Take me to the chariots in the morn

Cos we’re all goin’ to the place I know
Take me to the chariot in the morn
Where there’s whisky and fiddles and plenty things more
Take me to the chariot in the morn

We’ve got honky tonks and darts and pool
Take me to the chariot in the morn
Our minds are vast but our stomachs full
Take me to the chariot in the morn

Cos when your cards are dealt and the Ace is gone
You’ve only won what’s not yet begun
Cos the fiddle freaks and honky tonks
Have set the ace alight
And now your cards spell shite

They’ve got four inch faces and six inch rists
Take me to the chariot in the morn
They’ve got Cheshire cat befriending always on their list
Take me to the chariot in the morn

The banjos roar and the fiddles screech
Take me to the chariot in the morn
But that’s your way, the way you’ve always preached
Take me to the chariot in the morn

Cos when the wine and smoke enchant your mind
And the candy streams throw back your life
You’ll be so glad you’re dead on sweets
Because the sugar in your mind, it leaves your body way behind

You’ve got sunglasses after dark and so many lovely hats
Take me to the chariot in the morn
They’ll corrupt you’re minds, they’ll make your heaven see
Take me to the chariot in the morn

They’ve got turkeys in the straw, they’ve got whisky in the jar
Take me to the chariot in the morn
They’ve got unlabelled barrels from here and afar
Take me to the chariot in the morn

There’s a claw-hammer waiting at a junction
And the music he once played, it tainted minds
Cos when you’re screaming for the past
You know you’re life don’t move so fast
Cos the mistress to your pain is waiting on the sidewalk, tap dancing so mellow like, making us look bad.

Democracy, it makes me tingle all over
Take me to the chariot in the morn
Aren’t all those lovely people so lovely, nice jumpers!
Take me to the chariot in the morn

They’re limbs, they throb, they’re so out there
Take me to the chariot in the morn
They befriend all the scum and shiter crawling ‘bout there
Take me to the chariot in the morn

Karl Marx, he was a freakster
And his banjo playing crushed your dreams
Cos the sweetness of his roar
It takes a freakster to adore
And he’ll brandish bow and strings and make his mind do lovely things