivan, Jo, Annik.

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about

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...) ... more

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