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 . . .

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