>From Under The Covers

by Paul Heaton and David Rotheray

 

 

It's six a.m. and even Big Ben

Is trying to get his head down for a kip

But no sooner is it down

And then it's on with dressing gown

For this city very rarely loses grip

But I have a friend who's never up by ten

He's fast asleep with mouth open wide

He's lost a lot of jobs, but he's won a lot of friends

And he says to me, he cannot tell the time

It's seven a.m. and we're coughing up the phlegm

Spitting out the taste of night before

And we'll vomit and we'll choke

Just to climb their tatty rope

Well this city has its charm and its claw

And he'll blame his clock

Or he'll say he's lost his socks

And they'll tell you that he's been bitten by a snake

His excuses are an art

>From the bottom of his heart

And he thinks of them whenever he awakes

It's eight a.m. we're on the road again

Racing for a placing at the top

And it says green for go

For the people in the know

But for the others all it says is red for stop

It's cold and it's damp

And they've dug him a grave

And the ten fifteen merchant's still in bed

And scrawled upon the headboard

For the whole wide world to see is

"Died In The Arms Of Big Ted"

Lyrics (C) 1989 Go! Discs Music Ltd., used without permission.

Please send any corrections to Dylan Salisbury <misterme@netcom.com>

from: Christian Korbanka, Cologne, Germany

e-mail: Christian_Korbanka@msn.com

lyrics and chords of: From Under The Covers by The Beautiful South

Suggestions and corrections are always welcome!

date: 95/10/15

It's 6.00 a.m. and even Big Ben

Is trying to get his head down for a kip

But no sooner is it down

And then it's on with dressing gown

For this city very rarely loses grip

But I have a friend who's never up by 10.00

He's fast asleep with mouth open wide

He's lost a lot of jobs, but he's won a lot of friends

And he says to me, he cannot tell the time

It's 7.00 a.m. and we're coghing up the phlegm

Spitting out the taste of night before

And we'll vomit and we'll choke

Just to climb their tatty rope

Well this city has it's charm, and is't claw

And he'll blame his clock or he'll say he's lost his socks

And they'll tell you that he's been bitten by a snake

His excuses are an art from the bottom of his heart

And he thinks of them whenever he awakes

It's 8.00 a.m. and we're on the road again

Racing for a placing at the top

And it says green for go

For the people in the know

But for the others all it says red for stop

It's cold and it's damp and they've dug him a grave

And the 10.15 merchants still in bed

And scrawled upon the headboard for the whole wide world to see is

"Died In The Arms Of Big Ted"

Original played in F-Major!

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