Slapp Happy - Michelangelo Lyrics
Lying back to paint upon the ceiling ...No, he never uses black -just the colours of his feelings.He delineates saints on sepia ground,His temper like his paints is albumen bound.Work & toil, well he ain't no dilettante,he conceives in oil & vatican chianti.The rumour's out, his hobby is dissection,& there ain't no doubt he knows the body to perfection.Fourteen lines, that's what makes a sonnet& it even rhymes - Buonarroti's working on it.Through the streets, sticken by the urchins,Wrapped in sheets, round the town he's lurching.Lurching to the church, heavy with a vision,Continuing his search though they come with their derision.All his works, you just gotta see 'em -Ask the clerks at your neighborhood museum.Pope's on the phone, calling BuonarrotiBut he's not home, he's gone a little potty.He's off again, waving paints & brushes -Round the bend, to wind up in the rushes.