Why Can't You Write Something Nice For A Change?

by Tingle In The Netherlands

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about

Debut album by Tingle In The Netherlands.

credits

released 14 February 2013
Most music some words: Owen J
Most words some music: Helên T

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Track Name: Prostitute's Handbag
Prostitute’s handbag
Prostitute’s handbag
Prostitute’s handbag
Prostitute’s handbag

Prostitute’s handbag in a ditch
Prostitute’s handbag sleeping with fish
Prostitute’s handbag made in China
Prostitute’s handbag bought with vagina

It’s full of rubbers; I’m being honest
It’s got more rubber than a rubber tappers’ forest

Prostitute’s handbag with shiny clasp
Prostitute’s handbag has gasped its last
Prostitute’s handbag full of pants and socks
Smooth patent leather like a cock with botox

Tampons, lipstick, mobile phone,
If it’s on vibrate, leave her alone.

Prostitute’s handbag rotting to the core
Prostitute’s handbag the world of a whore
Prostitute’s handbag deep under ground
Prostitute’s handbag lost unfound

Prostitute’s handbag ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh
Prostitute’s handbag ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh
Prostitute’s handbag ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh
Prostitute’s handbag ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh
Prostitute’s handbag ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh
Prostitute’s handbag ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh
Prostitute’s handbag
Prostitute’s handbag
Prostitute’s handbag
Prostitute’s handbag
Prostitute’s handbag
Prostitute’s handbag

Lyrics by Helên Thomas with additional killer lines and filthy rhymes from Owen J.
Track Name: A Forest Of Cocks
Meadows glean chided braveries in their smiling rook caution sipping ether in their tea,
Temperate hedges the sidelines of corporate philanthropy emitting a visceral cry of slaughtered heartache that sweats your guilt onto the linen.
Passwords flinging my ripped brain matter onto the point of pointlessness jab into reality with a Brompton Cocktail please,
The scanner doodles ape words onto the sky of November withering with glee at the hirsute clouds of it all as we filter the earth,
The tock tock of unsynchronised clocks mocks the nightly weather reporters’ patterns of meaningless,
Fur lined faux temptation rustles the chill of jigsawed teeth at the entrance of the metallic cave,
Bubbles taunt the static heads of wax coated eels hot spitting hiss flared incantations from diluted sun,
Molten teeth drip magma smiles into moth eyed hollows,
Tethered rain forces its sadness into the guffawing mouths of courtesans and oafs,
Eyelids froth the bile of yesterday’s tears into the metal lungs of remorseful dogs,
And so the darkness blinds the overhang of fleecy meadows that float through the tripesque skies of dappled withering.
Chlorine cackle follows starfruit metamorphosis,
The tarmac face mask of old cannot hide the laughter of winter whistling through panes like coiled spent automatic toys,
Snow prompts ringside cold princess into feral games of sadistic stage psychokinesis,
The wings of hope splutter dry their nuclear dream mistaken for snow bringing shadows to Japanese pavements,
When they opened up his heart they found it was full of urine.

Feathered dogs breathe velour into their masters’ pulmonary ephemera transplanting eyes into the sockets of a blind doll,
The nuthatch winks at the one eyed half moon its mimic re-boot stirring the hedgelings to the rain of their forefather’s ire; no-one hears,
Canal mouth of a lake of wires,
Tentacles of daylight retracting into space,
Dusty crash of a voice sensor strobe,
Fat neon words like modelled balloons advertise has-beens, clowns, sex-shops, and distorted strip tease in the deep lake of a hall of mirrors,
The dearth of woodwind finds ribboned heartache dribbling down the walls of blue crystal hotels in Siberia,
Bomb a sky of clouds for a single drop, swallow at source your smile and walk away,
Red lips for eyes cry holes full of laughter into the rotting eyes, ears, hair and mink coats of the skin and bone rich bitch old ladies of The Ritz.
Devilish thoughts proclaim the spire of night as fingernails sail the sky in a flotilla of new moons traversing the witching hour sea with their venomous cargo,
A starburst revolt of bilious dreams and ego roasted spittle eroding hard leather of annoyed, brave face hears crop sprayed crazy pave sound wave from frozen fog cotton mouth,
Crow beaked horses gallop through a forest of cocks.

Lyrics mostly by Helên Thomas with additional killer lines from Owen J.
Track Name: Astronaut Love Triangle
We met on a rocket ship on a special mission to mars
You joked about catching moonbeams and sending them home in a jar
In a silver heat resistant boiler suit you stole my heart
Now I stargaze into space wondering where you are.

This little rock we’re living on could vanish without trace
You said you had cosmic work to do out in hyperspace
And that it could be up to you to save the human race
Zooming round quicker than light and sound in a supersonic carapace

Down to earth on the interstate feeling some consternation
A love triangle’s not my idea of a beautiful constellation
Star crossed this woman’s scorned there’ll be no hesitation
Got my gun and a diaper on speeding to a new destination

Lyrics by Helên Thomas
Track Name: The Housewife's Lament
You can carry your own torch
I aint carryin’ it for you no more
Oh no.
You took my love for granted
I took it for granted that you’d snore
Oh yeah.
And if what you don’t know won’t harm you
Then I’d really like you to know…

That I’m shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
And I’m shagging him good.

