Hey, Mrs Jones
from #2 Wide-oes on the Rise E.P. by Rudebeard
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lyrics
Mrs Jones, I wasn't joking - 'sake!
Was that steamers' skinful wasted?
From the Weege, decentred, went I
through a bleak narcotic night
aboard a midnight limbo train
frothing fevers in the brain
to drink the Burgh dry (for courage);
and I rolled in around four,
crossed the ocean of my floor
and dropped the words into your inbox
like a sodden tonne of luggage
(ha-ha, ho-ho!):
Hey, Mrs Jones -
wha'd'ya know? -
I'm in love with you,
you make my garden grow
and, furthermore,
that gadge you saw:
could you kindly show his
grinning pus the door?
or words to that effect.
But - what the hell did I expect? -
you found it witty, debonair and so ironic
and you didn't realise
that I want in between your thighs.
I got the bull, I got it bad,
I got the chronic.
Ha-ha, ho-ho!
Hey, Mrs Jones,
come jump my bones.
Y'know I've waited years
to let you take me home
and might I add
I'm minging mad,
aflame with jealousy?
I thought you oughtta know.
Hey, Mrs Jones,
come share my load
because I'm pure gonzoed for you lately
and it shows
and, furthermore,
that gadge you saw:
could you kindly show his
grinning pus the door?
O lady
I'm a clear winter sky.
By the shade of a willow tree
I lay down to die.
O me,
O my.
Hey, Mrs Jones -
wha'd'ya know? -
I'm in love with you,
you make my garden grow
and, furthermore,
that gadge you saw:
could you kindly show his
grinning pus the door
and, Mrs Jones,
come jump my bones?
Y'know I've waited years
to let you take me home
and might I add
I'm minging mad,
insane with jealousy?
I thought you oughtta know.
Hey, Mrs Jones,
come share my load
because I'm pure gonzoed for you lately
and it shows
and, furthermore,
yer boy's a bore.
Could you kindly fling him out
the frigging door?
Hey, Mrs Jones,
where have you gone?
In the morning you'd transformed.
I shoulda known.
And now you've flown
and I'm all alone
my words come smashing through your
window like a stone.
Was that steamers' skinful wasted?
From the Weege, decentred, went I
through a bleak narcotic night
aboard a midnight limbo train
frothing fevers in the brain
to drink the Burgh dry (for courage);
and I rolled in around four,
crossed the ocean of my floor
and dropped the words into your inbox
like a sodden tonne of luggage
(ha-ha, ho-ho!):
Hey, Mrs Jones -
wha'd'ya know? -
I'm in love with you,
you make my garden grow
and, furthermore,
that gadge you saw:
could you kindly show his
grinning pus the door?
or words to that effect.
But - what the hell did I expect? -
you found it witty, debonair and so ironic
and you didn't realise
that I want in between your thighs.
I got the bull, I got it bad,
I got the chronic.
Ha-ha, ho-ho!
Hey, Mrs Jones,
come jump my bones.
Y'know I've waited years
to let you take me home
and might I add
I'm minging mad,
aflame with jealousy?
I thought you oughtta know.
Hey, Mrs Jones,
come share my load
because I'm pure gonzoed for you lately
and it shows
and, furthermore,
that gadge you saw:
could you kindly show his
grinning pus the door?
O lady
I'm a clear winter sky.
By the shade of a willow tree
I lay down to die.
O me,
O my.
Hey, Mrs Jones -
wha'd'ya know? -
I'm in love with you,
you make my garden grow
and, furthermore,
that gadge you saw:
could you kindly show his
grinning pus the door
and, Mrs Jones,
come jump my bones?
Y'know I've waited years
to let you take me home
and might I add
I'm minging mad,
insane with jealousy?
I thought you oughtta know.
Hey, Mrs Jones,
come share my load
because I'm pure gonzoed for you lately
and it shows
and, furthermore,
yer boy's a bore.
Could you kindly fling him out
the frigging door?
Hey, Mrs Jones,
where have you gone?
In the morning you'd transformed.
I shoulda known.
And now you've flown
and I'm all alone
my words come smashing through your
window like a stone.
credits
from #2 Wide-oes on the Rise E.P.,
released December 14, 2019
Written and arranged by Mearns/Rudebeard
Written and arranged by Mearns/Rudebeard
license
all rights reserved
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about
Rudebeard Scotland, UK
Formed at the end of 2018, Rudebeard specialise in energetic, sweaty, sweary, usually loud & occasionally thoughtful ska-
punk, fast ska, slow ska, ska that’s not really ska and one attempted Scottish fitba anthem cos why no?
Two years, five EPs & one pandemic later we have accrued a back catalogue larger than you should reasonably expect & we herein present it to you for your aural delectation.
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