Текст песни Gravy is Gravy (Antennas to Heaven) с переводом

And when I stepped around to have a look at the pram to see inside

I, like most people, expect to see the Winston Churchill face of a baby staring

back at me.

But no, there’s no baby.

Only a giant prawn tucked under the blanket with a little lace bonnet on his,

well, I assume, head. They’re shelled, of course.

And when I turn to her, she scrunches her face up and says

«Isn't she beautiful?»

And I go

«She's a prawn.»

Her face scrunches up to the point of no return.

«Awh, thank you,» she says.

And a few days later, I put the rubbish out, when I hear a commotion:

Excited shouts and screams, like from kids.

When I lean out of the gate for a better look, there are no children.

Just three cornish pasties bouncing along the road.

Two minutes later, a bloke who looks like the film actor Tom Berenger walks

past,

and asks me if three pasties went pastie a while ago.

I don’t correct him.

Now, at first, I didn’t think too much of it.

They didn’t seem connected or anything.

But when I was at work the next day and trying to come up with some sort world

ranking system for biscuits,

I realised Cathy’s sneaking an early lunch.

And while I have no problem with a person like her enjoying a subterranean

steak pie at her desk,

I most definitely do object to her putting mayonnaise on the crusts to moisten

them up.

I mean, gravy is gravy, there’s no need for mayonnaise.

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