Lyrics - Baker Street Muse (baker Street Muse) by Jethro Tull

Windy bus-stop.
Click.
Shop-window.
Heel.
Shady gentleman.
Fly-button.
Feel.
In the underpass, the blind man stands.
With cold flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time -
You can call me on another line.
Indian restaurants that curry my brain.
Newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the stationstand.
With cold print hands.
Symphony word-player,
I'll be your headline.
If you catch me another time.
Didn't make her - with my
Baker
Street
Ruse.
Couldn't shake her - with my
Baker
Street
Bruise.
Like to take her -
I'm just a
Baker
Street
Muse.
Ale-spew, puddle-brew - boys, throw it up clean.
Coke and
Bacardi colours them green.
From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess with great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty feet down in the
Baker
Street underground.
What the
Hell?
I didn't make her - with my
Baker
Street
Ruse.
Couldn't shake her - with my
Baker
Street
Bruise.
Like to take her -
I'm just a
Baker
Street
Muse.
Walking down the gutter thinking, "
How the
Hell am
I today?"
Well,
I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same.

Return to songs by Jethro Tull.