lyric sheet here - Sputnik Weazel

(1) There’s A Hat To Be Worn 

With a penchant for lies, the Cardinal died 

The Coroner’s verdict delivered dry eyed. 

The Judges all wept on the Old Bailey steps 

A sensation the media required 

How can we hope for a change 

When the clothes pages line up in the rain 

The knives are restored to the cutlery draw 

And the rats all run back to the drain 

With an old show of hands, the ongoing plans 

Are delivered with consummate ease 

The male jury swore I believe it’s a draw, 

While we line up to pay for degrees 

How can we hope for a day 

When equality has it’s own way, when the Colour 

of skin to the gender you’re into 

Defines where you can and can’t stay 

How can we sail through this storm 

Until love and respect are the norm 

Where peace is a state desired by the great 

And the good... there’s a hat to be worn! 

This song wrote itself, based on the phrase “If 

the hat fit’s - wear it”. I think of this one as 

having a “Woody Guthrie” lyrical sensibility set 

to a music hall vamp, and like most of the 

songs on this album, was kind of aiming for a 

humanist & minimalist Brechtian Opera feel. 

Then again, visually, picture a ‘lubricated’ 

preacher delivering a live news broadcast from 

the pulpit. (S.W) 

CD’s exclusively available from 

www.fourdogsmusic.co.uk 

DOWNLOAD’s on itunes & Amazon et al. 

There’s A Hat To Be Worn 

There’s A Hat To Be Worn 

Copyright (c) 2013 Sputnik Weazel

(2) Last Buttefly Wings 

We decorate fridges and skin 

With fridge magnets and ink 

While we staple and pin the last butterfly wings 

Dressed in Pirate attire like a Disney town crier 

Dreams of sunshine & drink, walk the plank to the brink 

Like a digital rose, or a sand-paper throne 

All the male voices sing - the last butterfly wings 

Copyright (c) 2013 Sputnik Weazel 

Of the 100’s of songs I’ve knocked out over the 

years, this one has my favourite lyric /line thus 

far... “dressed in pirate attire, like a Disney 

town crier...”. Don’t ask me why. 

The guitar parts I played on an old knackered 

Spanish acoustic I’ve carried around with me 

since I was a kid... one of only two guitars I 

haven’t smashed to bits, again, don’t ask me 

why... 

thanks Pete! (S.W) 

(3) De nada Pinata 

When it’s all been torn & bled, when they’re done 

When the blues are red, de nada, Pinata 

You hail Mary in a state of grace 

And you hide your head to save your face 

Like they taught you, Pinata 

When they come to put you in your 

There’s no escape, you run that race 

You hide your head to save your face, like they taught you... 

You hail Mary in a state of grace 

But the tears and rain run down your face 

And you wonder how you found this place in the corner, 

Seniora 

Both this song and “Party Goin’ On In My 

Head” are (in my own small way) odes to one 

of the greats... Nina Simone! 

(S.W) 

When all hope feels like an empty place, and they’re gone 

The blues are grey, de nada Pinata 

“You make a mountain out of what you say, you make a 

mountain out of coal and clay, de nada Pinata” 

It doesn’t matter if the blues are grey 

The old men speak of ancient ways 

All your dues are fey like lambs to the slaughter 

No matter if you stay or run away 

You bear that weight or get replaced 

Either way, you don’t get the love that you oughta 

Seniora, Seniora... de nada, Pinata 





(4) I Made You Rich (But I had To work At It) 

I cleaned your toilet, I scrubbed your floor 

I washed your windows, and I hung your doors 

I carried your white goods, I dug your land 

I cleaned the sweat off your Gym mirrors with my hands 

For a while I’ve wanted to start a song with this 

line... so here it is. And yeah, the first verse is 

autobiographical. (S.W) 

