Let's go down to where it's clean To see the time that might have been The tides have carried off the beach As you said, the sun is out of reach Let'
It is a cold winter, away is the songbird And gone is her traveler, she waits at home The sun is on holiday, no leaves on the trees The animals sleep
Pressed Rat and Warthog have closed down their shop They didn't want to, 'twas all they had got Selling atonal apples, amplified heat And Pressed Rat'
[Instrumental]
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(Jack Bruce and Pete Brown) Let's go down to where it's clean To see the time that might have been. The tides have carried off the beach. As you said
(Booker T. Jones and William Bell) Born under a bad sign. I've been down since I began to crawl. If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck
(Jack Bruce and Pete Brown) Upon this street where time has died. The golden treat you never tried. In times of old, in days gone by. If I could catch
(Ginger Baker and Mike Taylor) It is a cold winter, Away is the songbird. And gone is her traveller, She waits at home. The sun is on holiday, No leaves
(Ginger Baker and Mike Taylor) Pressed Rat and Warthog have closed down their shop, They didn't want to - 'twas all they had got. Selling atonal apples
(Robert Johnson) I went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees. Down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees. Asked the Lord above for mercy
, Gonna catch me a freight train. Gonna leave this town, Work done got to hard. She's gone, but I don't worry, I'm sittin' on top of the world. [Goodbye Cream
(Ginger Baker and Mike Taylor) When the city of Atlantis stood serene above the sea, Long time before our time when the world was free, Those were the
(Jack Bruce) See the old train go down the track Hear the wheels go clicketty clack It's comin' home, comin' home Leavin' town baby, ain't comin' home
to a fight. Hey now baby, get into my big black car Hey now baby, get into my big black car I wanna just show you what my politics are. [Goodbye Cream
(Jack Bruce and Pete Brown) In the white room with black curtains near the station. Black-roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings. Silver horses
(Willie Dixon) Could fill spoons full of diamonds, Could fill spoons full of gold. Just a little spoon of your precious love Will satisfy my soul.
fucks Gimme ya fuckin' money [Incomprehensible] Uhuh, check it I'm hotter than a hundred degrees with my coat on Playing with a dynamite stick, where did I go wrong? Somebody pull the fire
