Hit Parade

(Heaton/Rotheray) No one wrote a song for me Just instrumental not too long As sure as sure could ever be You'd only get the lyrics wrong No solo Chet Baker ever played lowered me slowly to my grave The prose that Keats and Yates would save was for King and Queen not knave I have no poem that describes my charm No story told that's short and sweet I have no hymn, I have no psalm This song I have it has no beat Yes it has no beat No tapping of feet Yes it has no beat Miles Davis played the black 'n' blues Did he play for me to lose? Cause just when round midnight falls That tune's not his it's Kenny Ball's Now on that graveyard on that grave On that tombstone in the shade No poem written, no accolade No "We loved you" ever sprayed There's just this feeling from that moss When epitaph you cannot read he must have lived it at budget cost So he deserves to be beneath All that William Robinson wrote not one of my pluses did he portray those lyrics stuck right down my throat I never hit It never hit My hit parade