Apples (Soundtrack)
Released October 1989

 

Side 1

Side 2

Apples

England's Glory

Love is All

Bus Driver's Prayer

Byline Browne

PC Honey

Bit of Kit

The Right People

Game On

All Those Who Say OK

Looking for Harry

Riding the Outskirts of Fantasy

 

 

APPLES


Delilah the dancer from Soho
Was making her way down the lane
Simpson from Harrow
Had fruit on his barrow
He sold it for love and for gain

Simpson said, "Hello, young woman"
"My Pippins are lovely today"
"Don't be suspicious"
"Of Golden Delicious"
"Whatever your granny might say"

There only apples, red and green
Apples, lovely ripe and juicy and especially for you
Right off me barrw, me old cock sparrow
Apples, red and green

Delilah the dancer from Soho
Took ages to make up her mind
Simpson said, "Madam,"
"You'd know if you'd had 'em"
"That these are the very best kind"

"This is the pick of the orchard"
"Forgive me a figure of speech"
"But apples like these here"
"Just don't grow on trees, dear"
"And this one is really a peach"

There only apples, red and green
Apples, lovely ripe and juicy and especially for you
Right off my barrow my old cock sparrow
Apples, red and green

Simpson picked out a green apple
He polished it up on his sleeve
He said, "Do me a favour"
"And savour the flavour"
"Of what you're about to receive"

Delilah the dancer from Soho
Accepted his gift with a smile
She said, "It looks like a good 'un"
"It'll do for my pudden"
"I'll get round to it after a while"

There only apples, red and green
Apples, lovely ripe and juicy and especially for you
Right off my barrow, my old cock sparrow
Apples, red and green

 

LOVE IS ALL

(Duet with Frances Ruffelle)

 

When ecstasy ennobled our first kiss
I fell into an agony of bliss
I've never heard a person talk like this
I hope you don't think you can take the piss


The exhilarating rapture of your touch
Ensnares my heart within its vice-like clutch
Though that may be a compliment as such
I'm not sure that I like it very much


Come to my arms
So put your hands
Oh, cherished love
Where they belong
As spirits soar
Although it's cruel
To worlds above
You must be strong
And while we play
Stop talking horse shit
Our hearts be true
In my ear
This perfect dream
You're not my cup
Of me and you
Of tea I fear
'Cos love is all
Oh no it ain't
Love is all

The sweet unbridled urges you evoke
My fevered brow is bursting till I choke
Although you seem to think you're quite a bloke
I wouldn't want you even for a joke


Come to my arms
So put your hands
Oh, cherished love
Where they belong
As spirits soar
Although it's cruel
To worlds above
You must be strong
And while we pledge
Stop talking bollocks
Our hearts be true
In my ear
This perfect dream
You're not my cup
Of me and you
Of tea I fear
'Cos love is all
Oh no it ain't
Love is all
Love is all
Oh no it ain't
Love is all

I've just this minute got out of the boob
I wonder, could you show me to the tube?
The understanding is it's just because
The Underground is where it always was


Come to my arms
Seeing it's you
My new found love
I might as well
As spirits soar
You're all I've got
To worlds above
So what the hell
And while we pledge
If you want me
Our hearts be true
To hold you dear
This perfect dream
Stop talking bullshit
Of me and you
In my ear
Love is all
Love is all
Love is all
Love is all
Love is all
Love is all
Love is all
Love is all

 

BYLINE BROWNE

 

I'm here to find out what makes you tick
I'm here to discover the secret you
I intend to reveal you're crooked and sick
And I don't give a damn if none of it's true

'Cos I'm Byline Browne from the national press
And that is how I earn my wages
I bring exposure and distress
As I spread your guts across the centre pages

I'm here to solicit your innermost thoughts
I'm fuelled by jealousy, venom and drink
I poke in your dustbins and I lurk round the courts
I puke up your portrait in bright yellow ink

'Cos I'm Byline Browne of the popular press
The man who bought you babies for sale
I'll blackmail your neighbour and look up your dress
But come what may I'll tell my tale

I cover each item as issues arise
With a skein of fabric of tissue of lies
I'll fuck up your family, your future and friends
And I'll see you in hell before my story ends

I'm a reporter with senses and hunches
Somebody's daughter's turned into a junkie
I'm on a reporter's expenses and lunches
And a whiskey and water and I don't give a monkey's

 

BIT OF KIT

 

I want a three piece suit in black worsted
With a three button jacket and a notch lapel
With a boxy back, French shoulder
And a zig-zag raised seam that you do so well
Eighteen inch bottom trouser with a two inch cuff
No taper, no flare, just parallel

