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Deep Purple - Lazy







You're lazy just stay in bed
You're lazy just stay in bed
You don't want no money
You don't want no bread

If you're drowning you don't clutch no straw
If you're drowning you don't clutch no straw
You don't want to live you don't want to cry no more

Well my trying ain't done no good
I said my trying ain't done no good
You don't make no effort no not like you should

Lazy you just stay in bed
Lazy you just stay in bed
You don't want no money
You don't want no bread

Deep Purple - Child in Time











Sweet child in time you'll see the line
The line that's drawn between good and the bad
See the blind man shooting at the world
Bullets flying, taking toll
If you've been bad, lord I bet you have
And you've not been hit by flying lead
You'd better close your eyes
Bow your head
Wait for the ricochet

I wanna hear you scream
Sweet child in time you'll see the line
The line that's drawn between, good and the bad
See the blind man shooting at the world
Bullets flying, taking toll
If you've been bad, lord I bet you have
And you've not been hit by flying lead
You'd better close your eyes
Bow your head
Wait for the ricochet

I gotta hear you scream

Oh, god, oh, no don't, oh, ain't gonna do it, oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no

Из-за чего в СССР был запрещён альбом Pink Floyd "The Final Cut"?



Pink Floyd - Get your Filthy Hands Off my Desert







Brezhnev took Afghanistan.
Begin took Beirut.
Galtieri took the Union Jack.
And Maggie, over lunch one day,
Took a cruiser with all hands.
Apparently, to make him give it back...

Pink Floyd - The Final Cut

Track listing

"The Gunner's Dream" - 00:15
"The Final Cut" - 05:19
"Not Now John" - 10:05
"The Fletcher Memorial Home" - 14:31






The Gunner's Dream (Waters)

Floating down through the clouds
Memories come rushing up to meet me now.
In the space between the heavens
and in the corner of some foreign field
I had a dream.
I had a dream.
Good-bye Max.
Good-bye Ma.
After the service when you're walking slowly to the car
And the silver in her hair shines in the cold November air
You hear the tolling bell
And touch the silk in your lapel
And as the tear drops rise to meet the comfort of the band
You take her frail hand
And hold on to the dream.
A place to stay
"Oi! A real one ..."
Enough to eat
Somewhere old heroes shuffle safely down the street
Where you can speak out loud
About your doubts and fears
And what's more no-one ever disappears
You never hear their standard issue kicking in your door.
You can relax on both sides of the tracks
And maniacs don't blow holes in bandsmen by remote control
And everyone has recourse to the law
And no-one kills the children anymore.
And no one kills the children anymore.

Night after night
Going round and round my brain
His dream is driving me insane.
In the corner of some foreign field
The gunner sleeps tonight.
What's done is done.
We cannot just write off his final scene.
Take heed of his dream.
Take heed.


The Final Cut (Waters)

Through the fish-eyed lens of tear stained eyes
I can barely define the shape of this moment in time
And far from flying high in clear blue skies
I'm spiraling down to the hole in the ground where I hide.

If you negotiate the minefield in the drive
And beat the dogs and cheat the cold electronic eyes
And if you make it past the shotgun in the hall,
Dial the combination, open the priesthole
And if I'm in I'll tell you what's behind the wall.

There's a kid who had a big hallucination
Making love to girls in magazines.
He wonders if you're sleeping with your new found faith.
Could anybody love him
Or is it just a crazy dream?

And if I show you my dark side
Will you still hold me tonight?
And if I open my heart to you
And show you my weak side
What would you do?
Would you sell your story to Rolling Stone?
Would you take the children away
And leave me alone?
And smile in reassurance
As you whisper down the phone?
Would you send me packing?
Or would you take me home?

Thought I oughta bare my naked feelings,
Thought I oughta tear the curtain down.
I held the blade in trembling hands
Prepared to make it but just then the phone rang
I never had the nerve to make the final cut.

"Hello? Listen, I think I've got it. Okay, listen its a HaHa!"


Not Now John (Waters)

Fuck all that we've got to get on with these
Gotta compete with the wily Japanese.
There's too many home fires burning
And not enough trees.
So fuck all that
We've go to get on with these.

Can't stop
Lose job
Mind gone
Silicon
What bomb
Get away
Pay day
Make hay
Break down
Need fix
Big six
Clickity click
Hold on
Oh no
Brrrrrrrrrring bingo!

Make 'em laugh.
Make 'em cry.
Make 'em dance in the aisles.
Make 'em pay.
Make 'em stay.
Make'em feel ok.

Not nah John
We've got to get on with the film show.
Hollywood waits at the end of the rainbow.
Who cares what it's about
As long as the kids go?
Not now John
Got to get on with the show.

Hang on John we've got to get on with this.
I don't know what it is
But it fits on here like.....
Come at the end of the shift
We'll go and get pissed.
But now now John
I've got to get on with this.

Hold on John
I think there's something good on.
I used to read books but.....
It could be the news
Or some other abuse
Or it could be reusable shows.

Fuck all that we've got to get on with these
Got to compete with the wily Japanese.
No need to worry about the Vietnamese.
Got to bring the Russian Bear to his knees.
Well, maybe not the Russian Bear
Maybe the Swedes.
We showed Argentina
Now let's go and show these.
Make us feel tough
And wouldn't Maggie be pleased?
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah!

"s'cusi dove il bar
(What?)
se para collo pou eine toe bar
s'il vous plait ou est le bar
(...say it in English!...)
oi, where's the fucking bar John?
(Oh, now you're talking!)"
Oh! Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the day
Down!
Go, Maggie!
Hammer, Hammer, Hammer, Hammer, now!


The Fletcher Memorial Home (Waters)

Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere
And build them a home, a little place of their own.
The Fletcher Memorial
Home for Incurable Tyrants and Kings.

And they can appear to themselves every day
On closed circuit T.V.
To make sure they're still real.
It's the only connection they feel.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Reagan and Haig,
Mr. Begin and friend, Mrs. Thatcher, and Paisly,
"Hello Maggie!"
Mr. Brezhnev and party.
"Scusi dov'è il bar?"
The ghost of McCarthy,
The memories of Nixon.
"Who's the bald chap?"
"Good-bye!"
And now, adding colour, a group of anonymous latin-
American meat packing glitterati.

Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?
They can polish their medals and sharpen their
Smiles, and amuse themselves playing games for awhile.
Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead.

Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye
With their favorite toys
They'll be good girls and boys
In the Fletcher Memorial Home for colonial
Wasters of life and limb.

Is everyone in?
Are you having a nice time?
Now the final solution can be applied.