Текст песни Blood on My Boots (Eliza Carthy) с переводом

I was drinking champagne with Jerry Springer

I was young and dressed up to the nines

I looked on adoring the west end walls of mirrors at my face

At my fondest designs

And though my dears, it was five pounds of glass, don’t you know

As the wise might suspect, as I stood laughing with the director

There was only one way this could go

There’s blood on my boots, blood on my boots, blood on my boots

There’s blood on my boots, blood on my boots, blood on my boots

So I’m home to my roots

There’s blood on my boots

Oh, I’m home to my roots

There’s blood on my boots

I took a rickshaw right after the opera

And I felt like the queen of the world

The rickshaw driver was twenty and Italian

And I gave him my plus one

And he went home for his beautiful girl

And oh my dears, it was five pounds for a shining crystal gong

Did I just drink too much?

Was there a waiter with a grudge, shooting fishes in a barrel, having fun?

There’s blood on my face, blood on my face, blood on my face

There’s blood on my face, blood on my face, blood on my face

There’s blood all over the place

There’s blood, there’s blood, there’s blood

Blood all over the place

There’s blood on my face

The night started warm and so balmy

Oh, the stars, oh the wind in my hair

The tears with a hero, the capitol twilight

The lions in Trafalgar Square

And though my darlings, it was five pounds of glass, don’t you know

Five pounds for poison in my glamorous glass

That quite put an end to my show

There’s blood on my clothes, blood on my clothes, blood on my clothes

There’s blood on my clothes, blood on my clothes, blood on my clothes

Oh, it came from my nose

There’s blood, there’s blood, there’s blood

Oh, it came from my nose

There’s blood on my clothes

There’s an angel in Whitehall at night

Watched me kneel, watched me stumble with poise

And it blacks out your eyes and your face meets the ground

And if you fall alone in this city at night

Well they say you make no sound, no sound, no sound at all

There’s blood on my top, blood on my top, blood on my top

Oh, there’s blood on my top, blood on my top, blood on my top

I’m gonna go to the shop and buy me some plasters

And then I’m gonna set my big old hackney-arsed mates

On that little bastard, on that little bastard, on that little bastard…

On that little… on that little…

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