Welcome to the café shabu. permit me to introduce you to some of our regulars. starting on my immediate left, ladies and gentlemen, here in café shabu, you'll note a poet, a man of words by tr
And yes, that's a refugee from an unnamed political philosophy, come here to spread his message of joy and peace amongst us. thank you very much sir. over here, next to him we see a lady who has
Ed-in a lifestyle of the rich and famous for work with underprivileged and exceptional children which I am sure makes her very pleased with herself, ladies and gentlemen. sitting next to her a m
Letters and words and moods. a man who spent most of his life deceiving himself and now finds himself facing six years in rehabilitation prison and a death sentence on the outside. sitting next
I'm on a banquette, a ballerina. she's had two grapes, a raisin, and a chicklet, and she's full. in fact, she's been stuffed for years. next to her are two spinsters knitting their way in and out
Arious predicaments coloure
D by the excesses of their ancestors. and close by them, some surreal painter's brooding over the very over-emphasis of colour-violence. violence on the blue end of the scale. next to them, two
Uty detectives checking each other out. next door to the sugarholics, see them shivering, see them staring into the distance, see them growing, oh, see them go comatose. insulin please, maitre d
My immediate right several politicians smiling lizard-like, see them assure themselves that their status is indeed quo.
Rip up the cheques said the maitre d'. see if I care. I do this for the company. I've got no-one to trust any secrets to but myself. in the basement, in the vault, in the attic on the walls are
Ictures I take in part-payment for my time. and the waitress reminds you that in the backroom bathed in red, glowing with the speed of light that reflects the demands of the living for the dead,
Our angels, a host at your service to meet your every need. so order up, the waitress said. our great café serves everything.
John Cale/Bob Neuwirth - Café Shabu Lyrics
John Cale/Bob Neuwirth - Café Shabu Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
Welcome to the café shabu. permit me to introduce you to some of our regulars. starting on my immediate left, ladies and gentlemen, here in café shabu, you'll note a poet, a man of words by tr
And yes, that's a refugee from an unnamed political philosophy, come here to spread his message of joy and peace amongst us. thank you very much sir. over here, next to him we see a lady who has
Ed-in a lifestyle of the rich and famous for work with underprivileged and exceptional children which I am sure makes her very pleased with herself, ladies and gentlemen. sitting next to her a m
Letters and words and moods. a man who spent most of his life deceiving himself and now finds himself facing six years in rehabilitation prison and a death sentence on the outside. sitting next
I'm on a banquette, a ballerina. she's had two grapes, a raisin, and a chicklet, and she's full. in fact, she's been stuffed for years. next to her are two spinsters knitting their way in and out
Arious predicaments coloure
D by the excesses of their ancestors. and close by them, some surreal painter's brooding over the very over-emphasis of colour-violence. violence on the blue end of the scale. next to them, two
Uty detectives checking each other out. next door to the sugarholics, see them shivering, see them staring into the distance, see them growing, oh, see them go comatose. insulin please, maitre d
My immediate right several politicians smiling lizard-like, see them assure themselves that their status is indeed quo.
Rip up the cheques said the maitre d'. see if I care. I do this for the company. I've got no-one to trust any secrets to but myself. in the basement, in the vault, in the attic on the walls are
Ictures I take in part-payment for my time. and the waitress reminds you that in the backroom bathed in red, glowing with the speed of light that reflects the demands of the living for the dead,
Our angels, a host at your service to meet your every need. so order up, the waitress said. our great café serves everything.
And yes, that's a refugee from an unnamed political philosophy, come here to spread his message of joy and peace amongst us. thank you very much sir. over here, next to him we see a lady who has
Ed-in a lifestyle of the rich and famous for work with underprivileged and exceptional children which I am sure makes her very pleased with herself, ladies and gentlemen. sitting next to her a m
Letters and words and moods. a man who spent most of his life deceiving himself and now finds himself facing six years in rehabilitation prison and a death sentence on the outside. sitting next
I'm on a banquette, a ballerina. she's had two grapes, a raisin, and a chicklet, and she's full. in fact, she's been stuffed for years. next to her are two spinsters knitting their way in and out
Arious predicaments coloure
D by the excesses of their ancestors. and close by them, some surreal painter's brooding over the very over-emphasis of colour-violence. violence on the blue end of the scale. next to them, two
Uty detectives checking each other out. next door to the sugarholics, see them shivering, see them staring into the distance, see them growing, oh, see them go comatose. insulin please, maitre d
My immediate right several politicians smiling lizard-like, see them assure themselves that their status is indeed quo.
Rip up the cheques said the maitre d'. see if I care. I do this for the company. I've got no-one to trust any secrets to but myself. in the basement, in the vault, in the attic on the walls are
Ictures I take in part-payment for my time. and the waitress reminds you that in the backroom bathed in red, glowing with the speed of light that reflects the demands of the living for the dead,
Our angels, a host at your service to meet your every need. so order up, the waitress said. our great café serves everything.
Writer: BOB NEUWIRTH, JOHN CALE
Copyright: Lyrics © Wixen Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Wixen Music Publishing