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John Cale
John Cale


Background information
Birth name John Davies Cale[1]
Born March 9, 1942
Genre(s) Art Rock
Classical
Baroque Pop
Experimental Rock
Folk-Rock
Years active 1965—present
Label(s) Island Records
Reprise Records
Rhino Records
A&M Records
Associated acts Lou Reed
The Velvet Underground
Nico
Theater of Eternal Music
John Cage
Phil Manzanera
Brian Eno
Kevin Ayers
Website Website



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  J  →  John Cale  →  Albums  →  Honi Soit

John Cale Album


Honi Soit (1981)
1981
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. . .


Sooner or later she said she'd be my friend
Honest and faithful till the very end
Well enough of that I'm tired of hearing it anyway
She turns and smiles says goodbye in her inimical way

Happy to see her in the back of a magazine
Lying there nude sporting that stupid grin
So get on with it straight on and porno bound
Just leave me out of it I'm not proud

It would have taken you a long long time

Happy to see her in the back of a limousine
Laughing and crying at everything she'd seen
Well enough of that she should have known better anyway
When I told her what I'd seen she was so ashamed

It would have taken me a long long time

The a year from monday everything I said came true
That's when the d. a. called me he said dead or alive for you
They found her
Dead or alive
I want you dead or alive she said

. . .


Strange times in Casablanca when people pull down their shades
And its easy enough for us to look at each other and wonder why
We were to blame
Blame comes remorselessly transfixed
Like the sound of slamming doors
And doors have doors have doors have doors have doors
Like companions have pets they sleep in each other's mattresses
Like maggots in despair
And bleed in each other's nests and make a mess of each other's snares
Strange times in Casablanca
Strange times
They make some striking couples
They make some frustration of the call
And only those who are satisfied by friendship would even pay
Attention to it all
It comes like mail or telegrams
It comes expectant as a widow in heat as a widow in the searing heat
And that contentment of depression that delivers most of the time
But cannot help the styling of the horns in the shape of gargoyle
Broken prints savage fingers
Undertaken catamaran
Strange times in Casablanca
We've turned our back on it once before
And we can hear from across the waters what damage it will cause us
And you can smash once more
And they can smash once more
But I don't think anybody wants to smash anymore

. . .


Fighter pilot you're losing the war again
When will you ever learn
Fighter pilot you're making a big mistake and setting a bad example

Fighter pilot tell me about your life and are the children well
Fighter pilot what do you do with yourself at night
When will you ever learn

Fighter pilot it's a summer of thunderstorms
The sky is black and blue you're a hero now
But you're a terrible man fighter pilot

Bandits here bandits there angels at ten o'clock
You're going down
Fighter pilot you're never coming in to land

. . .


She was so afraid of everything she said
Since her mother told her why once upon a time
There was no rhyme
Before the clock slammed another door
Of the weary hours we were facing a second hand shylock
Shylocked in, in on us

I saw what it had taken
Playing back that old brigade of mine
Everything was dirty, everything was without rhyme
Everything was dirty, everything was without rhyme
Cause me and nigger marched
Yes, me and nigger blasted our way out
Of here just like yesterday

Yesterday's streets were burnt down into shells
Mothers weep while children sleep
Like ancestors in the ground
The misery of nuns lie together like sons
Who do not have the taste for the battle

We are shuffled like a pack of cards in the dead of night
Like lovers below Bataan, below the senses
Cause the senses smell of tears
While we and nigger marched
Blasted our way out of here
Close the door and let's have some private life

. . .


The cowboy's lament or streets of laredo (1876)
By francis henry maynard

As I walked out in the streets of laredo,
As I walked out in laredo one day,
I spied a young cowboy wrapped up in white linen,
Wrapped up in white linen and cold as the clay.
"o beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly;
Play the dead march as you carry me along.
Take me to the green valley and lay the sod o're me,
For I'm a young cowboy and I know I done wrong."

"i see by your outfit that your are a cowboy."
These words he did say as I boldly stepped by.
"come sit down beside me and hear my sad story;
I'm shot in the breast and I know I must die."

"my friends and relations they live in the nation:
They know not where their dear boy has gone.
I first came to texas and hired to a ranchman,
O I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong."


"it was once in the saddle I used to go dashing:
It was once in the saddle I used to go gay.
First to the dram house and then to the card house,
Got shot in the breast and I'm dying today."

"get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin;
Get six pretty maidens to sing me a song.
Put bunches of roses all over my coffin,
Put roses to deaden the cods as they fall."

"go gather around you a group of young cowboys,
And tell them the story of this my sad fate.
Tell one and the other before they go further,
To stop their wild roving before it's too late."

