Tytuł: The shirt

• Wykonawca: The Kinks
• Wyświetleń: 294

As I walked into the charity store
   I saw a second-hand shirt hangin' up by the door
   The collar was frayed, there was a stain on the cuff
   Caused by ketchup or blood or some such stuff
   It wasn't made of polyester or nylon
   The label said "Made in the UK" so I tried it on
   And I looked in the mirror and declared
   "I like this shirt, I want it"
  
   It's not the label on the shirt that you wear
   It's the way that you wear it
   They say it's style and breeding and culture that counts
   But you can't change good taste on the expense account
   And if design or fashion makes you a hero
   You can dress all highbrow but still be an emotional zero
   But I declare "It's not the shirt you wear
   It's the way that you wear it"
  
   I was looking for danger, I should have taken more care
   I was dressed to kill, I felt so debonair
   Wild expectations, arrogant air
   Then I walked into that bar, she was standing there
   I walked over with all my savoir fair
   And she said "You're a smart looking dude
   But your character's ugly, it clashes with my shoes
   And I, I can't stand your attitude"
  
   I assumed it was leading to a romantic interlude
   I thought my conquest was made
   But I was stunned by the magnitude
   Of her ingratitude
   I spent a good thirty bucks on this babe
   Like the shirt I was wearing
  
   This romantic affair was not destined to last
   The harder I tried, the louder she laughed
   I was reduced to despair, my emotions laid bare
   She knew I was hurt, made me feel like a jerk
   I was humbled, humiliated, castrated
   My masculinity dragged through the dirt
   Then thrown in the air to be devoured by the lions
   The vultures, the jackals and all the scavengers of love
   I was strutting around with my chest stuck out
   like a peacock preparing to get laid
   Thought I looked cool but she put me down
   She said "You look like a clown on a circus parade"
   Still the shirt has class, it looks well made
   She was a babe of the first degree
   She was totally fantabulous
   Like a goddess from Greece and yet
   The epitome of the 20th century femininity
   She was in her own league
   She was meant for me, it was destiny
   Like Adam and Eve, synchronisity
   She brought out the testosterone in me
  
   Last time I saw that babe she was smiling contentedly
   Now I'm trapped on this murder rap, a mistaken identity
   It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me
   Now this cop says "It's up to you, death row or solitude
   Crime of passion, you should plead 'insane'
   You say you wouldn't lie, but we've just blown your alibi
   We've found your shirt and it's got a blood stain"
  
   It was the shirt you were wearing
   It was the shirt you were wearing