Baker St. Muse
Baker St. Muse, take one
Shit, shit, shit - take two
Windy bus-stop, click, shop-window heel
Shady gentleman, fly-button feel
In the underpass the blind man stands
With cold flute hands
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time
You can call me on another line
Indian restaurants that curry my brain
Newspaper warriors changing the names
They advertise from the station stand
With cold print hands
Symphony word-player, I'll be your headline
If you catch me another time
Didn't make her with my Baker Street ruse
Couldn't shake her with my Baker Street bruise
Like to take her, I'm just a Baker Street muse
Ale-spew, puddle-brew boys, throw it up clean
Coke and Bacardi colors them green
From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess
With great finesse
Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound
Is fifty feet down in the Baker Street underground - what the hell
I didn't make her with my Baker Street ruse
Couldn't shake her with my Baker Street bruise
Like to take her, I'm just a Baker Street muse
Walking down the gutter thinking, "How the hell am I today?"
Well, I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same
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