Breakfast At Sweetheart’s

Campbell lane
Through the window, curtain rain
Long night gone, yellow day
Speed shivers melt away

Six o’clock I’m goin’ down
Coffee’s hot and the toast is brown
Hey streetsweeper, clear my way
Sweethearts breakfast is the best in town
Oh-oh, Breakfast at Sweethearts . . .

Hey, Anne-Maria
It’s always good to see her
She don’t smile or flirt
She just wears that mini-skirt
Drunks come in
Paper bag, Brandivino
Dreams fly away
As she pulls another cappucino

Six o’clock I’m goin’ down
Coffee’s hot and the toast is brown
Hey streetsweeper, clear my way
Sweethearts breakfast is the best in town
Oh-oh, Breakfast at Sweethearts . . .

Conversations

Kneeling at the hotel reception
Violin a-sobbing on his knee
Twenty bright rozellas on his shoulder
Coin from a wealthy Ceylonese
Hungry people hangin’ on the corner
Other people cruisin’ by in cars
Feeding on the fiction and the porno
Staring at the tattoos and the scars

Conversations, Conversations
Icy nights and almighty patience

Well some of us are driven to ambition
Some of us are trapped behind the wheel
Some of us will break away, and build a marble yesterday
And live for every moment we can steal

Conversations, Conversations
Shouting out across an empty station

Now it’s just another Tuesday morning
Billy’s wrapped up tight against the chill
The busker packs his birds beneath the awning
Billy’s got his eyes upon the till
He could get a ticket out of here from a local easy lawyer
The busker’s halfway home, Billy’s lounging round the foyer
Love so easily dies when there’s nothing left to conquer
One small break is all he needs, and life ain’t getting longer

Conversations, Conversations
Breakfast show to a sleepy nation

Dresden

The morning breeze is off and gone
The winding factory streets are clean
Old ladies put the kettle on
And all-night lechers pause and lean
On grey shop windows, everywhere
A deeper hum is in the air
Hotel room, drifter leaves no clues

He rides a freight-train out of town
And whistles at the icy rime
The cattle float like thistle-downs
And God is on the edge of time
Somewhere behind a siren wails
The freight-train soars above the rails
The traveller, he’s hard as nails
As the train sweeps down the line

The salmon Season’s here to stay
And etched into each shoulder-bone
The mark of Cain is on display
As stone above each measured stone
Old Dresden burns above the breeze
The traveller, he’s on his knees
He’s watching sledge-wings dip and play
So far above the holy throne
Dresden blues . . .

Goodbye (Astrid Goodbye)

Open up the door Astrid, cause I’m comin’ down the stairs
And I ain’t gonna listen to no more pissin’ around
I’ve had seven long years of give a little, take a little
Stack a little money away
And you better believe I’m gonna take this love to town

Turn on the tears Astrid, and don’t forget to let the neighbours see
What a low down deal you got when you married me
You can drown your days in valium and brandy
Talkin’ to the cat and the dog
And you can shove your cheap french vogue society

Goodbye, goodbye . . .
I won’t be comin’ back for long

Open up the door Astrid, and don’t try to stand in my way
I’m heading for a long long night to a better day
And don’t bother offering to drive me to the station
You’d only drive me round the bend
We’re comin’ to the end, there’s nothin’ left to say

I’m Gonna Roll Ya

No copulation, no revolution
Said the young Marquis de Sade
But all the whips in France ain’t gonna get me
Fuckin’ on a barracade
From the schoolboys on it was one big con
As we hung around the hockey teams
In each boys brain the dream was the same
All I ever went to do is get laid

Now the whole wide world has a better idea
And it shook us all to the core
You follow some two-year fairy tale
Into happy evermore
The sleepy priest at the bridal feast
His hands make a holy sign
And as the bride hoes into the wedding cake
She’s a-singin’ in the back of her mind

Come on, come on
I’m gonna roll ya all night long . . .

Well I took that crap for a little while
And it kept me off the street
Then I met me a lady with a shady past
And manners like a dog on heat
Those musos hummin’ when they see her comin’
Make a noise like a hurricane
When you see that line at the dressing-room door
You know she’s just spread ‘em for the boys again

Well there ain’t nothin’ better than to rip your sweater
In a bang behind the stage
Or the drawn out sigh as you feel her thigh
Then you stop and estimate her age
If she’s turned fourteen she’s a rock’n’roll queen
You can give her anything you choose
And when she whispers Honey it’s the money or the box
You know money’s so easy to lose

Come on, come on
I’m gonna roll ya all night long . . .

