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lyrics

The Chairman of the Wool Board’s Daughter

She was the chairman of the wool board’s daughter**
She arrived like a lamb to the slaughter
She was a teacher but all that had taught her
Was wearing high heels helps keep law and order

Well, we shared a bed in Landcross street
It was the flattest part of somewhere steep
It was a shoe box hoisted over a ravine
Somewhere the rain turned the beer bottles green

Well, she came back from Greece wrapped in a towel
I could never look a gift horse in the mouth
She was a frozen shade of golden brown
except in three places which I got to count for myself …la la la la la la la

Well, we lived a life of constant peeling
Vintage fat used to drip down from the ceiling
The neighbours burned our letterbox for stealing
their milk whenever they went out

So we placed our speakers face down on the floor
At two in the morning or three or four
They used to beat with a broomstick on our walls
but all to no avail

The weekends were a search for sex
but our searching had the opposite effect
There didn’t seem to be any women left
prepared to fall in love with human wrecks

We’d drink three dozen at a single sitting
We sculled a hundred nips without even pissing
We drank ‘Blue Water, White Death’* and went missing
For a long, long, long, long time

We had five tvs stacked up in the corner
They were stacked up in a special order
Two nearly worked, one not at all and two sort of
We used to dive from the cliffs of the 19 inch … just like those guys in Acapulco

We shunned the daylight and we hugged the fringe
We never drank much, we’d only binge
It was a bottomless wok of stir-fried things
relieved by ham steaks and pineapple rings

Well, I stayed there for quite a while
It began with Boston and ended in the Blue Nile
I had no money, no hopes and no style
It was a tragedy of failed moustaches

Oh, when she left, she took the bed
I had to sleep on the Hessian instead
I’d go round and stay and get my ‘end’ away
Until she gave it back to me with interest … my ‘end’, that is

There was the mung bean-eating cellist who barfed
There was the bearded linguist from Canberra who laughed
There was old Hairy Back and his ring around our bath
that looked like Friar Tuck’s head

There was John, Chris, Tony, Brian and Steve
There was ancient Bill and his gold Ford Capri
There was Rod and Gyles and Jan and Gill and me
And now there’s you … there … too.

** Well, almost
*All the white spirits in a beer jug, coloured with a shot of blue Curacao.

credits

from Songs From The Bottom Of A Hilltop - Uphill Side, released November 13, 2010

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Sven Olsen's Brutal Canadian Love Saga Wellington

Our special limited edition fly swat and book deluxe combo has almost sold out. We found a dozen. The Almanac is an illustrated book and six albums worth of songs about a typical year of life in New Zealand, land of laid back catastrophe. You can also download this digital audio Everest here for next to nothing. Kapai! ... more

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