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The cute ducky is the international symbol of "let's party and not talk about politics"I don't speak spanish, so I translated it and I don't understand. I just liked the cute ducky
H
Hidy there kidseses!
NOTHING is Easy.....
Nothing is easy,
Though time gets you worrying,
My friend, it's OK
Just take your life easy
And stop all that hurrying,
Be happy my way
When tension starts mounting
And you've lost count of the pennies you've missed,
Just try hard
And see why they're not worrying me,
They're last on my list
Nothing's easy
Nothing is easy,
You'll find that the squeeze
Won't turn out so bad
Your fingers may freeze,
Worse things happen at sea,
There's good times to be had
So if you're alone
And you're down to the bone,
Just give us a play
You'll smile in a while
And discover that I'll get you happy my way
Nothing's easy
Songwriters: IAN ANDERSON
Nothing is easy,
Though time gets you worrying,
My friend, it's OK
Just take your life easy
And stop all that hurrying,
Be happy my way
When tension starts mounting
And you've lost count of the pennies you've missed,
Just try hard
And see why they're not worrying me,
They're last on my list
Nothing's easy
Nothing is easy,
You'll find that the squeeze
Won't turn out so bad
Your fingers may freeze,
Worse things happen at sea,
There's good times to be had
So if you're alone
And you're down to the bone,
Just give us a play
You'll smile in a while
And discover that I'll get you happy my way
Nothing's easy
Songwriters: IAN ANDERSON
Sitting on a park bench
Eying little girls with bad intent
Snots running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes, hey, Aqualung
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run, hey, Aqualung
Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck, oh, Aqualung
Sun streaking cold, an old man wandering lonely
Taking time, the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad as he bends to pick a dog end
He goes down to a bog and warms his feet
Feeling alone, the army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend, don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see it's only me
Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze
When the ice that clings on to your beard
It was screaming agony
Hey and you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring
Sun streaking cold, an old man wandering lonely
Taking time, the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad as he bends to pick a dog end
He goes down to a bog and warms his feet
Feeling alone, the army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung my friend don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see it's only me
Aqualung my friend don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see it's only me
Sitting on a park bench
Eying up little girls with bad intent
Snots running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes, hey Aqualung
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run, hey Aqualung
Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck, hey Aqualung
Oh Aqualung
Songwriters: IAN ANDERSON
Who would be a poor man, a beggar-man, a thief
If he had a rich man in his hand
And who would steal the candy
From a laughing baby's mouth
If he could take it from the money man
Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again
She signs no contract but she always plays the game
She dines in Hampstead village on expense accounted gruel
And the jack-knife barber, drops her off at school
Laughing in the playground gets no kicks from little boys
Would rather make it with a letching grey
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play
Cross-eyed Mary finds it hard to get along
She's a poor man's rich girl and she'll do it for a song
She's the rich man stealer but her favour's good and strong
She's the Robin Hood of Highgate, helps the poor man get along
Laughing in the playground gets no kicks from little boys
Would rather make it with a letching grey
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play
Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again
She signs no contract but she always plays the game
She dines in Hampstead village on expense accounted gruel
And the jack-knife barber, drops her off at school
Cross-eyed Mary
Oh Mary
Songwriters: IAN ANDERSON
People, what have you done
Locked Him in His golden cage
Golden cage
Made Him bend to your religion
Him resurrected from the grave
From the grave
He is the God of nothing
If that's all that you can see
You are the God of everything
He's inside you and me
So lean upon Him gently
And don't call on Him to save you
From your social graces
And the sins you used waive
You used to waive
The bloody Church of England
In chains of history
Requests your earthly presence at
The vicarage for tea
And the graven image you know
With His plastic crucifix
He's got him fixed
Confuses me as to who and where and why
As to how he gets his kicks
He gets his kicks
Confessing to the endless sin
The endless whining sounds
You'll be praying 'til next Thursday to
All the Gods that you can count
Songwriters: IAN ANDERSON
One of Hypno's favorites.
I'm sure that it shall become one of yours...
Don't be skeered. Go ahead and crank it up!
If you have 'phones, check out the stereo Rhodes electric piano. Awesome!
The Band was Effin' magnificent
I'm sure that it shall become one of yours...
Don't be skeered. Go ahead and crank it up!
If you have 'phones, check out the stereo Rhodes electric piano. Awesome!
The Band was Effin' magnificent
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Let me bring you songs from the wood:
To make you feel much better than you could know.
Dust you down from tip to toe.
Show you how the garden grows.
Hold you steady as you go.
Join the chorus if you can:
It'll make of you an honest man.
Let me bring you love from the field:
Poppies red and roses filled with summer rain.
To heal the wound and still the pain,
That threatens again and again,
As you drag down every lover's lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.
Let me bring you all things refined:
Galliards and lute songs served in chilling ale.
Greetings well met fellow, hail!
I am the wind to fill your sail.
I am the cross to take your nail:
A singer of these ageless times,
With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes.
Songs from the wood make you feel much better.
Songwriters: IAN ANDERSON
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