Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel
Shady gentleman. Fly-bu*ton. Feel
In the underpa**, the blind man stands. With cold flute hands
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time -
You can call me on another line
Indian restaurants that curry my brain
Newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station
Stand. With cold print hands
Symphony word-player, I'll be your headline
If you catch me another time
Didn't make her - with my Baker Street Ruse
Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street Bruise
Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street Muse
Ale-spew, puddle-brew - boys, throw it up clean
Coke and Bacardi colours them green
From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess with great finesse
Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty feet down in the Baker
Street underground
What the Hell?
I didn't make her - with my Baker Street Ruse
Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street Bruise
Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street Muse
Walking down the gutter thinking, "How the Hell am I today?"
Well, I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same
"Big bottled Fraulein, put your weight on me," said the pig-me to the
who*e, desperate for more in his a**ault upon the mountain
Little man, his youth a fountain. Overdrafted and still counting
Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting close to where he came from
In the doorway of the stars, between Blandford Street and Mars;
Proposition, deal. Flying bu*ton feel. Testicle testing
Wallet ever-bulging. Dressed to the left, divulging the wrinkles of his
Years
Wedding-bell induced fears
Shedding bell-end tears in the pocket of her resistance
International a**istance flowing generous and full to his never-ready tool
Pulls his eyes over her wool. And he shudders as he comes -
And my rudder slowly turns me into the Marylebone Road
And here slip I - dragging one foot in the gutter -
In the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap radios
And there sits she - no bed, no bread nor bu*ter -
On a double yellow line where she can park anytime
Old Lady Grey; Crash-barrier Waltzer -
Some only son's mother. Baker Street casualty
Oh, Mr. Policeman - blue shirt ballet master
Feet in sticking plaster - Move the old lady on
Strange pas-de-deux - His Romeo to her Juliet
Her sleeping draught his poisoned regret
No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the crowded emptiness
Oh officer, oh let me send her to a cheap hotel -
I'll pay the bill and make her well - like hell you bloody will!
No do-good over k**. We must teach them to be still more independent
I have no time for Time Magazine or Rolling Stone
I have no wish for wishing-wells or wishing bones
I have no house in the country I have no motor-car
And if you think I'm joking, then I'm just a one-line joker in a public
Bar
And it seems there's no-body left for tennis; and I'm a one-band-man
And I want no Top Twenty funeral or a hundred grand
There was a little boy stood on a burning log, rubbing his hands with glee
He said, "Oh Mother England, did you light my smile; or did you light
This fire under me?"
One day I'll be a minstrel in the gallery
And paint you a picture of the queen
And if sometimes I sing to a cynical degree -
It's just the nonsense that it seems
So I drift down through the Baker Street valley, in my steep-sided
Un-reality
And when all's said and all's done - couldn't wish for a better one
It's a real-life ripe dead-certainty - that I'm just a Baker Street Muse
Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same old way
I tried to catch my eye but I looked the other way
Indian restaurants that curry my brain -
Newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station
Stand. Circumcised with cold print hands
Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel
Shady gentleman. Fly-bu*ton. Feel
In the underpa**, the blind man stands. With cold flute hands
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time -
You can call me on another line
Didn't make her - with my Baker Street Ruse
Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street Bruise
Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street Muse
I'm just a Baker Street Muse. Just a Baker Street Muse
Just a Baker Street Muse