Ace first lines in songs

Groovy

By no means an exhaustive list, as I haven't heard all the songs ever recorded, but listening to London's Calling t'other day got my brain whirring. Then I masturbated for a while, and then I made this list. Some of them may be wrong.


Now every cheap hood strikes a bargain with the world, ends up making payments on a sofa or a girl.
The noise inside my head won't let me go
I just got your message baby, so sad to see you fade away
You say that I'm too smart for me own good
I am a patient boy - I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait
Son I'm 30, I only went with your mother cos she's dirty
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
I don't want to go out, I want to stay in, get things done
I only knew you for a while I never saw your smile 'til it was time to go, time to go away
You'll take my life but I'll take yours too You'll fire your musket but I'll run you through
It's gettin' near dawn, when lights close their tired eyes
Something in the way you love me won't let me be
I've come across the desert to greet you with a smile
You never listened to a word that I said, you only see me for the clothes that I wear
A to the motherfuckin K homeboy
Naughty boys in nasty schools, headmasters breaking all the rules
Is this the in place to be?
All your dreams are made, when you're chained to the mirror and the razor blade
The pay-me girl has had enough of the bleeps
We like the music, we like the disco sound, hey
I was born with a plastic spoon in my mouth
I'm sorry, I've left me card at home
Look at all the villagers in town and all the farmers hanging round
I've been living through changes and i could swing for you
I can feel the earth begin to move, I hear my needle hit the groove
How does it feel, to treat me like you do?
Got a good reason for taking the easy way out
Don't give me love, oh no none of that stuff cos it's yer money I'm after, baby.
I cried a tear, you wiped it dry
All in a day, all for me
A fork is a cold shiny tool, to pierce, tear and ingest
I want you to tell me why you walked out on me
Saturday's boys live life with insults, drink lots of beer and wait for half time results
Trudging slowly over wet sand, back to the bench where your clothes were stolen
I've got a bike, you can ride it if you like
Youre the kind of person, you meet at certain dismal dull affairs.
Mother, mother, there's too many of you crying
I like big butts and I cannot lie
It's been a long time since I rock-and-rolled
You made a fool of me, but them broken dreams have got to end
In the morning you go gunning for the man who stole you water
I grasp at life's fading light
Lost your love of life? Too much apple pie
Just close your eyes and then remember the thoughts you've locked away
Call out the instigators because there's something in the air
Yo, VIP, let's kick it
Some people think little girls should be seen and not heard
We’ve been crying now for much too long and now we’re gonna dance to a different song
Look what you're doing to me, I'm utterly at your whim, all of my defenses down
There's colors on the street, red, white and blue
Inflammable material is planted in my head, it's a suspect device that's left 2,000 dead
If it seems a little time is needed, decisions to be made
I'll only ask you once more
Thou shalt not steal if there is direct victim
Straight outta Compton crazy motherfucker named Ice Cube
If you like to gamble, I tell you I'm your man
Baby I feel good from the moment I rise
I need a Mars Bar, hey raid the Spar
A Charlatan, I, noble and wild 

Limehouse Basin to Islington - a trudge

Gas thing

Went for a mooch on Sunday in the pissing rain because that's how I roll. Mrs Biff's insistence that i detach myself from the nerd box was the catalyst, and the promise of pizza for tea, changed at the last minute to curry, sealed the deal.
Got the DLR from sexy Lewisham to Limehouse then walked the path along the Regent's Canal. It's about 4.5 miles to Angel but we bailed at the Rosemary Branch pub because I used to live near there and hadn't been in for a while.
The pub's the same as ever - good selection of beers, normal-ish punters. There was a fella playing the piano, who appreciated Mrs Biff's slight inclination of the head and single clap as he rounded off his set.
Everyone in there seemed to be having some kind of laptop-off with each other, greedily snaffling the free wifi. Best of all though was the lad behind the bar brought out a tray of leftover roasties and Yorkshire puds (they do roast dinners in there, which look ace) and a pan of gravy for dipping. It was manna from meff-food heaven.
As for the walk itself, it's better doing this sort of thing in London than, say, the Lake District because there's none of that awful hello-ing or even worse the half-nod-with-a-smile-rising-to-a-sort-of-peer-out-of-an-imaginary-hole as you pass someone.
You just power on knowing that if anyone so much as looks your way you can lash them in the canal and be done with it. Cyclists especially. Bunch of wankers - slow the fuck down, this isn't Amsterdam. A ring of the bell doesn't make people vanish.
It's quite a nice walk but it got a bit chokka where the Shoreditch festival was on - it looked terrible, incidentally.
Best bit was a barge full of lesbians going up in the lock. I assume they were lesbians as there were three of them all together on one boat. Incredible scenes.

