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Private Hell - Paul Weller
Closer than close - you see yourself -
A mirrored image - of what you wanted to be.
As each day goes by - a little more -
You can`t remember - what it was you wanted anyway.
The fingers feel the lines - they prod the space -
Your aging face - the face that once was so beautiful,
is still there but unrecognizable -
Private Hell.
The man who you once loved - is bald and fat -
And seldom in - working late as usual.
Your interest has waned - you feel the strain -
The bed springs snap - on the occasions he lies upon you -
close your eyes and think of nothing but -
Private Hell.
Think of Emma - wonder what she`s doing -
Her husband Terry - and your grandchildren.
Think of Edward - who`s still at college -
You send him letters - which he doesn`t acknowledge.
`Cause he don`t care,
They don`t care.
`Cause they`re all going through their own - Private Hell.
The morning slips away - in a valium haze -
And catalogues - and numerous cups of coffee.
In the afternoon - the weekly food -
Is put in bags - as you float off down the high street.
The shop windows reflect - play a nameless host to a closet ghost
A picture of your fantasy - A victim of your misery and -
Private Hell.
Alone at 6 o`clock - you drop a cup -
You see it smash - inside you crack -
You can`t go on - but you sweep it up -
Safe at last inside your Private Hell.
Sanity at last inside your Private Hell.
SATURDAYS KIDS - Paul Weller
Saturdays boys live life with insults,
Drink lots of beer and wait for half time results,
Afternoon tea in the lite-a-bite - chat up the girls - they dig it!
Saturdays girls work in Tesco`s and Woolworths,
Wear cheap perfume `cause its all they can afford,
Go to discos - they drink Babycham - talk to Jan - in bingo accents.
Saturdays kids play one arm bandits,
they never win but that`s not the point is it?
Dip in silver paper when their pints go flat,
How about that - far out!
Their mums and dads smoke Capstan non filters,
Wallpaper lives `cause they all die of cancer,
What goes on - what goes wrong.
Save up their money for a holiday,
To Selsey Bill or Bracklesham Bay,
Think about the future - when they`ll settle down,
Marry the girl next door - with one on the way.
These are the real creatures that time has forgot,
Not given a thought - its the system -
Hate the system - what`s the system?
Saturdays kids live in council houses,
Wear v-necked shirts and baggy trousers,
Drive Cortinas - fur trimmed dash boards,
Stains on the seats - in the back, of course!
THE ETON RIFLES - Paul Weller
Sup up your beer and collect your fags,
There`s a row going on down near Slough,
Get out your mat and pray to the West,
I`ll get out mine and pray for myself.
Thought you were smart when you took them on,
But you didn`t take a peep in their artillery room,
All that rugby puts hairs on your chest,
What chance have you got against a tie and a crest.
Hello-Hurray - what a nice day - for the Eton Rifles
Hello-Hurray - I hope rain stops play - with the Eton Rifles.
Thought you were clever when you lit the fuse,
Tore down the House of Commons in your brand new shoes,
Composed a revolutionary symphony,
Then went to bed with a charming young thing.
Hello-Hurray - cheers then mate - its the Eton Rifles
Hello-Hurray - an extremist scrape - with the Eton Rifles.
What a catalyst you turned out to be,
Loaded the guns then you run on home for your tea.
Left me standing - like a guilty schoolboy.
We came out of it naturally the worst,
Beaten and bloody and I was sick down my shirt,
We were no match for their untamed wit,
Though some of the lads said they`ll be back next week.
Hello-Hurray - there`s a price to pay - to the Eton Rifles
Hello-Hurray - I`d prefer the plague - to the Eton Rifles (repeat)
PRECIOUS - Paul Weller
Your precious love - that means so much
will it ever stop - or will I just lose touch
What I want to say - but my words just fail
Is that I need it so - I can`t help myself
Like a hungry child - I just help myself
And when I`m full up - I go out to play
But I don`t mean to bleed you dry
Or take you over for the rest of your life
It`s just that I need something solid in mine
Lonely as the moors on a winter`s morning
Quiet as the sea on a cool calm night
In your tranquil shadow - I try and follow
I hear your distant show clicks
To the midnight beat -
I feel trapped in sorrow
In this imagery
But that`s how I am and why I need you so

Private Hell - Paul Weller
Closer than close - you see yourself -
A mirrored image - of what you wanted to be.
