Hasty Pastry

FinsburyParkCarrots

Here's a fun blues song I just wrote today with some er, socio-political bollocks thrown in. It's all about those people in odd professions such as cook in the local council offices, who end up by some quirk becoming councillors and inflicting untold damage on communities. You know the type, well. Probably due to some petit-bourgeois chip on their shoulder, they see perfectly good houses and areas vacated as "slums" ready for demolition (when all they need is a lick of paint and some new wiring). They doing deals with greedy builders who construct soulless "regeneration" projects elsewhere in the city. You know these people, because there's usually at least one in every council ward in every country.


Hasty Pastry


You ain’t got no jelly roll, you ain’t got no soul
You’re the hasty pastry, wrapped around a zero hole
You’re the town hall schmoozer man, shaking hands, the politicians’ friend
You’re the man of city vision, and that vision’s empty streets from end to end

(Count all the boarded windows, there …)

You ain’t got no apple pie, you ain’t got no cream
You’re the killer filler, wrapped around an empty dream
You’re the town hall cooker man, you meet and greet the politicians’ wives
You’re the man who carved communities, plunging through their souls with jagged knives

(Count all the lifeless houses, there …)

But I’ve heard you were so quick to cook up a stew
Of the drive-thru, and cineplex multi-view
Of the carpet-store showroom and high rise flats
And fortnightly collections, for fattening rats

You ain’t got the jug of ale, ain’t got the barley wine
You make the gritty vinegar, which shivers down the spine
You’re the man who sold us all, just to get tight with The Man
You’re the man who let the houses fall, the Man’s man who prepared the Blandness Flan

(Count all the soulless breeze-blocks…)


Hey, Mr hasty pastry man!
With the town and country plan!
Hey, Mr hasty pastry man!
With the half baked, Blandness Flan!

FinsburyParkCarrots

You ain’t got no jelly roll, you ain’t got no soul
You’re the hasty pastry, wrapped around a zero hole
You’re the town hall schmoozer man, shaking hands, the politicians’ friend
You’re the man of city vision, and that vision’s empty streets from end to end

(Count all the boarded windows, there …)

You ain’t got no apple pie, you ain’t got no cream
You’re the killer filler, wrapped around an empty dream
You’re the town hall cooker man, you meet and greet the politicians’ wives
You’re the man who carved communities, plunging holes through souls with pastry knives

(Count all the lifeless houses, there …)

But I’ve heard you were so quick to cook up a stew
Of the drive-thru, and cineplex multi-view
Of the carpet-store showroom and high rise flats
And fortnightly collections, for fattening rats

You ain’t got the jug of ale, ain’t got the barley wine
You make the gritty vinegar, which shivers down the spine
You’re the man who sold us all, just to get tight with The Boss
You’re the man who let the houses fall, your bloodied apron mirroring our loss

(Count all the soulless breeze-blocks…)


Hey, Mr hasty pastry man!
With the town and country plan!
Hey, Mr hasty pastry man!
With the half baked, Blandness Flan!

justam

I like it!

FinsburyParkCarrots

Next edit:


You ain’t got no jelly roll, you ain’t got no soul
You’re the hasty pastry, wrapped around a zero hole
You’re the town hall schmoozer man, shaking hands, the politicians’ friend
You’re the man of city vision, and that vision’s empty streets from end to end

(Count all the boarded windows, there …)

You ain’t got no apple pie, you ain’t got no cream
You’re the killer filler, wrapped around an empty dream
You’re the town hall hollow man, you meet and greet the politicians’ wives
You’re the carving of communities, the plunging hole through souls, with pastry knives

(Count all the lifeless houses, there …)

See how they fix up an emptiness stew
Of the drive-thru, and cineplex multi-view
Of the carpet-store showroom and high rise flats
And fortnightly collections, for fattening rats

You ain’t got the jug of ale, ain’t got the barley wine
You make the gritty vinegar, which shivers down the spine
You’re the man who sold us all, just to get tight with the boss
You’re the man who let the houses fall, there’s bloodied aprons mapping out our loss

(Count all the soulless breeze-blocks…)


Hey, Mr hasty pastry man!
With the town and country plan!
Hey, Mr hasty pastry man!
With the town and country plan!
Hey, Mr hasty pastry man!
With the town and country plan!

justam

But you left out the "half-baked blandness flan" and I liked that line!

FinsburyParkCarrots

justam wrote:

But you left out the "half-baked blandness flan" and I liked that line!

Haha, it's still a work in progress, though! I was thinking about doing a daft improvised spoken bit at the end ...

justam

FinsburyParkCarrots wrote:

Haha, it's still a work in progress, though! I was thinking about doing a daft improvised spoken bit at the end ...

Grasshopper

Is it standard blues? What key?

FinsburyParkCarrots

Grasshopper wrote:

Is it standard blues? What key?

Standard shuffle blues, 12-bar in E, except for the "See how they fix up an emptiness stew" part, which is a middle eight which shouldn't work, but does! I'll record it when I've memorised it. I think it'll sound a lot better, that way!

Grasshopper

E5/E6x4 - A5/A6x2 - Ex2 - B -A- E - B7 I'm assuming

I tried it out.. I really like it

How many lines per measure are you singing?

FinsburyParkCarrots

Say, for simplicity's sake:

E

You ain’t got no jelly roll,
you ain’t got no soul
You’re the hasty pastry,
wrapped around a zero hole

A

You’re the town hall schmoozer man,
shaking hands, the politicians’ friend

B

You’re the man of city vision,

A
and that vision’s empty streets from end to

E

end


If you get me.

Grasshopper

yea I got it just no B at the end.


thanks fins

FinsburyParkCarrots

Grasshopper wrote:

yea I got it just no B at the end.


thanks fins

Well, you could do a typical blues turnaround, from that last E down to a to a B!

Grasshopper

Gives it a little kick.eh..Seems like every time I write a Blues song after hearing "P&J" -SRV I always go Back to V7. My fingers do it automatically.