Dunno

A path for walking on

This is not art

Someone tied a load of meff Tesco bread bags to a rail

Evil Edna

Last night's nerd togger - a new dawn

My vanquished opponent

Friends, come gather for the future is here. It is bold, it is fearless, it transcends the physical and ethereal worlds. It stands firm, chest out, and defies resistance. All hail my new 3-5-2 nerd togger formation.
There are some issues - Howard is still occasionally awful - but the overall effect is ace.
But the problem of Everton's lumbering attacking moves is no more - where once there was Cahill stood in the middle waiting for Fellaini to amble along, now there are players zooming everywhere. Overlaps, diagonal runs, defenders left flailing - it's all here.
Remember United battering Norwich at Carrow Road in about 92? It's like that.
The line up is: Howard. Back three of (right to left) Heitinga, Jerjelka, Distain. Rodwell and Fellaini in the middle. Arteta on the right with Baines on the left, then Cahill behind Saha (left) and Beckford. The former Leeds man misses as many as he scores (at least) but he is murder to knock off the ball, and he is quick - a novelty for Everton, nerd or real.
The beauty of this formation is you always have bodies in the attacking half, while the three at the back are reasonably solid.
Fellaini and Rodwell are always available for a pass while in possession and also make it difficult for opposition nerd troops to get through the middle.
I've actually tweaked it a touch from the 3-5-2 in the formations list but I can't remember what I did - possibly pushing Cahill a bit further forward. You getting this, ladies?
I've sacrificed some possession - with 4-5-1 I was having all the ball but not scoring - but it's worth it for the increased number of scoring chances. A key point as the nerd Toffees miss an awful lot.
Possible the best thing is Baines - playing this far forward he can get some ace crosses in. He's also quick enough to get back and defend.
Arteta is still a problem and he's there mainly for free kicks, but Heitinga is just behind when the nerd Spaniard is shrugged aside by some nameless Spurs oik.
Does this formation really work? Put it this way, against nerd Liverpool I now expect to win, whereas before I had half a chance. I think I've lost once against them since playing this way. It works against most teams but Chelsea are trickier, I often revert to 4-3-1-2 for them.
In the last few days - yes, this is a scientific study - I have stuffed Liverpool (several times), Bayern Munich, Roma, Lazio, Marseille, PSG, Spurs, Villa, Arsenal, City and more. All with 3-5-2 for at least a third of the game - a good nerder knows one must occasionally tweak to counter events in play.
So there it is my fellow tough guys who have no trouble talking to girls - this is my gift to you. Cherish it, tweak it, enjoy it. To the nerdmobile!

What is going on at the Liverpool Echo?

Choo choo!

Among the usual internet rumblings of discontent among some Evertonians, one lad said on Twitter that he was part of some fans' group looking to get national press interest in their movement.
I thought they had no chance, but fair play, Chris 'Bosco' Bascombe of the nearly-defunct News of The World blogged this.
The reason I thought they - the People's Group I think - had no chance is the reluctance of the Echo, to put it bluntly, to do their fucking jobs properly.
For too long now the Echo's Everton coverage has read like it was pre-approved by the club, with David Prentice - for my money, the best football writer in the country - penning increasingly irritating articles, like this.
He's also gone for the old line of asking people on Twitter, who dare to think the current owner/board might not be doing a stellar job, who they imagine will come in and save the day.
It's a horrible ruse that one, laying the onus at the feet of the paying customer - of the club and the paper - rather than at those who should be responsible.
Prentice, Echo Everton reporter Greg O'Keefe, sports editor John Thompson and editor Alastair Machray should be demanding to know what the hell's going on.
This is a club limping through seasons relying on the monoped Louis Saha for goals, that is mortgaged up the wazoo with apparently no further credit to call on, and whose squad - while being decent - contains a lot of players who will have little or no resale value by the last couple of years of their contracts.
When they're gone, what next? Because we have no money, and the only money we seem able to get is from player sales. What when that dries up? Do we expect David Moyes to keep finding bargains that we can sell on to Manchester United? A risky strategy.
Bill Kenwright must love the Echo as they never seem to ask any tricky questions. Top of my head - Philip Green, Fortress Fund, Keith Harris, King's Dock, Kirkby, Dan Gosling, "no plan B". So many fuck ups which all seem to drift by.

