(Heaton/Rotheray)



No one wrote a song for me

Just instrumental not too long

As sure as sure could ever be

You'd only get the lyrics wrong



No solo Chet Baker ever played

lowered me slowly to my grave

The prose that Keats and Yates would save

was for King and Queen not knave



I have no poem that describes my charm

No story told that's short and sweet

I have no hymn, I have no psalm

This song I have it has no beat

Yes it has no beat

No tapping of feet

Yes it has no beat



Miles Davis played the black 'n' blues

Did he play for me to lose?

Cause just when round midnight falls

That tune's not his it's Kenny Ball's



Now on that graveyard on that grave

On that tombstone in the shade

No poem written, no accolade

No "We loved you" ever sprayed



There's just this feeling from that moss

When epitaph you cannot read

he must have lived it at budget cost

So he deserves to be beneath



All that William Robinson wrote

not one of my pluses did he portray

those lyrics stuck right down my throat

I never hit

It never hit

My hit parade