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| Pete Atkin sings
Ice Cream Man by Clive James and Pete Atkin, [Much more at www.peteatkin.com] |
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| LYRIC: | |||||
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This afternoon the ice-cream man Has driven his magnetic van From Angkor Wat or Isfahan To park down by the meadows The captain of a pirate ship He struggles hard to keep his grip With cannonades of strawb'ry whip Delivered through the windows A British Bedford Dormobile Done over pink for eye appeal With rainbow discs on every wheel It makes a magic wagon A mass of metal glorified Sesame thrown open wide And this amazing man inside Fantastic as a dragon It must be standing on tiptoe And reaching up to trade your dough For scoops of Technicolor snow That makes the man look royal To me he looks a normal bloke With a second line in lukewarm Coke Busting for a decent smoke To break the round of toil I guess I've got a jaundiced eye The children never spot the lie They're queueing up and reaching high For something that tastes lovely Neapolitan wafers make the day The king is in his castle gay And they're behind him all the way Below me they're above me Who'd guess from how they make a meal With darting tongue and teeth of steel From a mess of frigid cochineal That they were born to sorrow Gone to dust the age of kings Lost the taste for simple things If only time would give me wings I'd double back tomorrow | |||||
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