You Sound Like Louis Burdett

You Sound

Like Louis

Burdett Had a little bit to drink

There's a little thing

I want at a do out

East Nothing too emotional, my good miss

I couldn't be serious in a room full of jack-knife eyes

Stop talking 'bout the years - you sound like

Louis Burdett

And we roll on to my backshed, play some poker, scratch my head

Look at the sky and spot the planes, where would

I go on holidays?

Roll with the punches, down the aisles, and down the street the weeks roll by

I'm chewing ice and grinning,

I'm spewing up and spinning

It's billiousness as usual in my corner of the kitchen

Hey you, lose that friend before we go anywhere

What? Someone might see you alone?

Stop bagging out the band, you sound like

Louis Burdett

All my friends are ****-ups but they're fun to have around

Banana chairs out on the concrete, telling stories to the stars how

Gemini's love

Wooden Dragons, and how down the street the weeks roll by

The moment the night wears off, the bombsite reappears

They're all asleep but the morning tastes like wine

It tastes like wine in

Tempe I feel so good

I just might wake him up

Pat him on the bald head - tell me about a dream

Louis, something obscene

Louis, your life's an open magazine

Louis I'm stoned in a bookshop, sober in a nightclub

*** is everywhere but nowhere 'round me

By the time she gets to

Marrickville we'll be masturbating never rains in

Tempe but the planes remind me of family money and the lack down here

Stop talking frustrated, 'cause

I sound like

Louis Burdett

Most of my friends are very fruity indeed, such fun to have around

Terror, like charity, begins at home

Chris don't like madness, but madness likes him

He's got a finger in his chest saying how it should have been

Words: Tim

Freedman Music:

Tim Freedman,

Mark Wells

Tim Freedman: vocal, backing vocals, piano

Chris Abrahams:

Hammond organ

Oscar Briz: electric guitar

Matt Galvin: fuzztone guitar

Andy Lewis: double bass

Michael Richards: drums