Film Extra's Extra


      an x-film extra's extra
      i exit when i'm ex'd
      i get it in the neck
      i get my check
      but i don't get what comes next

      I got my break in the 'frisco quake
      clarke gable got the lead
      they said 'make like a piece of steak...
      lay on that plate and bleed'

      swine herds and hunch backs
      led to bigger things
      i was ponchas pilot's punch bag
      you remember king of king's

      understudy studies scripts
      and stunt men dice with doom
      you found me in a gothic crypt
      or in some squalid room

      where clint eastwood kicks my teeth in
      several times a day
      i'm the best dead body in the business
      i don't have much to say

      except... aaahhh, ooohhh, ahh, ohh, uhh, ahh, uhhh
      and ohh, ahh, nhhh, ahh ohh and thank you lord
      what can you say on the end of a sword
      you just run out of breath

      i carried seven ceasars
      around seven cities of gold
      i was the one who didn't whip Jesus
      in the greatest story ever told

      fake snakes, mock crocks
      and killers cut my throat
      that's me in the pine box
      i know all about boats

      i was on the titanic
      i did what was required
      and i was the first to panic
      on the day the earth caught fire

      hacksaw blades and hand grenades
      dum dum bullets and darts
      when pagans raid the stockade
      i get mangled by their carts

      i fall from trains and torture dames
      just to keep in trim
      I get slain on memory lane
      and the people say 'oh it's him'

      it was in this third rate thriller
      i actually got to talk
      saying 'look... the killer gorillas,
      they're eating up New York'

      i ride this phony pony
      in a place a bit like the world
      in the eyes of adults only
      i never get the girl

      tarantulas invade my bed
      ohh it's wonderful
      i'm a talking head... full of lead
      blublblublblublblublblub

      i scream all the way to the chair
      i scream in the face of tanks
      i take the stairway to the stairs
      and i scream all the way to the banks

      photogenic passion
      impales me on it's knife
      hero's made from fashion
      but dying's a job for life



    LYRICS © JOHN COOPER CLARKE