I can hardly bear the sight of lipstick on the cigarettes there in the ashtray Lyin' cold the way you left 'em, but at least your lips caressed them while you packed Or the lip-print on a half-filled cup of coffee that you poured and didn't drink But at least you thought you wanted it, that's so much more than I can say for me What a good year for the roses (roses) Many blooms still linger there The lawn could stand another mowin' Funny, I don't even care As you turn to walk away And as the door behind you closes The only thing I have to say It's been a good year for the roses After three full years of marriage, it's the first time that you haven't made the bed I guess the reason we're not talkin', there's so little left to say we haven't said While a million thoughts go racin' through my mind, I find I haven't said a word From the bedroom, the familiar sound of one baby's crying goes unheard What a good year for the roses (roses) Many blooms still linger there The lawn could stand another mowin' Funny, I don't even care As you turn to walk away As the door behind you closes The only thing I have to say It's been a good year for the roses

I heard it in the wind last night It sounded like applause Did you get a round resounding for you Way up here It seems like many dim years ago Since I heard that face to face Or seen you face to face Though tonight I can feel you here I get these notes On butterflies and lilac sprays From girls who just have to tell me They saw you somewhere In some office sits a poet And he trembles as he sings And he asks some guy To circulate his soul around On your mark red ribbon runner The caressing rev of motors Finely tuned like fancy women In thirties evening gowns Up the charts Off to the airport Your name's in the news Everything's first class The lights go down And it's just you up there Getting them to feel like that Remember the days when you used to sit And make up your tunes for love And pour your simple sorrow To the soundhole and your knee And now you're seen On giant screens And at parties for the press And for people who have slices of you From the company They toss around your latest golden egg Speculation well who's to know If the next one in the nest Will glitter for them so I guess I seem ungrateful With my teeth sunk in the hand That brings me things I really can't give up just yet Now I sit up here the critic And they introduce some band But they seem so much confetti Looking at them on my TV set Oh the power and the glory Just when you're getting a taste for worship They start bringing out the hammers And the boards And the nails I heard it in the wind last night It sounded like applause Chilly now End of summer No more shiny hot nights It was just the arbutus rustling And the bumping of the logs And the moon swept down black water Like an empty spotlight

When I was 17 It was a very good year It was a very good year For small-town girls and soft summer nights We'd hide from the lights On the village green When I was 17 When I was 21 It was a very good year It was a very good year For city girls who lived up the stair With all that perfumed hair And it came undone When I was 21 Then I was 35 It was a very good year It was a very good year For blue-blooded girls of independent means We'd ride in limousines That their chauffeurs would drive When I was 35 But now the days are short I'm in the autumn of my years And I think of my life As vintage wine from fine old kegs From the brim to the dregs And it poured sweet and clear It was a very good year

The first time that i met her I was throwing up in a ladies room stall. She asked me if i needed anything I said i think i spilled my drink. And that's how it started. (Or so i'd like to believe) She took me to her mother's house outside of town Where the stars hang down. She said she'd never seen someone so lost. I said i'd never felt so found. And then i kissed her on the cheek. And so she kissed me on the mouth. Oh oh oh oh. Spring was popping daises Around rusted trucks and busted lawn chairs. We moved into a studio in council bluffs To save a couple of bucks. Where the mice came out at night. Neighbors were screaming all the time. We'd make love in the afternoon To chelsea girls and bachelor number 2. I'd play for her some songs i wrote She'd joke and say i'm shooting through the roof. I'd say they're all for you dear. I'll write the album of the year. And i know she'd love me then. I swear to god she did. Because the way she'd bite my lower lip And push her hips against my hips. And dig her nails so deep into my skin. The first time that i met her I was convinced that i had finally found the one. She was convinced i was under the influence Of all those drunken romantics. I was reading Fante at the time. I had Bukowski on my mind. She got a job at jacob's Serving cocktails to all the local drunks. Against her will i fit the bill I perched down at the end of the bar. She says space is not just a place for stars. I give you an inch you want a house with a yard. And i know she loved me once. But now those days are gone. She used to call me every day From a payphone on her break for lunch Just to say she can't wait to come home. To come home. To come home. Yeah home. The last time that i saw her She was picking through which records were hers. Her clothes were packed in boxes With some pots and pans and books and a toaster. Just then a mouse scurried across the floor. So i laughed until it didn't hurt. I laughed until it didn't hurt. I laughed until it didn't hurt. Ah right.

You can ride all day long Another Myke Diesel production (Mike Jones) But you'll never catch Mr. Jones He's got a gang that's far too strong (Ice Age, Ice Age, Ice Age) Your friends know it, that's why you're all alone Chasing a man you can't see (Mike Jones) So just walk away and let him be He's got a shotgun so go back home (Who? Mike Jones Who? Mike Jones) 'Cause you'll never get Mr. Jones (Mike Jones, Mike Jones) I'm back, my music tracks about to sell another mil' My pants stay saggin' from them hundred dollar bills These haters hate but they don't really wanna see the steel These haters hate but they don't really wanna see the steel Had a million in my bank before Asylum bought the deal Had a million in my bank before Asylum bought the deal Before I came I just say the streets wouldn't feel The - that I'm spittin', the - that's real But now I'm like Melo, I'm the king of the hill American dream, I'm livin' that for real Eleven cars later - tell me how you feel Took the diamonds off my teeth And put 'em on my Phantom grill (smile, ha ha) You can ride all day long (Mike Jones) But you'll never catch Mr. Jones He's got a gang that's far too strong (Ice Age, Ice Age, Ice Age) Your friends know it, that's why you're all alone Chasing a man you can't see (Mike Jones) So just walk away and let him be He's got a shotgun so go back home (Who? Mike Jones Who? Mike Jones) 'Cause you'll never get Mr. Jones (Mike Jones, Mike Jones) I used to get dissed by the chicks in the club Now they want to rub my belly, wanna show your boy some love They see me iced up, they be like, "What's up?" Try to jack me if you wanna, I'ma leave you - up Used to roll hatchback, now I'm Cadillac and Benz Used to roll hatchback, now I'm Cadillac and Benz I used to have homies, now I'm like, "- friends" 'Cause even back then all they did was pretend Now I got my own label Ice Age and I'm boss I'm the mayor of this town with the key to that vault All my cars black on black except the one with thick gloss Got another white on white I call that - rick Rick Ross (Ross) You can ride all day long (Mike Jones) But you'll never catch Mr. Jones He's got a gang that's far too strong (Ice Age, Ice Age, Ice Age) Your friends know it, that's why you're all alone (hahahahahaha) Chasing a man you can't see (you can't see me, baby) So just walk away, and let him be He's got a shotgun so go back home (Who? Mike Jones Who? Mike Jones) 'Cause you'll never get Mr. Jones (Mike Jones, Mike Jones) Hey Now make it rain Hey Now make it rain Hey Now make it rain American Dream, album and movie on the way, baby

(Rhythm is both the song's manacle and it's demonic charge. It is the original breath, it is the whisper of unremitting demand. "What do you still want of me?", says the singer. "What do you think you can still draw from my lips?" Exact presence that no fantasy can represent. Purveyor of the oldest secret, alive with the blood that boils again, and is pulsing where the rhythm is torn apart. How your singer's blood is incensed at the depth of sound. Lacerations echo in the mouth's open erotic sky where dance together the lost frenzies of rhythm and an imploring immobility. Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Grace Jones. Jones the Rhythm.) Slave! Slave to the rhythm Dance to the rhythm Axe to wood in ancient times Man machine, production line The fire burns, with heartbeats strong Sing out loud, the chain gang song Never stop the action Keep it up, keep it up Never stop the action Keep it up, keep it up Slave to the rhythm Dance to the rhythm, The rhythm... master... master... Never stop the action, keep it up Never stop the action Keep it up, keep it up. Slave to the rhythm, work to the rhythm, Dance to the rhythm, live to the rhythm. Slave to the rhythm, Dance to the rhythm, live to the rhythm, Slave to the rhythm, work... to the rhythm, To the rhythm, work to the rhythm, to the rhythm. Slave, slave, To the rhythm, to the rhythm, to the rhythm. (Grace) Oh that's weird... (Grace Jones, welcome) Thank you Paul. And if you're wondering what's wrong with my voice, I just choked on my saliva. So... (Now obviously you're in the Bond movie.)