Bitter Fingers - Live From "Midsummer Music" At Wembley Stadium / 1975

Lyrics for Bitter Fingers - Live From "Midsummer Music" At Wembley Stadium / 1975

I'm going on the circuit, doing all the clubs And I really need a song, boys, to stir those workers up And get their wives to sing it with me just like in the pubs When I worked the good old pubs in Stepney Could you knock a line or two together for a friend? Sentimental tear inducing with a happy end And we need a tune to open Our season at Southend, can you help us? It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers So much to prove, so few to tell you why Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing At the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes It seems to me a change is really, really needed I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das No more long days hacking hunks of garbage Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars I like the warm blue flame, the hazy heat it brings It loosens up the muscles and forces you to sing You know it's just another hit and run From the tin pan alley twins And there's a chance that one day You might write a standard lads, so churn them out quick and fast And we'll still pat your backs 'Cause we need what we can get to launch another dozen acts Are you working? It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers So much to prove, so few to tell you why Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing At the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes It seems to me a change is really, really needed I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das No more long days hacking hunks of garbage Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers So much to prove, so few to tell you why Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing At the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes It seems to me a change is really, really needed I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das No more long days hacking hunks of garbage Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars Swinging stars, swinging stars It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers So much to prove, so few to tell you why Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing