Julian Cope is dead,
I shot him in the head.
If he moves some more,
I'll kill him for sure.
Now, Julian Cope is dead.

The Teardrops weren't they great?
In their own wee way.
'Treason', 'Reward', 'The Thief Of Bagdad',
The Teardrops weren't they great?

A footnotes all they'd have got,
In the annals of rock.
Until I got wise,
And hatched up my plan,
A footnotes all they'd have got.

Jules C. just follow me,
I have your interests at heart.
Now take this knife,
And write to your wife.
Tell her it had to be.
Now Julian said no,
He didn't want to go.
More records he wanted to make.
But if ?pitch? is your man,
You'll go with a bang,
Bigger than the Beatles for sure.

Now, Julian Cope is dead,
I shot him in the head,
He didn't understand,
The glory of the plan,
Now, Julian Cope is dead.

We'll have platinum records not gold,
To hang on our walls at home.
When the neighbours come round,
I'll always break down,
Repeating the stories of old.

But who is this man,
With holes in his hands,
A halo round his head.
That Arab smock,
And golden locks,
It can't be, it could be, it is!
J.C. please, you've got to see,
I was doing what a manager ought.
The records weren't selling,
And Balfie was drooping,
And Gary had a mortgage to pay.

See also:
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119
119.103
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