Backroom Cordon Blues Songtext
von Mark Hart

There′s miserly wisemen
Who gamble and pray
To gods and Godzilla's that
Change everyday
But you can′t ever win
If you don't get to play
The game that they run in the backroom

There's a busload of children
Who fell through the ice
A Whitehouse that′s made out of
Red beans and rice
A real superhero
A fake Jesus Christ
Who handles your bags in the backroom


A social psychologist
Tacked up a sign
He says will de-fog and re-balance
The mind
You′re welcome to bring home
What truth you can find
In the clubby retreat of the backroom

My ex-wife'll call up
And tell me she′s there
With Cuban guys dancing and
Doing her hair
Her highlights are stunning
But nobody cares
How anyone looks in the backroom

For sure it's a fad
And it can′t last too long
Half a more minute's enough
Of this song
I′ll never get in
Cause I'll never belong
But I'd kill to have lunch in the backroom
Yes I′d kill to have lunch in the backroom
You know I′d kill to have lunch in
The backroom