"go bring me a cup, a cup of cold water
To cool my parched lips," the young cowboy said.
Before I returned the spirit had left him
And gone to it's maker--the cowboy was dead.

We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly,
And bitterly wept as we bore him along.
For awe all loved our comrade, so brave, young, and handsome,
We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong.

. . .


Ecoutez, écoutez, s'il vous plait...
Merci
Honi soit qui mal y pense
Honi soit qui mal y pense
Merci

Honi soit qui mal y pense (psst, wcch)
Honi soit qui mal y pense (psst)
Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Tout ce qu'on dit et tout ce qu'on fait,
Tout le monde doit écouter
Ecoutez...
Merci, écoutez
Ecoutez...

Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Honi soit qui mal y pense
Tout ce qu'on dit et tout ce qu'on fait...
Honi soit qui mal y pense
Honi soit qui mal y pense
Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Honi soit qui mal y pense

Tout ce qu'on dit et tout ce qu'on fait,
Tout le monde doit écouter.
Honi soi qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Tout le monde...

Qu'est-ce que c'est? Qu'est-ce que c'est?
Quoi? qu'est-ce que c'est?
Un coup d'état? Qu'est-ce que c'est un coup d'état?
Mais oui, le voilà...

Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Merci...

Honi soit qui mal y pense
Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Honi soit qui mal y pense (ooh)
Tout ce qu'on dit et tout ce qu'on fait,
Tout le monde doit écouter...
Honi soit, qui mal y pense

Et le voilà
c'est fini!

Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Honi soit qui mal y pense (doo ooh)
Honi soit qui mal y pense

. . .


All along the riverbank nobody seems to know
They heard nothing, saw even less of the hunger in their souls
Safety first or safety last I wish I could have helped
Those poor unfortunate widows standing waiting for their sailor boys

Madame Nhu, yes madame knew
Down they came to look around that riverbank
For names or numbers or anything they could find written there
On the wall

Cause somebody seemed to know but no one was prepared to tell
Anything they'd learnt to love about long ago
And the cold people getting colder
Like babysitters in their graves

Satisfying heretic vicars passing on
Send them running on ahead picking up the wendy trash instead
Like foulmouth people openheart surgery creatures
Crawling back inside of you

All along the riverbank nobody will ever know
What fools and their monies sailors and their honeys
Got stung one evening there
Cause the stones around their necks are the stones on the Riverbank

. . .


They rush him into somewhere
He's dancing in his chains
And the traitor's melancholy
Feeling out of place
And he will have to dig
For miles underground of soil
If the freshmen
Dizzy from turning their back
On everyone started
Well, everybody is disguised
Everybody is distressed
Distrust, disgusting
Well, behind the sanatory
Knocking beauty
That looses out on each and every song
Behind the stairs of blood banks are
The park bench creatures that belong
Hey, John Wayne, he can feel no pain
Cause he's got no brain
He's riding horses to Acropolis and back
Just like a former crosseyed catholic
Like another crosseyed former proddy
For all the creatures that belong
That material safety ain't a safety found in numbers
But they're never getting slumber
And they're never getting
And the gettings are gone
Hey now, beauty comes last
Safety first but beauty comes last
Safety first cause ??? caravan comes last

Sells some short
With fifty ??? full of bullets
For the truncation of the human race
Japan, Japan, Japan we love you
The ??? too
California
We'll hurry our missiles sucking
The moist vagina of the war
Leave it ???
And Russia is defecting
Russia, Russia is defecting
Russia is defected, is defective, is defecting
What's wrong with our motherland
What's wrong with our fatherland
Here comes the China Ku Klux Klan
They've got black Communists surgeons
In case you need them
They have Communist surgeons
They have come to search them
And they have to come in and search them
They have black Communist surgeons
They have black Communist surgeons
In case you need them
And it rains, if it rains
When it rains
It never rains on the Russian Party
If it rains
On the Communist Party
If it rains

Posted by Dead Man Walking

. . .


Look at that old man with the broken shoes
He could tell you stories he knows how to lose
Look at that sweet thing packaged so tight

She does things her own way, knows the wrong from right
But there's one big difference now she does anything she wants
And every night is midnight as they come to take her through the door
Of suffering as it is her own way out no matter how she feels
Her day is

Can you see madame breaking all the rules
She does things her own way, she's nobody's fool

Yes, she finds things easier now she does everything she says
They climb up on her doorstep and rock around the clock tonight
And rock around again in spite of everything she'd done she is forgotten

Look at that young man with the tired eyes
He believes in magic, he believes in lies

. . .


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