Down The Allotment​/​Waltzing EP

by The Mystery Fax Machine Orchestra

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released August 16, 2013

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The Mystery Fax Machine Orchestra London, UK

Orchestral novelty-prog.

No! Wait! Come back!

Based in London, we've been going since 2007. The line-up is around twenty four players.

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Track Name: Down the Allotment
Cabbages and radishes and cheeky brussels sprouts
That sing and dance and chuckle when the sun is out
The snails leave silver trails as they munch on this and that
The bugs and slugs are wearing strawberries as hats

There are blueberries and raspberries and gooseberries galore
There are squashes in a very wide assortment
You'll be amazed at what I've got
Growing on my plot
Why don't you join me as I go down the allotment?

The flowers are in bloom attracting busy bees
That carry bits of pollen with their tiny knees
Tomatoes and potatoes and what some things are I'm not quite sure
The compost bin is full of rotting horse manure

I've got rosemary and basil I've got tarragon and thyme
I've got chives and coriander and I've got mint
Amidst the broad beans and the peas
You will find me on my knees
Pottering about down the allotment

The allotment committee hold the purse strings of the kitty
They'll evict you if your plot is not in order
Or if your veg as gone to seed or if its overgrown with weeds
Or you haven't run the strimmer round the border

There are always people here, they come across and interfere
When I really wish that they'd all go away
For when the evening sun goes down
And there's no-one else around
I like to sit down by the rhubarb patch and say:

I love you rhubarb
WE LOVE YOU TOO
You never grumble when I overharvest you
I love you rhubarb
WE ARE YOUR FOOD
In a crumble, dipped in sugar, raw or stewed

Greenhouse built by gods of old
Wreathed in thorns and nettles
What secrets do you hold?

Greenhouse beckons me within
Whispers in the undergrowth
Crawl around my skin

Greenhouse through your crystal door
Hideous shadows dance forever
Laugh but smile no more

Weeds of every kind
Dandelions and bindweed
And worst of all there's cooch grass as well
The roots go deep into the loam
I dig until the earth below me opens up
It's a portal straight to hell!

Bury me on my allotment where I've plied my toil
Let my rotting corpse enrich the sandy soil
Under the allotment I can then give something back
To all the rhubarb that I've eaten for my tea
For as my body rots and nutrients permeate the plot
It will be time for the rhubarb to eat me

WE LOVE YOU MARTIN
I love you too
I feel so humble now I'm down here feeding you
WE LOVE YOU MARTIN
I am your food
In a crumble, dipped in sugar, raw or stewed
Track Name: Waltzing
Waltzing I'm going waltzing
Waltzing down the street
Waltzing I'm going waltzing
Waltzing with my feet
Waltzing I'm going waltzing
All the ladies think I'm cool
Waltzing I'm going waltzing
There's no point refusin'
Go and put your dancing shoes on

Join me as I waltz down to the zoo
Waltz around the birds and kangaroos
Maybe you would like to waltz there too
Maybe I'll go waltzing there with you

Waltzing I'm going waltzing
Waltzing in the park
Waltzing I'm going waltzing
Waltzing after dark
Waltzing I'm going waltzing
There is litter everywhere
Waltzing I'm going waltzing
A paper cup by a bin
I pick it up I put it in

Join me as I waltz round Sainsbury's
Waltz with me next to the frozen peas
Waltz with me past various kinds of cheese
Maybe you'll go waltzing there with me

Can you count to three?
One two three four
Then you can waltz
One step forward
Two to the left
Three steps backwards
And four to the right
Now you're waltzing!

Waltzing I'm going waltzing
Waltzing to your house
Waltzing I'm going waltzing
To the tunes of Richard Strauss
Waltzing I'm going waltzing
I challenge you to take me on
Waltzing I'm going waltzing
I will bet you a tenner
I'm the best in all Vienna

We will waltz upon the day that we are wed
Waltz until it's nearly time for bed
Waltz until our feet have ached and bled
We'll waltz until the two of us drop dead
Track Name: Four Minutes and Thirty-Three Seconds
The purpose of music, so the great Frank Zappa reckoned
Was to decorate time with it's ebbing and flowing
John Cage's Four Minutes and Thirty-Three Seconds
Is a decoration so sublime it's worthy of the great Llewellyn-Bowen

But John Cage's decorations would make a room seem like a cage
There's no denying his Feng Shui's a little sparse
And four and a half minutes are a long time in this frantic day and age
So here are some suggestions as to how that time might otherwise be passed...

You could give an acceptance speech for a BAFTA
Go to a bookshop for a browse
You could read a short story by Franz Kafka
Or twenty-nine aphorisms by Karl Kraus

You could read the introduction to Ulysees
Or any novel of great renown
You could read one percent of War And Peace
Or the complete works of Dan Brown

Four minutes and thirty-three seconds
Is a much longer time than you think
You try to sit and listen but the outside world beckons
Come out for a drink

You could spend those four minutes and thirty-three seconds listening
to a different song
How about Pulp's 'Disco 2000' or Luke Haines's 'How Could I Be Wrong'
'After the Fireworks' by The Birthday Party, 'Papa Jack' by Morrissey
Hall & Oates's 'Maneater' or 'We Are All Made of Stars' by Moby

Four minutes and thirty-three seconds
Is a much longer time than you think
You try to sit and listen but the outside world beckons
Come out for a drink

In the time it took John Cage to play absolutely nothing at all
Robbie Fowler in 1995 scored a hat trick against Arsenal
You could watch somebody juggle until you start to get quite bored
You could play a game of Boggle and still have time to do the scores

Four minutes and thirty-three seconds
Is a much longer time than you think
You try to sit and listen but the outside world beckons
Come out for a drink

You could try to chat up that girl you've fancied for years until she
says 'let's just be friends'
You could marry Britney Spears and be divorced before the end
You could get an Anglican minister to brew the perfect cup of tea
You could run a mile if you're Roger Bannister, or half a mile if you're me

You could eat a fruit pastille without chewing it, or eat a greasy chicken leg
Or a donut without licking your lips, you could boil the perfect egg
You could teach yourself the ukulele, fail to get the hang of it
You could try to read the Daily Mail without wanting to tear it to bits

Four minutes and thirty-three seconds
Is a much longer time than you think
You try to sit and listen but the outside world beckons
Come out for a drink