As each day goes by - a little more -
You can`t remember - what it was you wanted anyway.
The fingers feel the lines - they prod the space -
Your aging face - the face that once was so beautiful,
is still there but unrecognizable -
Private Hell.
The man who you once loved - is bald and fat -
And seldom in - working late as usual.
Your interest has waned - you feel the strain -
The bed springs snap - on the occasions he lies upon you -
close your eyes and think of nothing but -
Private Hell.
Think of Emma - wonder what she`s doing -
Her husband Terry - and your grandchildren.
Think of Edward - who`s still at college -
You send him letters - which he doesn`t acknowledge.
`Cause he don`t care,
They don`t care.
`Cause they`re all going through their own - Private Hell.
The morning slips away - in a valium haze -
And catalogues - and numerous cups of coffee.
In the afternoon - the weekly food -
Is put in bags - as you float off down the high street.
The shop windows reflect - play a nameless host to a closet ghost
A picture of your fantasy - A victim of your misery and -
Private Hell.
Alone at 6 o`clock - you drop a cup -
You see it smash - inside you crack -
You can`t go on - but you sweep it up -
Safe at last inside your Private Hell.
Sanity at last inside your Private Hell.
SATURDAYS KIDS - Paul Weller
Saturdays boys live life with insults,
Drink lots of beer and wait for half time results,
Afternoon tea in the lite-a-bite - chat up the girls - they dig it!
Saturdays girls work in Tesco`s and Woolworths,
Wear cheap perfume `cause its all they can afford,
Go to discos - they drink Babycham - talk to Jan - in bingo accents.
Saturdays kids play one arm bandits,
they never win but that`s not the point is it?
Dip in silver paper when their pints go flat,
How about that - far out!
Their mums and dads smoke Capstan non filters,
Wallpaper lives `cause they all die of cancer,
What goes on - what goes wrong.
Save up their money for a holiday,
To Selsey Bill or Bracklesham Bay,
Think about the future - when they`ll settle down,
Marry the girl next door - with one on the way.
These are the real creatures that time has forgot,
Not given a thought - its the system -
Hate the system - what`s the system?
Saturdays kids live in council houses,
Wear v-necked shirts and baggy trousers,
Drive Cortinas - fur trimmed dash boards,
Stains on the seats - in the back, of course!
THE ETON RIFLES - Paul Weller
Sup up your beer and collect your fags,
There`s a row going on down near Slough,
Get out your mat and pray to the West,
I`ll get out mine and pray for myself.
Thought you were smart when you took them on,
But you didn`t take a peep in their artillery room,
All that rugby puts hairs on your chest,
What chance have you got against a tie and a crest.
Hello-Hurray - what a nice day - for the Eton Rifles
Hello-Hurray - I hope rain stops play - with the Eton Rifles.
Thought you were clever when you lit the fuse,
Tore down the House of Commons in your brand new shoes,
Composed a revolutionary symphony,
Then went to bed with a charming young thing.
Hello-Hurray - cheers then mate - its the Eton Rifles
Hello-Hurray - an extremist scrape - with the Eton Rifles.
What a catalyst you turned out to be,
Loaded the guns then you run on home for your tea.
Left me standing - like a guilty schoolboy.
We came out of it naturally the worst,
Beaten and bloody and I was sick down my shirt,
We were no match for their untamed wit,
Though some of the lads said they`ll be back next week.
Hello-Hurray - there`s a price to pay - to the Eton Rifles
Hello-Hurray - I`d prefer the plague - to the Eton Rifles (repeat)
PRECIOUS - Paul Weller
Your precious love - that means so much
will it ever stop - or will I just lose touch
What I want to say - but my words just fail
Is that I need it so - I can`t help myself
Like a hungry child - I just help myself
And when I`m full up - I go out to play
But I don`t mean to bleed you dry
Or take you over for the rest of your life
It`s just that I need something solid in mine
Lonely as the moors on a winter`s morning
Quiet as the sea on a cool calm night
In your tranquil shadow - I try and follow
I hear your distant show clicks
To the midnight beat -
I feel trapped in sorrow
In this imagery
But that`s how I am and why I need you so

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