You don’t give me any money
Then you say I look a mess
Oh yes.
I got a gold top off the milkman; he likes the way that I dress
Oh yes.
His resistance cannot fight me
When he sees me in me nightie.

Shagging the milkman, shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman, shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman, shagging the milkman
Shagging him good!

My love for you has curdled
I wish you’d go away
I’ll leave a note out for the milkman
So I can have an extra pinta today.
You called me a cow
With floppy udders
So now I’ve found myself another...

Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging him good.

Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman

Yes I’m shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman

Yes I’m shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman

Yes I’m shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman
Shagging the milkman

(repeat to fade)

Lyrics by Helên Thomas
Track Name: Mammals
-The pontiff is a mammal

-The mating behaviour of the monarch is unusually flexible

-Radar operators have been known to resort to cannibalism

-Up to 10% of astronauts are homosexual

-The pilot produces the largest volume of ejaculate among primates and
copulates with the greatest frequency

-A police officer is made up of 100 trillion cells

-The prime minister produces one pint of saliva a day

-Fashion designers will risk their lives to protect their young



-An estimated 1.7% of bishops are born with some degree of sexual ambiguity

-The president contains 6KG of nitrogen

-The film star¹s body consists of 60% water and contains 5 litres of blood

-The aristocrat¹s secondary sexual characteristics include facial hair and
enlarged breasts

-The socialite¹s intestine is between 7 and 8 metres long - in their
lifetime they will produce 45000 tonnes of waste matter

-The corporate lawyer¹s skeleton is made up of 206 bones



- The pontiff has 300 teeth and can reach speeds of up to 40 miles per hour

- Radar operators can live for up to 8000 years

- The aristocrat will frequently eat its own young

- Monarchs frequently change sex during adolescence

- The socialist can see in colour for up to 700 miles

- The astronaut contains 80 KG of nitrogen

- The pontiff has 300 teeth and can reach speeds of up to 40 miles per hour

- Radar operators can live for up to 8000 years

- The aristocrat will frequently eat its own young

- The socialist can see in colour for up to 700 miles

- The pontiff has 300 teeth and can reach speeds of up to 40 miles per hour

- Radar operators can live for up to 8000 years

- The pontiff has 300 teeth and can reach speeds of up to 40 miles per hour

Lyrics by Owen J.
Track Name: I Lost My Heart To A Starship Cleaner
I lost my heart to a starship cleaner
Drinking Flash in hyper space
I lost my heart to a starship cleaner
Caustic fluids oozed out of his face!

Lyrics by Owen J and Helên Thomas
Track Name: She's No Lady
so bass pumping, sticky sizzle, tacky toffee hot you'd fry
she giggles, winks and wiggles, on stiletto heels too high
empty straw gurgles, cherry lips drain milkshake dry
with powder puff fluff doggie, titillation totters by

she's bubblegum, pink polkadot, rasps a girly, "Hi!"
flirty skirt, tight low shirt, lids flutter; gives the eye
butt so pert, hard tits alert; heaves a wanton sigh
coy, beguiling, slutty girl could make a grown man cry

sly coquettish, knows your fetish, doesn't have to try
dream soft skin, you'd jump right in; in ecstasy you'd die
ripe red wet mouth, dilated pupils know you will comply
finger licking kiss curl twirled, too sweet to tell a lie

she role plays, “Butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth; I’m so shy!”
but she’s a bird of prey, she pulls you closer with your tie
lashes quiver, talons linger on your bulging fly
only when you're snared and hard, you'll find out she's a guy.

Lyrics by Helên Thomas
Track Name: WhyCan'tYouWriteSomethingNiceForAChange (Nice Song)
Moonlight
Daisies
Honey
Peaches
Songbirds
Kisses
Blue Skies
Laughter

Paxil
Ice cream
Kittens
Rainbows
Sweetness
Clover
Sparkles
Prozac

Cotton
Candy
Flowers
Sunbeams
Lithium
Serax
Seashells
Glitter

Cherries
Bluebells
Frosting
Stardust
Nardil
Roses
Milkshake
Lustral

Snowflakes
Magic
Bubbles
Cup Cakes
Sweet Dreams
Poppies
Zispin
Valium

Fragrance
Feathers
Sunset
Dancing
Zoloft
Bunnies
Love hearts
Xanax

Lyrics by Helên and Owen in equal measure.
Track Name: 365
Toothy tunnels bite into the traffic
Birds survive on seed that stores the sun
Baubles yawn adornment from the attic
Refuseniks hibernate and shun the fun.

Consign modish winter to the dustbin
Skirts the florrid bulbous drinkers’ hue
Gypsy moth’s a silkworm in a tailspin
Green fashionista’s thinly skinned anew.

Imbibe languid pomegranate sunscapes
Tequila orange juice smears on the page
Wizened wiser fruit mature from free grapes
The final act the sepia flames of age

Twizzling toffee apple solar systems
Cowebbed Ebenezer greys your soul
Happy bop Halloweens red headrush with them
‘Top of the Pops’ is making me feel old.

Lyrics by Helên Thomas