Boney M
Ra Ra Rasputin
Lover of the Russian Queen
There was a cat that really had gone
Ra Ra Rasputin
Russiaâs greatest love machine
It was a shame how he carried on
Season ticket goes to anyone that can prevent those lyrics worming into their head.! :0)
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At the end of Simon & Garfunkelâs I Am A Rock, Art sings âAnd a rock feels no pain, and an island never criesâ, just in case anyone had failed to understand Paulâs almost genius, ever so subtle metaphor throughout the rest of the song. 
It doesnât ruin the song for me, but it is shite.
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The greatest for sheer comedy value:
Youâre a bum, youâre a punk
Youâre an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap, lousy faggot
Happy Christmas, your arse
I pray God itâs our last
My fav though:
donât ask me
Iâm just improvising
my illusion of careless flight
canât you see
my temperatureâs rising
I radiate more heat than light
Rush Presto
Worst,
Iâve got a plastic goldfish but the world donât care, theyâd rather swing me round by my pubic hair.
My brotherâs band about 35 years ago.
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i loved that song. It was a catchy tune.
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Best: âThere ainât no point in moving on until youâve got somewhere to go.â
George Michael, Waiting Reprise
Worst: âI donât want to see a ghost,
Itâs a sight that I fear most
Iâd rather have a piece of toast.â
Desâree. Who was obviously stoned writing that nonsense.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWwFk64SLDw
If there was a medal given for a combined worst/best line everâŠ
Shel Silverstein would have about fifty nominations for itâŠ
eg.
"Donât Give a Dose to the One You Love MostâŠ
Give Her Some Marmalade, Give Her Some ToastâŠ"
and they just keep getting better.!
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The whole of âKillâ by Alberto Y Lost Trios Paranoias.
Hereâs a sample. The first verse.
âI donât give a damn, I donât fxxxing care,
Gonna kill me Mum and Dad and pull out me hair.
Fed up with the dole and the human race,
Gonna cut me liver out and shove it in your face.
Kill, Iâm gonna killâ
Iâll let you decide whether theyâre the best or worst lines ever. 
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I wonder if this Paul Simon lyric can even be given airtime any more. I thought it was rather cruel at the time.
He ducked back down the alley
With some roly-poly little bat-faced girl
All along, along
There were incidents and accidents
There were hints and allegations
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Why? Is it an insult to all roly-poly little bat-faced girls everywhere?
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Offensive to bats, small women andâŠerr puddings everywhereâŠ
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Hmmmm. Why didnât The Jam release an album called Roly Poly? 
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This stanza form Dylanâs âHighway 61 Revisitedâ is one of my favourites:
God said Abraham, âKill me a sonâ
Abe say, âMan, you must be puttinâ me onâ
God say, "No. And " Abe say, âWhat?â
God say, âYou can do what you want Abe, but now
The next time you see me cominâ man you better runââŠ
âŠAbe say, âWhereâd you want this killinâ done?â
God say, âOut on Highway 61.â
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âSo what the fuck is this UK
Gunninâ with this US of A
In Iraq and Iran and in Afghanistanâ
From Illegal Attacks by Ian Brown
Has to be one of the best openings to a song for me
With the whole song sending such a strong message about money-making wars in the Middle East
The entire lyrics to Jilted John. I used to play this on the student union jukebox nearly every time I went into the bar.
Iâve been going out with a girl
Her name is Julie
But last night she said to me
When we were watching telly
She said listen John, I love you
But thereâs this bloke, I fancy
I donât want to two time you
So itâs the end for you and me
Whoâs this bloke I asked her
Gordon, she replied
Not that puff, I said dismayed
Yes but heâs no puff she cried
Here we go, two three four
I was so upset that I cried
All the way to the chip shop
When I came out there was Gordon
Standing at the bus stop
(And guess who was with him?
Yeah, Julie, and they were both laughing at me)
Oh, she is cruel and heartless
To pack me for Gordon
Just cos heâs better looking than me
Just cos heâs cool and trendy
But I know heâs a moron, Gordon is a moron
Gordon is a moron, Gordon is a moron
Here we go, two three four
Oh sheâs a slag and heâs a creep
Sheâs a tart, heâs very cheap
She is a slut, he thinks heâs tough
She is a bitch, he is a puff
Yeah yeah, itâs not fair
Yeah yeah, itâs not fair
(Iâm so upset)
Iâm so upset, Iâm so upset, yeah yeah
(I ought to smash his face in.)