Nine hole air-wears, fisherman's warms
Red long-johns, chill-proof vest of the snuggest fit
Second-hand Turnbull and Asser sea-island cotton shirt
With no collar attached to it
Black Burberry trenchcoat, white silk scarf
No groins or kettle, that should complete my kit

And then I want to live in a conversation area

 

GAME ON

(Duet with Frances Ruffelle)

 

Although I nearly broke my neck trying to break the ice
I think you're very nice
Let's go and have a drink
What do you think?
Throw six and go to jail

Although I've met a mouthy man or two before
You've got the highest score, I'm sure
I don't mind if I do have a drink with you
Or two
Game on


I'll try and pull the verbal back a bit
In case your earache threatens our relationship
As a master crook I've found out I'm a div
So now I make a meagre living as a spiv

It's all Jekyll

I'm not sure I want to tell you much about me recently
It's hard to put it decently
I used to do exotic dances
But nowadays I concentrate on taking stupid chances


I feel like there's a bond with you
I'm getting very fond of you
It's good to correspond with you
Wish I could abscond with you

Well, well, ah well, well, well
Well, well, ah well, well, well
Well, well, ah well, well, well
Well, well, ah well, well, well

Welcome to my quarters, pull a bed up
Sorry it's a tip, it's furnished from a skip
I rarely entertain here, usually I roll back pissed
Get blocked and fall straight into kip
More fool me

I'm a very nosy person - can I look?
God, you've got a lot of books, haven't you?
I'm not much of a reader myself
Literature rather left me on the shelf as it were
I mean was


The days it isn't going well, I tell the world to go to hell
And slam up here with Edgar Allen Poe or Ruth Rendell
And I feel better straight away
That's all I can say about books

When I wake up and this is all gone
Or something spoils it, and it was all bollocks anyway
It will still be good


Well, well, ah well, well, well
Well, well, ah well, well, well
Well, well, ah well, well, well
Well, well, ah well, well, well

 

LOOKING FOR HARRY

(Sung by Frances Ruffelle)

 

Looking for Harry
Looking for Harry
Looking for Harry
Looking for Harry
Looking for Harry
Have you seen him around?

The minute I find him
I'm going to unwind him
It's time to remind him
Not to put me behind him
Looking for Harry
Perhaps he's gone underground

Loving him is going to be
Beautiful, beautiful
All night long
Beautiful, beautiful
All night long

Checking for Charlie
Checking for Charlie
Checking for Charlie
Checking for Charlie
Checking for Charlie
Oh, wherever's he been?

Been trying to bell him
In order to tell him
The minute I smell him
I'm going to unshell him
Checking for Charlie
Since he's been off the scene

Loving him is going to be
Beautiful, beautiful
All night long
Loving him is going to be
Beautiful, beautiful
All night long
All night long
All night long
All night long
All night long
All night long

 

ENGLAND'S GLORY

 

There are jewels in the crown of England's glory (England's glory)
And every jewel shines a thousand ways

Frankie Howerd, NoŽl Coward and garden gnomes
Frankie Vaughan, Kenneth Horne, Sherlock Holmes
Monty,
Biggles and Old King Cole
In the pink or on the dole
Oliver Twist and Long John Silver
Captain Cook and Nelly Dean
Enid Blyton, Gilbert Harding
Malcolm Sargeant, Graham Greene (Graham Greene)

All the jewels in the crown of England's glory (England's glory)
Too numerous to mention, but a few (but a few)
And every one could tell a different story (different story)
And show old England's glory something new

Nice bit of kipper and Jack the Ripper and Upton Park
Gracie, Cilla, Maxie Miller, Petula Clark
Winkles, Woodbines, Walnut Whips
Vera Lynn and Stafford Cripps
Lady Chatterley, Muffin the Mule
Winston Churchill, Robin Hood
Beatrix Potter, Baden-Powell
Beecham's powders, Yorkshire pud (Yorkshire pud)

Billy Bunter, Jane Austen
Ray Ellington, George Formby
Billy Fury, Little Titch
Uncle Mac, Mr. Pastry and all
Uncle Mac, Mr. Pastry and all

All the jewels in the crown of England's glory (England's glory)
Too numerous to mention, but a few (but a few)
And every one could tell a different story (different story)
And show old England's glory something new

Somerset Maugham, top of the form and the Boys' Brigade (England's glory)
Mortimer Wheeler, Christine Keeler and the Board of Trade (England's glory)
Henry Cooper, Mighty Strangler, England's labour (England's glory)
Standard Vanguard, spotted dick, England's workers (England's glory)

 

BUS DRIVER'S PRAYER

 