Merry-Go-Round

I cried my tears in a glass of tequila
For a truck-stop honey with a dubious name
She held my heart like a blackjack dealer
And took my money when she left the game
She was overly fond of sophisticated messin’ around
I’ve had a bellyful of livin’ in the same old merry-go-round

Well I played in the summer and I froze in the winter
And I hankered for the high school beauty queen
She was married to a rich young timber-miller
And christened a boy when she was just nineteen
Crazy love, never gonna settle down
I’ve had a bellyful of lovin’ on the same old merry-go-round

Like any man I’ve got to work for a living
Just to earn my soul for a weekend show
Saturday morning I’ll be down by the river
Getting whipped at the Copmanhurst rodeo
When the weekend comes I’m gonna set fire to the town
I’ve had a bellyful of workin’ on the same old merry-go-round

I’m looking out as the sun goes down
Drinking Bundeburg at the end of the day
I’m twentyfive, I’m half alive
The rest is only just a ticket away
Give me a ticket, take me to a city hotel
I’ve had a bellyful of livin’ on the same old merry-go-round

Plaza

I’ve been living
In the Plaza Hotel
It ain’t the Hilton
But I live well
Holes in the ceiling
Holes in the floor
Wallpaper’s peeling
There’s a nude on the door

Pretty girls
They jump and shout
Cops come running
When I step out
I get some money
When they page me to the phone
You know man cannot live on
Empty principles alone

And who’s gonna judge
The role somebody plays
In someone else’s budget movie
Come on up to my room baby
I need a co-star
And I can’t afford to be too choosy

Shipping Steel

Hammer down the open road
Steel pigs my only load
Country songs are always playin’
He’s a goin’, she’s a staying
Briquets keep the fires burning
Diesel keeps the wheels turning
Hikers on the edge of town
Start off young and end up learning

Shipping steel, shipping steel . . .
Nobody knows, the way it feels
Caught between Heaven and the Highway
Shipping steel, shipping steel . . .

Some men need a family
Need the club fraternity
God’s salvation guaranteed
Mac’s the only friend I need

Showtime

Showtime
Hang a guitar on my shoulder
Check the vacant drooling faces round the room
Another heartbreak battle
And I’m only getting older
Jesus help me when I say I’ll give it all up pretty soon
Daytime
Time to fight the morning’s headache
Gulp an aspirin bang together one more song
Inspiration cauterised
By years of useeless heartache
Every shallow nights reaction sounding twisted up and wrong

These last years
Years gone down to the showtime

Showtime
Try to catch the spark
That got me hooked so many years ago and died
Second-rate musicians
Feeding infantile illusions
Reading music magazines to keep the habit satisfied
Pitching
To some demographic average
What the hell he’s staying home for, I don’t see him here tonight
Thirteen years and over
Tuned to radio between the hours
Of six and seven-thirty, AM programmer’s delight

These last years
Years gone down to the showtime

I never knew it could be
So misleading
Waiting for the final song to end
In this dirty nightclub
All the souls are bleeding
Reaching for the big decision
Disco floor or television
Time and time again
You hear the so-called friends
The smug de-facto critics in their movie backdrop cities
Sneering sitdown and listen
Life’s a lonely escalator
It’s a fool who doesn’t know he has to leap off at the end
Well they were never at the guesthouse
With the ghost of Jimmy Rodgers
Watching Townsville sugar sunsets back in 1959
And they’ll all be gone when the end is come
And I’m kneeling in the backroom
Crying Lord I’m just a trouper, let me play it one more time

The Door

Baby baby
The telephone’s ringin’ again
What do I say, are you home this time
There’s somebody askin’ on the telephone line

Baby baby
You know it’s getting me down
The Fatman called, left no message
They get so heavy when you’re not around

Did you see how many, were they driving a truck
Did they come on mean, did you push your luck
Did they offer you a summons, did they offer you a fag
Were they lookin’ for the money for the sugar bag

Hostile city
Running out the door again
Pulled a big escape along Broadway
The man came calling seven times today

Keep on running
Keep on moving around
Gotto get away by the break of day
If you relax they’re gonna pin you down

You’ve been hangin’ down on Dixon Street
Eating Chinese chicken when it’s time to eat
Spending time on the underground
When you relax they’re gonna pin you down

Wake up baby
I want you to hold me now
It’s 3 a.m., time of night when
Robbers prowl
Give me your hand
You know I could not be sure
Oh baby there it goes again
There’s somebody knockin’ on the kitchen door . . .

Breakfast At Sweethearts

Released in 1979

  1. Conversations
  2. Merry-Go-Round
  3. Dresden
  4. Goodbye (Astrid Goodbye)
  5. Plaza
  6. Shipping Steel
  7. I’m Gonna Roll Ya
  8. Showtime
  9. Breakfast At Sweethearts
  10. The Door

BUY - Cold Chisel StoreiTunesSanityJB Hi Fi

STREAM – Spotify