Song | The Apple Stretching |
Artist | Grace Jones |
Album | Living My Life |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : VanPeebles | |
The sun comes swaggering across the harbour, | |
And kisses the lady waiting in the narrows, | |
She already plenty shaky stands there, | |
Blushing, clutching the torch of liberty, | |
Uptown luigi who dont speak english so good, | |
Is having an accident, | |
Backing his dumptruck into the fence, | |
The tin cans go clattering down the lane, | |
A drowsy bum thinks its thunder, | |
And pulls the news over his head to stop the rain. | |
No, it ain't judgement day, | |
No, it ain't armageddon, | |
It's just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning. | |
New york putting it's feet on the floor, | |
It's just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, | |
New york putting it's feet on the floor. | |
Suburban refugees fleeing the cracked cisterns, | |
Worm ridden fruit trees stream out grand central, | |
Please to be breathing bagels and pollution. | |
In time square new graffiti, old revolutions, | |
A bag lady is cursing the waiter for giving her a free coffee | |
Lucky he's a jesus freak moonlighting, | |
At the acme discount store over in queens, | |
The burglar alarm starts to scream, | |
A cop picks out his gun fires one and yells, "freeze!". | |
No, it ain't worl war four, | |
No, it ain't world war four, | |
It's just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, | |
New york putting its feet on the floor. | |
Nearby the hudson a hooker makes a 'u', | |
To help a blind man to his pew in the park, | |
Some long ago home training jars the memory, | |
The bag lady says 'thank you' and curties. | |
The herd of beaten tourists limp homeward, | |
Having bitten off more than they could chew, | |
Moaning them old big city blues, | |
Miss liberty depicts her qualms and grins, | |
Another subway starts rattling, | |
And luigi's cans go clattering down the hill. | |
No, it ain't some kind of ill wind, | |
No, it ain't the world coming to an end, | |
Just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, | |
New york putting its feet on the floor. |
zuo ci : VanPeebles | |
The sun comes swaggering across the harbour, | |
And kisses the lady waiting in the narrows, | |
She already plenty shaky stands there, | |
Blushing, clutching the torch of liberty, | |
Uptown luigi who dont speak english so good, | |
Is having an accident, | |
Backing his dumptruck into the fence, | |
The tin cans go clattering down the lane, | |
A drowsy bum thinks its thunder, | |
And pulls the news over his head to stop the rain. | |
No, it ain' t judgement day, | |
No, it ain' t armageddon, | |
It' s just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning. | |
New york putting it' s feet on the floor, | |
It' s just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, | |
New york putting it' s feet on the floor. | |
Suburban refugees fleeing the cracked cisterns, | |
Worm ridden fruit trees stream out grand central, | |
Please to be breathing bagels and pollution. | |
In time square new graffiti, old revolutions, | |
A bag lady is cursing the waiter for giving her a free coffee | |
Lucky he' s a jesus freak moonlighting, | |
At the acme discount store over in queens, | |
The burglar alarm starts to scream, | |
A cop picks out his gun fires one and yells, " freeze!". | |
No, it ain' t worl war four, | |
No, it ain' t world war four, | |
It' s just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, | |
New york putting its feet on the floor. | |
Nearby the hudson a hooker makes a ' u', | |
To help a blind man to his pew in the park, | |
Some long ago home training jars the memory, | |
The bag lady says ' thank you' and curties. | |
The herd of beaten tourists limp homeward, | |
Having bitten off more than they could chew, | |
Moaning them old big city blues, | |
Miss liberty depicts her qualms and grins, | |
Another subway starts rattling, | |
And luigi' s cans go clattering down the hill. | |
No, it ain' t some kind of ill wind, | |
No, it ain' t the world coming to an end, | |
Just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, | |
New york putting its feet on the floor. |
zuò cí : VanPeebles | |
The sun comes swaggering across the harbour, | |
And kisses the lady waiting in the narrows, | |
She already plenty shaky stands there, | |
Blushing, clutching the torch of liberty, | |
Uptown luigi who dont speak english so good, | |
Is having an accident, | |
Backing his dumptruck into the fence, | |
The tin cans go clattering down the lane, | |
A drowsy bum thinks its thunder, | |
And pulls the news over his head to stop the rain. | |
No, it ain' t judgement day, | |
No, it ain' t armageddon, | |
It' s just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning. | |
New york putting it' s feet on the floor, | |
It' s just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, | |
New york putting it' s feet on the floor. | |
Suburban refugees fleeing the cracked cisterns, | |
Worm ridden fruit trees stream out grand central, | |
Please to be breathing bagels and pollution. | |
In time square new graffiti, old revolutions, | |
A bag lady is cursing the waiter for giving her a free coffee | |
Lucky he' s a jesus freak moonlighting, | |
At the acme discount store over in queens, | |
The burglar alarm starts to scream, | |
A cop picks out his gun fires one and yells, " freeze!". | |
No, it ain' t worl war four, | |
No, it ain' t world war four, | |
It' s just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, | |
New york putting its feet on the floor. | |
Nearby the hudson a hooker makes a ' u', | |
To help a blind man to his pew in the park, | |
Some long ago home training jars the memory, | |
The bag lady says ' thank you' and curties. | |
The herd of beaten tourists limp homeward, | |
Having bitten off more than they could chew, | |
Moaning them old big city blues, | |
Miss liberty depicts her qualms and grins, | |
Another subway starts rattling, | |
And luigi' s cans go clattering down the hill. | |
No, it ain' t some kind of ill wind, | |
No, it ain' t the world coming to an end, | |
Just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, | |
New york putting its feet on the floor. |