Pulp - 59 Lyndhurst Grove

There's a picture by his first wife on the wall
Stripped floor-boards in the kitchen and the hall
A stain from last week's party on the stairs

Pulp - 97 Lovers

Ninety-seven lovers twisted out of shape and just one kiss could set them straight
Ninety-seven lovers twisted out of shape and just one kiss could set them straight
I know a woman with a picture of Roger Moore

Pulp - Aborigine

Starts so slowly, just a place to stay
Somewhere warm where they can spend their days
Air is stagnant and he feels unclean

Pulp - Acrylic Afternoons

I fell asleep on your sofa and had a dream about a small child in dungarees
Who caught his hands in the doors of the Paris metro.
Then my face cracked open and you were there

Pulp - A Little Soul

Hey man,
how come you treat your woman so bad?
That's not the way you do it. No, no, no..

Pulp - Anorexic Beauty

Sitting alone on / a cold bar stool, / your cold, hard eyes make me
feel a fool. / Pastel-white features, / high cheek-bones,
scarlet-blooded lips and deathly tones.

Pulp - Ansaphone

Oh I know I don't own you / but I don't even know if I should phone you
Someone sending me letters / saying you've been going with other fellers
And they / bored you / But I / don't wanna cry / or talk for hours

Pulp - Babies

Well it happened years ago when you lived on Stanhope Road.
We listened to your sister when she came home from school
'cos she was two years older and she had boys in her room.

Pulp - Bad Cover Version

The word's on the street: you've found someone new.
If he looks nothing like me I'm so happy for you.
I heard an old girlfriend has turned to the church -

Pulp - Bar Italia

Now if you can stand I would like to take you by the hand, yeah
And go for a walk past people as they go to work.
Oh, let's get out of this place before they tell us that we've just died.

Pulp - Being Followed Home

I'm being followed home, / I'm being followed home,
I don't know what for, / I don't know by whom.
The smell of your dress, / a face in the rain, / the pavement shines wet

Pulp - Blue Girls

The blue girls that bake in the sun / Skin falls in flakes from each one
Like leaves from autumn trees / they float upon the breeze
These girls you have loved / are slowly decaying