BOWIE IS BOWIE

Strikes the bell for 5 o'clock, Uncle Arthur closes shop

Screws the tops on all the bottles, turns the lights out, locks it up

Climbs across his bike and he's away

Cycles past the gasworks,

past the river, down the high street

Back to mother,

it's another empty day

Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat that's red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat 'cause I feel cold

Rubber band
How I wish that I could join your Rubber band
We could play in lively parks throughout the land
And one Sunday afternoon I'd find my love

Oh, beautiful baby
I was very lonely till I met you on Sunday
My passion's never-ending and I'll love you till Tuesday

There is a happy land where only children live
You've had your chance and now the doors are closed sir,
Mr. Grownup. Go away, sir

Boo, boo, boo, boo doop ...

The world will overpopulate
Unless you claim infertility
So who will buy a drink for me, your Messiah
We are hungry men
We don't give a damn for what you're saying
We're here to eat you

War made him a soldier

Little Frankie Mear

Peace left him a loser

The little bombardier

Packed his bags, his heart in pain

Wiped a tear and caught a train

Not to be seen in the town again

The little bombardier

Silly boy blue, silly boy blue
Child of the Tibet, you're a gift from the sun
Reincarnation of one better man
The homeward road is long
You've left your prayers and song

Gazing eyes and running wild

Past the stocks and over stiles

Kiss the window merry child

But come and buy my toys...

This is how to spend now that you've joined the gang
This is what to do now that you're here
Sit round doing nothing all together very fast
Psychedelic stars, throwing down cigars
They're picking up the joints now that they've joined the gang

She deserted on the previous morning
Replaced her uniform with dresses silk and green
Called herself Eileen
Came to London town
Now she's settled down
She's got medals

And maids of Bond Street drive round in chauffered cars
Maids of Bond Street picture clothes, eyes of stars
Maids of Bond Street shouldn't have worldly cares
Maids of Bond Street shouldn't have love affairs

Please Mr. Gravedigger, don't feel ashamed
As you dig little holes for the dead and the maimed
Please Mr. Gravedigger, I couldn't care
If you found a golden locket full of some girl's hair
And you put it in your pocket