Parlance Songtext
von The Rosemaries

(I′m fucking your boyfriend. When do I come in?
Uhh... after the riff pal
After the riff
Hold on, hold on, hold on)


I was loitering on some corner, where?
God only knows!
Up to no good I can only suppose
And some darling doe eyed hoodlum
Came and gave me a bloody nose
He really wasn't too vulgar
He said: "I hate to impose
But would it be terribly rude of me
If you and I came to blows?"
Well, he was tremendously polite
And I was overcome with passionate throes
"Go home my sweet, to your provocatively single bed
Go home my sweet, to the place where you
Rest your head
And meet me here under the stars we chase
And I′ll pummel a grin onto your pretty little face"

This you see is the parlance of the streets where
I walk
The parlance of the ones' who often speak but
Never talk
A verbal scalpel and a verbal meat cleaver
Have broadly the same effect
And sometime one must use both
Along with a biting intellect
Parlance of the park
Parlance of the corner shop
Parlance of the buses and
Parlance of the bus stop
Parlance of the pub car park
Parlance of the chippy
Parlance of the people who made a high art
Of being lippy


So, the next night I met him there
My doe eyed ne'er-do-well
With a grin already in my hand
Ready for him to pummel
He was so delightfully attired
And to the street corner we retired
He said: "utterly fucking lovely to see you once again
You look consummately charming and I′d like you for mysen"
He took me home to meat his folks
His mummy was a butcher and his daddy never spoke
My hoodlum took me home to meet his doe eyed parents
And the two of ′em offered us their spare rent
To go out and buy a wedding ring and a bridal veil
So the two of us could marry why
The mother said: "beyond the pale"

This you see is the parlance of the streets where
I walk
The parlance of the ones' who often speak but
Never talk
A verbal scalpel and a verbal meat cleaver
Have broadly the same effect
And sometime one must use both
Along with a biting intellect
Parlance of the park
Parlance of the corner shop
Parlance of the buses and
Parlance of the bus stop
Parlance of the pub car park
Parlance of the chippy
Parlance of the people who made a high art
Of being lippy

My doe eyed darling and I were wed that very night
And I wore a dress of eggshell silk
And the bridesmaids had a fight
′Cause the maid of honour was a burly lad
A brute of six foot three
And the flower-girl was a rugby coach
Who had other places to be
They didn't see eye to eye at all
(The rugby coach was much less tall)
But my wedding night was wonderful all the same
And my hoodlum and I were ecstatic
To share one name

This you see is the parlance of the streets where
I walk
The parlance of the ones′ who often speak but
Never talk
A verbal scalpel and a verbal meat cleaver
Have broadly the same effect
And sometime one must use both
Along with a biting intellect
Parlance of the park
Parlance of the corner shop
Parlance of the buses and
Parlance of the bus stop
Parlance of the pub car park
Parlance of the chippy
Parlance of the people who made a high art
Of being lippy