Season ticket queue declared 'a slow burner'

And what do we get from the Echo? Phil Neville's rallying cries and shite about how Tony Hibbert isn't arsed whether he ever scores a goal (you fucking should be, it's the object of the game).
Cards on the table here - I've worked as a reporter and in a football club's press office. So I know how difficult it is to strike a balance between finding out what the readers/supporters want - and deserve - to know and not upsetting the club to the point they get the arse.
That said, what we appear to be seeing with the Echo - and I suspect the Daily Post too but I don't pay as much attention there - is a massive dereliction of duty.
For too long now Evertonians have been told we can't expect better, that we should be careful what we wish for. But this isn't just any club - this is one of the most successful in the country. Two generations have grown up thinking a 4th to 7th place finish represents 'success'. Nil satis nisi you what?
How can the local paper - which once had the second biggest evening paper circulation outside of London - not be at least curious at Everton's slide into, and subsequent embrace of, mediocrity?
Are they really so shit-scared of the club that they abandon completely the principles of news gathering? Are they asking questions or are they just hoping the current apathy which grips many Evertonians (me included) will continue, thus getting them off the hook?
It's a newspaper and Everton is one of the most important, and biggest, things on their patch. Right now with Everton heading into an uncertain future the club should be front and back page news - proper news, demanding answers of those in power, those who doubtless have good intentions but appear unable to deliver what Evertonians deserve.
If the answers are unpalatable then so be it - but let's get the questions asked. We've seen one great newspaper institution perish this week, let's hope we're not living through the slow lingering death of another.

Last night's nerd togger - well in wankchops.

This isn't from my game - I'm not that pathetic

Those last three words have become my stock message to those who quit early. It happened again last night, and best of all, it was against nerd Liverpool.
You never know which nerd Everton will turn up so it's always a gamble going them, and against some teams I wouldn't bother. But nerd Liverpool, now with that lumping nerd Andy Carroll up front, are hopeless.
A few teams' ratings are a bit off - Liverpool are over-rated at 4.5 stars, same as Manchester City are under-valued at the same level.
Everton are probably worth just under their four stars as they have the capacity to be truly abysmal, with Neville and Heitinga equally horrendous in possession and Arteta useless except for free kicks.
Then there's Howard, who can be brilliant some games but in others the ball seems to go right through him. Your joke here.
All this considered I reckoned I'd be okay as nerd EFC versus their cross-nerd counterparts in red and started off 4-4-2, but the fellow I was playing was half decent so I had to switch to 4-3-1-2 as I was getting nerdily over-run in the middle.
I was still conceding a lot of ground but my opponent lacked the wit to get through, and while he had a lot of possession (75-25 in the first 10 minutes), never got close to scoring.
Gradually he started getting narked and sliding in all over the place and I knew I had him. Five minutes before the break Fellaini shrugged Gerrard off the ball before loping forward and playing in Baines down the left. He cut in and found Cahill, back to goal, who spun his marker before curling one in the top corner.
The second half was more of the same with nerd Liverpool having slightly more of the ball but getting nowhere, and it was nerd Everton looking more dangerous.
As t'reds piled forward in increasingly desperate nerd waves I had a few chances to clinch it. Then with the game moving into injury time, Arteta slipped Beckford in on halfway.
He raced clear with two defenders trying to pull him back. The keeper came legging it out and, from just outside the box, Beckford lifted it over him. The keeper got a touch which sent the ball looping towards the bar, it clipped the underside and plopped over the line, with a defender sliding after it in a futile gesture.
Cue, my opponent pulling the plug, and me sending my new message. You see, Johann Hari, you don't have to make it up.