kilbey
type
type
type
go olde boy
type it all up
like an eagle in the skyways
its too hot to imagine a blog
the sweat runs over my ibook
as i labour away
in the bristling morning
stick on my migrastick for my ever present headache
i told ya genius was pain
i’m hot n i’m angry
and all these words pouring outta me like the sweat
and planes cruise thru the painful sky
their noise re echoing in the filthy heat
oh the drums
oh the drums
oh the infernal summer
sitting here unclad n sweating
hot n red like an olde lobsterman
in some hot little hole
i wave my great clause around
and i boil slowly in the drowning air
get a fix on me
i’m just behind those cliffs
in my hot little house
and i’m tuned in to the heat
and i’m wired up all over my mansuit
and i move thru this air like a missile
i eat mangoes n bananas
i drink rice milk
at least my diet is pure
i vibrate so much faster now
i can dissolve
i can leave if i want
i have written 2 thousand songs
i sing the body hypnotique
i am no prophet in any land
i am too fucking good for them
i coulda been a contenderizer
i coulda had it all
but it was not my fate
this had to be my path
because fame n flattery n gluttony
bring ya monotony
and if you try to play
monotony
you may end up with a supertax gobblin’ up your pass go dough
while being in mayfair in a red hotel recedes into yer distance
and i’m tired of only being second in the beauty contest
and i’m too hot to care about yer triple double six
and i wont visit ya in jail
because i hate those timid freed men
and i suppress murderous thoughts
brought on by the oh the heat…
i hit the pool soon
yeah if i swim it all out like an eagle in the skyway
yeah my unicorn you were born to it
yeah lithon the black
the rider of stars
yeah
tyrannosaurus rex
the eater of cars
yeah
time being in excelsis
the kicker of arse
yeah
cover me wild bill hickok
yeah cover me botticelli
yeah cover me mickey finn
yeah cover me gala dali
yeah cover me dave mccomb
yeah cover me ian rilen
yeah cover me narcissus
yeah cover me bewlay sisters
yeah heres some heat for all my fans still in winter
heres some hot air from the furnace of the sun
heres some gaseous explosions straight outta mah head
heres some warmth from my savage pen
heres some january blast from the antipodes
where things are warming up
hold my sweaty hand you stupid world
i’m gonna lead ya down the jardin path
bring yer parasol
bring your suntan lotion
bring yer fucking hat
bring yer white clothes
bring your goggles n schnorkle
bring yer flippers n yer flip flops
pull yer thongs over those things
sing a song like i sings
i sings about the hot bite of the clouds
i sings about men who turn into pigs
n women who turn into witches
i sing about the distance n the time
i sing about the zeitgeist and its tendrils
i sing about the opulence of vishnu
i sing about the capriciousness of venus
i sing about getting born n the big sleep
i sing about the love between
my brothers n my sisters
all over this triple world
and why
you ask
why why why
do you sing sing sing of these things, oh kilbey…?

BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE FUCKING CAN!