Our Father,
Who art in Hendon
Harrow Road be thy name
Thy Kingston come
Thy Wimbledon
In Erith as it is in Hendon.
Give us this day our Berkhamsted
And forgive us our Westminsters
As we forgive those who Westminster against us.
Lead us not into Temple Station
But deliver us from Ealing,
For thine is the Kingston
The Purley and the Crawley,
For Iver and Iver
Crouch End

 

PC HONEY

(Sung by Wreckless Eric)

 

I'm only nineteen, I'm a little bit green
I've yet to be corrupted by the frightful things I've seen
With my measure pace and my bright young face
I only want to make the world a safer place

PC Honey to the rescue
PC Honey's up the drainpipe
PC Honey's on the zebra
PC Honey's on patrol

I've done the course and I've joined the Force
I'm a brave upstanding Bobby full of keen resource
Make me use my feet, keep me on the street
So I know everybody up and down my beat

PC Honey to the rescue
PC Honey's up the drainpipe
PC Honey's on the zebra
PC Honey's on patrol


Once we've lost contact with Mr. Plod
Thus the trouble taketh root
In the very streets they should have trod
In his size eleven boots

As you steal or poach, beware my soft approach
With nothing but a truncheon and a talking brooch
I'm a figure of fun who doesn't need a gun
And you're going round the nick my son!

PC Honey to the rescue
PC Honey's up the drainpipe
PC Honey's on the zebra
PC Honey's on patrol

 

THE RIGHT PEOPLE

 

People think it's easy being a crook
But I got done for everything I took
There's people who could keep you out of schtuck
But you've had it if you don't know where to look

People think it's easy being a thief
But all my major tickles came to grief
The only way your talent is revealed
Is working with the top men in their field

It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people

People think you've only got to ask
Turn up with your crowbar and your mask
"Good morning, I'm a burglar. What's the haps?"
Well, you've had it if you haven't met the chaps

It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people

It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people

It's hard to find the right people
It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people
It's hard to find, the right people

 

ALL THOSE WHO SAY OKAY

 

All those who say okay, say okay, okay
All those who say okay, say okay, exactly
All those who say okay, say okay, okay
All those who say okay, say okay, exactly

(This is repeated constantly in the background together with the word "philosophy")

Oh, I see you're reading a book
Have you got to page one yet?

Can you spell your name forwards?

Can you, can you tell me the way straight on, please?

You're so stupid, you don't know you're not asking about what you don't know about
And now you're confused as well if you've got any sense at all - which I doubt

You're so lazy it's a wonder you haven't been castigated by the less fortunate for wasting your God given talents
Well, now you have, sucker

You couldn't hold a floor if you were laying on it

You're so negative that you've become a transparency which nobody wishes to view

Can you tell me one thing you can do with a pencil?
Make a stencil?

You're so selfish that if you had anything to say you'd keep it to yourself

If you were going somewhere, would you start from here?

How many beans make five, sucker?

(gibberish)
Oh, well done!

Philosophy? Horrible thought

Steady on!

I resemble that remark!


(gibberish)
That is it, n'est-ce pas? A-ha
n'est-ce pas?
A-ha
(gibberish)
in my trouser
(gibberish)
Stop!

 

RIDING THE OUTSKIRTS OF FANTASY

 

Little tests and odd requests
Who loves, who loves, who the best?
Little tasks, no questions asked
The traitor is at last unmasked

Little ploys, search and destroy
Who brings, who brings, who more joy?
Little snipes and frequent gripes
Taken in by all the hype

We're riding the outskirts of fantasy
We're riding, we're riding, we ride
We're hiding our loss of identity
We're keeping our secrets inside

Little tricks with walking sticks
Who gives, who gives, who more kicks?
Little smiles and wily wiles
Got your name down on our files

We're riding the outskirts of fantasy
We're riding, we're riding, we ride
We're hiding our loss of identity
We're keeping our secrets inside

I have done this and that
I have been here and there
I have tasted the fruit of the coco de mer
I've devoted myself to a life without care
And when all's said and done,
I've done more than my share

We're riding the outskirts of fantasy
We're riding, we're riding, we ride
We're hiding our loss of identity
We're keeping our secrets inside

Little games we name no names
Who lost, who lost, who more aims?
Little snares caught unawares
The cupboard underneath the stairs

We're riding the outskirts of fantasy
We're riding, we're riding, we ride
We're hiding our loss of identity
We're keeping our secrets inside

 

Copyright details - All Compositions written by Ian Dury and Mickey Gallagher except Apples, written by Ian Dury, Rod Melvin and Chas Jankel and England's Glory, written by Ian Dury and Rod Melvin.

No infringement of copyright is intended. The purpose of this site is purely to encourage the sales of Ian Dury and the Blockhead records and allow fans to appreciate the clever lyrics and sing along with the songs.

 

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