I’m the Pilipino bus boy from Newark or Detroit 

The Polish plumber you wish you had employed 

I’m the east European au pair you fantasise about 

I teach your children, mend your broken bones 

And put your fire’s out 

I made you rich but I had to work at it 

I made you rich but it took the shirt off me 

I made you rich but it left my back in bits 

I never protest, I don’t complain 

I watch them gamble our inheritance away 

I remain humble, I play the game 

I watch them pissing all our pension down the drain 

In a single day 


(5) My Love 

My love bought you flowers, my love bought you gold 

My love chased the world away, my love embraced the cold 

My love would be careless, my love could be untrue 

My love chose the hardest road, but it always led to you 

My love came in colours, yellow, green or blue... now 

My love lights a winter fire and my love’s here for you 

My love used to wander, my love used to stray 

My love was the wind at your heels now my love keeps you safe 

My love can’t be broken, my love can’t be swayed... now 

My love waits with open arms and my love’s here to stay 

This is – unapologetically – an accidental 

homage to the Stones. 

(for Simone - S.W) 





(6) See Them Killers 

See them killers, they gonna get what they deserve 

See them killers, they gonna get their just deserts 

For Doreen! 

(S.W) 

No apple pie, no angel cake, no betty brown or cottage bake, no 

boston pie, no macaroon, no chocolate tips or scotcharoo, no ice 

club cake no ice cream cone, no Sunday fudge, fried coke or 

dough, no twinkie, brownie, sprinkle eye, no velvet cake, no 

woopie pie 


7) Simon Pegg Wears His Own Clothes 

They have three homes in London, France & Cornwall 

All decorated using Farrow & Ball 

Fifty different shades of white are used in the hall 

Simon Pegg Wears his own clothes 

Their country kitchen has a massive fireplace 

With a dining room that seats thirty eight 

A private chef prepares the food for their plates 

Simon Pegg wears his own clothes 

MY Dad was a (Manchester) Guardian reader 

all his life, as was I until they featured Cameron 

on the front sleeve of the supplement... the 

lyrics for this song are indirectly lifted from two 

different articles in said supplement. (S.W) 

They breakfast early; meet for lunch après ski 

The chef of choice prepares a meal fit for Queens 

While Jeffrey sauces wines of rare quality 


Back in Notting Hill they shop for the best 

A simple Ralph augmented by a Joseph 

The wealth of choice can leave one simply bereft 





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(8) Party Goin’ On In My Head 

There’s a party goin’ on in my head but I’m not invited 

Everybody I’ve ever met singing sweet harmony 

If it wasn’t so loud I’d simply deny it 

There’s a party goin’ on in my head but there’s no room for me 

Alongside Nina Simone, I gotta name check 

the Ink Spots, and Elvis’s Jordanaires as vocal 

inspirations for this one (S.W) 

You can dance in the kitchen, jive in the hall 

Like a one eyed cat, have yourself a real ball 

Do what you like, do anything at all 

There’s a party goin’ on right here 

Party goin’ on in my head but I can’t get excited 

Everybody I’ve ever met is drinking for free 

If it wasn’t so loud I’d simply deny it 

There’s a party goin’ on in my head but there’s no room for me 


(9) Some Drink With Eyes Open 

Some drink to disable, some drink to regret 

Some drink to de-stable, some drink to neglect 

Some drink to the glory, some drink to the pain 

Some drink to the chorus, some to the refrain 

Some drink with eyes open, some drink with eyes closed 

This one’s for anyone who’s ever struggled with 

any addiction(s)... nuff said...”drink to me only 

with thy eyes” etc... (S.W) 

Some drink to the fallen, some drink to the fall 

Some drink for no reason, some don’t drink at all 

Some drink to the marking of passing events 

Some drink in a mansion, some drink all the rent 


Some drink in the morning, some drink in the day 

Some drink while they’re working, some drink while they pray 

Some drink in fine weather, some drink in the rain 

Some drink for the pleasure, some drink for the pain 






(10) Aint It A Shame 

Twiddle your thumbs, cat’s cradle with a string 

Church and steeple with the people all in 

Rubbing on the wall for a greaseproof Max Ernst stain 

You contemplate your every breath 

Your raison d'etre, life V death 

The writing on the All-Bran box says five-a-day 

The lyrics for this just flowed... it took longer to 

get them on paper than to record, consequently 

they had to be delivered fast... maybe as a 

reaction to singing lots of other slow stuff? 