(Yeah, but heâs bigger than me. Inât he?)
(I know, Iâll get my mate Barry to hit him. Heâd flatten him)
(Yeah but Barryâs a mate of Gordonâs inâe?)
(Oh well, I donât care)
I donât care
I donât care
Cause sheâs a slag and heâs a creep
Sheâs a tart, heâs very cheap
She is a slut, he thinks heâs toughâŠ
Iâm so upset, Iâm so upset, yeah yeah
One without the paedo in it
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Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gunAnd you run, and you run to catch up with the sun but itâs sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way but youâre older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
Time by pink floyd
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Best Line
You shit me to tears
Am I making this clear!
Just give me a break,
for fuck sake!
The Tenants - You Shit Me to Tears
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Not sure which thread to put thisâŠ
Shouldnât laugh, but back from the day, it was just sooooo funny! 
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Was only talking about this earlier when the news broke about Boycie. The singing dustman, great episode.
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BjĂžrn Afzelius was one of the best writers of quality lyrics. Sadly he is no more. But for those he touched, he for sure lives on and in Sweden he is as immortal as ABBA (he was of course a far superior song writer). I am glad he was part of my life when I grew up. Either his lyrics were deeply emotional, or political and quite hard hitting. But always honest, always with grand poetry and always thought stimulating.
** Under Sions kalla stjÀrna**
Vi var i höjd med Saloniki
nÀr molnen drev isÀr
och vi sÄg Egiska Havet
klart och tydligt.
Det var en skönhet utan like,
nÀstan som i en sagovarld,
nÀr vi flög över
dom Nordliga Sporaderna.
Vi rundade PirĂšus
och landaâ i Aten.
Staden lÄg dÀr, vit
och lockande, i solen.
Men jag stannaâ vid en TV-skĂ€rm
som stod i ankomsthallen.
Jag ville se dom sista nyheterna
frÄn Jerusalem.
Och under Sions kalla stjÀrna
sÄg jag smÄflickor som fallit,
med blodrosor pÄ blusarna
dÀr kulorna trÀngt in.
Under Sions kalla stjÀrna
sÄg jag samma blanka terror
som jag minns den
frÄn Warszawa och Berlin.
Jag skulle segla över havet,
ner till Haifa frÄn Athen,
med nÄgra hundra
deporterade palestiner.
Men det var svÄrt att finna ett fartyg
som var till salu för nÄt sÄnt
pÄ grund av pressen pÄ
den greska regeringen.
Men jag försökte kultivera mej,
i vÀntan pÄ besked,
sÄ jag drev omkring en del
i kvarteren runt Omonia.
Jag sÄg bouzoukidans i Plaka,
jag sÄg det slitna Parthenon.
Och varje afton sÄg jag nyheterna
frÄn Jerusalem.
Och under Sions kalla stjÀrna
sÄg jag smÄflickor som fallit,
med blodrosor pÄ blusarna
dÀr kulorna trÀngt in.
Under Sions kalla stjÀrna
sÄg jag samma blanka terror
som jag minns den
frÄn Warszawa och Berlin.
SÄ fann man sÄ ett fartyg,
i Larnaca pÄ Cypern,
Och vi talade om vÄr resa
halva natten.
Och vi skrattade hysteriskt
nÀr israeliske ministern
stod och upphöjde oss
till mördare i TV.
Men vi skrattade inte lÀngre
nÀr vi sÄg i morgonbladet
att dom som chartrat bÄten
mördats samma natt.
Man hade sprÀngt dom i atomer
vid en rÀd mot deras bilar.
SÄ nu satt vi framför nyheterna
frÄn Jerusalem.
Och under Sions kalla stjÀrna
sÄg jag smÄflickor som fallit,
med blodrosor pÄ blusarna
dÀr kulorna trÀngt in.
Under Sions kalla stjÀrna
sÄg jag samma blanka terror
som jag minns den
frÄn Warszawa och Berlin.
