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Dead Finks Don't Talk

This song is by Brian Eno and appears on the album Here Come the Warm Jets (1973).

Oh, cheeky cheeky
Oh, naughty sneeky
You're so perceptive and I wonder how you knew

But these finks don't walk too well
A bad sense of direction
And so they stumble round in threes
Such a strange collection

Oh, you headless chicken
Can those poor teeth take so much kicking?
You're always so charming
As you peck your way up there

And these finks don't dress too well (Oh, no! Oh, no!)
No discrimination (Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!)
To be a zombie all the time (Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!)
Requires such dedication (Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!)

Oh please, sir will you let it go by?
'Cause I failed both tests with my legs both tied
In my place the stuff is all there
I've been ever so sad for a very long time
My my, they wanted the works, can you this and that?
I never got a letter back
More for me, bless my soul
More for me, bless my soul
More for me, bless my soul
More for me, bless my soul
More for me, bless my soul

Oh, perfect masters
They thrive on disasters
They all look so harmless
Till they find there way up there

But dead finks don't talk too well (Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!)
They've got a shaky sense of diction (Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!)
It's not so much a living hell (Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!)
It's just a dying fiction. (Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!)

Credits

Written by:

Brian Eno

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