(S.W) 

Aint it a shame how the picture needs the frame 

Aint it a shame how the shotgun needs the aim 

Aint it a shame how the hurt all need the blame... 

Now’s a good time to pick up those reigns 

Engage that world with the light and shade 

Ditch that baggage, ditch that ball and chain 

Step outside into the fray, into the sunshine and the rain 

An all day special, it won’t come again 



Aint it a shame how the needle needs the pain 


You’ve been hiding in an old priest hole 

Navel gazing all day long 

Playing with the bottle and the smoke 

And the coke, and the cane 

Read by candle, on an old bed pan 

War & Peace, That Sam I Am 

Chalking up the passing of the days with a five bar gate 



Aint it a shame how the needle needs the pain 






(11) Stacey Jo 

Cauliflower, lemon drops, engineer called the cops 

Stacey Jo steaming and rolling and weaving 

Heaving and leaving, the carpet’s are dreaming 

She can’t catch a cold, much less ambush a feeling... 

Stacey Jo 

This came from a semi-lucid dream about my 

school days – and how we relate our younger 

selves to our present state(s)... or maybe I just 

watch(ed) too much 60’s & 70’s TV in a wasted 

state. (S.W) 

To avoid getting burnt by the lava lamp leaking 

She leaves by the back door, heel marks on the ceiling 

Pages her guru to ask for a reading, and 

Sat nav directions to the lost lovers meeting... 

Stacey Jo 

If you’re offended by plagiarised endings 

Then in my defence I’ll take the 5 th amendment 

It’s easy to do when you’re mind is a vacuum 

And most of this stuff should stay back in the classroom with... 

Stacey Jo 


(12) The Elephant In The Room 

Don’t look, don’t stare, pretend that he’s not there 

The Elephant in the room 

Don’t weep, don’t cry, don’t look him in the eye 


Don’t scream, don’t shout, don’t let those feelings out 


Don’t weep, don’t cry, don’t look him in the eye 



Yep... even though “big boys don’t cry” and all 

that, after 20+ years of therapy, I can still 

definitely (seriously) recommend counselling!! 




(13) Mrs Miliband’s Boys 

Only one parcel sits under the tree, but with two boys there’s 

bound to be tears before tea. They’ve set their alarm clocks, 

brushed 98 teeth, but only one boy will be smiling with glee. 

Make some noise for Mrs Miliband’s boys. Christmas hits & left 

wing decoys? While all the blue meenies are raising the cost, 

handing out debt to the poor and the lost - they dine out on 

pheasant and toss you the bones as we shiver and quake in our 

banker’s owned homes. Make some noise for Mrs Miliband’s 

boys. Christmas hits & left wing decoys? Make some noise for 

the Miliband two. Ideologically slightly left of the blue. 

I wrote this a couple of years back, but I hope 

it still resonates, despite not being historically / 

specifically placed. (S.W) 


(14) Remembrance Day 

When all the children gotta eat, where was God 

When they’re fighting in the street, where was God 

This was originally called “God’s Day Off” 

(for Tyler - S.W) 

Was he on vacation, sleeping on a beach 

Was he on a mountain, counting sheep 

Was he on a cruise ship, was he on the lash 

Or maybe lying face down in the dirt 

With an empty bourbon glass 

Where was God when Chinobyl blew, though shalt not kill, the 

golden rule. Where was God when Anola Gay sent her little boy 

away, outside to play... 

Was he at the final, was he in the stand 

Or maybe watching it on cable 

With an ice cold beer and a victory dance 

Where was God for the Shoshoni dead, the day the Great Bear 

River ran red. Where was God during the Nanking was raped, 

10,000 corpses in a ditch there lay. Where was God in 84, not on 

the Union carbide factory floor. Where was God when we called 

his name, and all the kingdom came out to pray, out today

lyric sheet here - Sputnik Weazel

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