Vi söp oss fulla pÄ hotellet
bland tysta palestinier
och bland agenter frÄn Mossad
som köpte vykort.
Men alla ville ÀndÄ resa,
det fanns ju, trots allt, en bÄt,
och ingen orkade lÀngre rÀkna
dom som stupat.
SĂ„, i gryningen, kom beskedet,
vi alla visste skulle komma,
om att fartyget hade sprÀngts
i Larnaca.
SÄ jag reste frÄn Athen
med dödens trötthet i mitt hjÀrta.
Och pÄ kvÀllen sÄg jag nyheterna
frÄn Jerusalem.
Under Zionâs cold stars
I saw small girls who fell
with blood roses on their blouses
where the bullets penetrated in.
Under Zionâs cold stars
I saw the same clear terror
which I remember
from Warsaw and Berlin
Och under Sions kalla stjÀrna
sÄg jag smÄflickor som fallit,
med blodrosor pÄ blusarna
dÀr kulorna trÀngt in.
Under Sions kalla stjÀrna
sÄg jag samma blanka terror
som jag minns den
frÄn Warszawa och Berlin.
English:
We were flying over Saloniki
when the clouds drew apart
and we saw the Aegean Sea
clearly and distinctly.
It was a beauty without equal,
almost like a fairyland,
when we flew over
the Northern Sporades.
We rounded Piraeus
and landed in Athens.
The city lay there, white
and attractive, in the sun.
But I stopped next to a TV screen
which was in the arrival hall.
I wanted to see the latest news
from Jerusalem.
And under Zions cold stars
I saw small girls who fell,
with blood roses on their blouses
where the bullets penetrated in.
Under Zionâs cold stars
I saw the same clear terror
which I remember
from Warsaw and Berlin.
I wanted to sail over the ocean,
down to Haifa from Athens,
with several hundred
deported Palestinians.
But it was hard to find a ship
which was for sale for something like that
because of the pressure on
the Greek government.
But I tried to cultivate myself,
waiting for information,
so I drove around a bit
in the neighborhood around Omonia.
I saw Bousouki dance in Plaka
I saw the worn out Parthenon
And every evening I saw the news
from Jerusalem.
And under Zionâs cold stars
I saw small girls who fell
with blood roses on their blouses
where the bullets penetrated in.
Under Zionâs cold stars
I saw the same clear terror
which I remember
from Warsaw and Berlin.
So they found a ship
in Larnaca on Cypress
And we spoke about our trip
half the night.
And we laughed hysterically
when the Israeli minister
stood and exalted us
as murderers on TV.
But we didnât laugh any longer
when we saw in the morning paper
that those who chartered the boat
were murdered the same night.
They had blown them into atoms
next to a row of their cars
So now we sat in front of the news
from Jerusalem.
And under Zionâs cold stars
I saw small girls who fell,
with blood roses on their blouses
where the bullets penetrated in.
Under Zionâs cold stars
I saw the same clear terror
which I remember
from Warsaw and Berlin.
We drank ourselves drunk at the hotel
among the quiet Palestineans
and among agents from Mossad
who bought postcards.
But everyone wanted to travel
There was, after all, one boat
and no one had the strength to count
those who had fallen.
So in the dawn came the information
we all knew would come
that the ship had exploded
in Larnaca.
So I traveled from Athens
with the tiredness of death in my heart.
And in the evening I saw the news
from JerusalemâŠ
Under Zionâs cold stars
I saw small girls who fell,
with blood roses on the blouses
where bullets penetrated in.
Under Zionâs cold stars
I saw the same clear terror
which I remember
from Warsaw and Berlin.
And under Zionâs cold stars
I saw small girls who fell,
with blood roses on their blouses
where the bullets penetrated in.
Under Zionâs cold stars
I saw the same clear terror
which I remember
from Warsaw and Berlin.
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*Give me back my broken night
My mirrored room my secret life
Itâs lonely here
Thereâs no one left to torture
Give me absolute control
Over every living soul
And lie beside me baby
Thatâs an order
Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree thatâs left
And stuff it up the hole
In your culture*
Leonard Cohen living in a Buddhist retreat at the top of some mountain in California; Iâd probably feel the same, but I doubt Iâd have expressed it so perfectly.
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