Bitter Fingers - Elton John

I’m going on the circuit

I’m doing all the clubs

And I really need a song, boys

To stir those workers up

And get their wives to sing it with me

Just like in the pubs

When I worked the good old pubs in Stepney

Oh, could you knock a line or two

Together for a friend?

Sentimental, tear-inducing

With a happy end

And we need a tune to open

Our season at Southend

Can you help us?

It’s hard to write a song with bitter fingers

So much to prove, so few to tell you why

Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing

At the keyboard player’s hollow haunted eyes

It seems to me a change is really needed

I’m sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das (la-de-da…)

No more long days hacking hunks of garbage

Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars

I like the warm blue flame

The hazy heat it brings

It loosens up the muscles

And forces you to sing

You know it’s just another hit and run

From the tin pan alley twins

And there’s a chance that one day

You might write a standard, lads

So churn them out quick and fast

And we’ll still pat your backs

'Cause we need what we can get

To launch another dozen acts

Are you working?

It’s hard to write a song with bitter fingers

So much to prove, so few to tell you why

Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing

At the keyboard player’s hollow haunted eyes

It seems to me a change is really needed

I’m sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das (la-de-da…)

No more long days hacking hunks of garbage

Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars

It’s hard to write a song with bitter fingers

So much to prove, so few to tell you why

Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing

At the keyboard player’s hollow haunted eyes

It seems to me a change is really needed

I’m sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das (la-de-da…)

No more long days hacking hunks of garbage

Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars

(La-de-da…)

Swinging stars, swinging stars

It’s hard to write a song with bitter fingers

So much to prove, so few to tell you why

Those old die-hards in Denmark-