People Such As These by Walkabouts
To begin, to begin, there is the first born
He who is like a melon
He who has a big nose
He who doesn't know his name
Because he drinks a lot
And he's been drunk-- for a long time
Does nothing with ten fingers
He can do no more than that
Completely cooked
Sees himself as king
Drunk every night
On rotgut wine
But you'll find him in the morning
Sleeping in a church
Stiff as a board
White like the dove of Easter
Sitting and stuttering
Bleary eyed
It must be said, sir
People such as these
We do not think
We do not think
We only pray
And then there is another
With carrots in his hair
Who never saw a wig a scamp with ticks
Gives the shirt off his back
To the happy poor
He who married Denise
A girl from the town
Actually from another town
And it's not finished
He does his little business
With his little hat
His little coat, his little car
Wants us to believe, he has style
But he has none at all
We shouldn't play rich
When we don't have the money
It must be said, sir
People such as these
We don't live, sir
We don't live, we trick
And then there are the others
The mother who says nothing
Or spews, anything at all
From evening to morning
From beneath her pretty face
Face like an apostle
And in the wood frame
The mustache of the father
He who died in a fall
He who watches his flock
Graze on their cold soup
He who makes big slurrps
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