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Grace Jones - The Ultimate Collection - The Apple Stretching
The Ultimate Collection
Disc 1
01. La Vie en Rose
02. Send in the Clowns
03. I Need a Man
04. Do or Die
05. All on a Summer’s Night
06. Fame
07. Am I Ever Gonna Fall in Love With New York City
08. Don’t Mess With the Messer
09. Sinning
10. Saved
11. Private Life
12. Love Is the Drug
13. Warm Leatherette
Disc 2
01. The Hunter Gets Captured by the Game
02. I’ve Seen That Face Before
03. Pull Up to the Bumper
04. Nightclubbing
05. Walking in the Rain
06. Demolition Man
07. Nipple to the Bottle
08. The Apple Stretching
09. Inspiration
10. My Jamaican Guy
11. Slave to the Rhythm
12. I’m Not Perfect (But I’m Perfect for You)
13. Victor Should Have Been a Jazz Musician
14. Love on Top of Love
Disc 3
01. Pars (long version)
02. Private Life (dub version)
03. Use Me (long version)
04. She’s Lost Control (long version)
05. Nipple to the Bottle (12″ version)
06. My Jamaican Guy (12″ version)
07. Ring of Fire (demo)
08. Man Around the House
09. Living My Life
10. Slave to the Rhythm (Hot Blooded version)
11. Sex Drive
The sun comes swaggering across the harbour,
And kisses the lady waiting in the narrows,
She already plenty shaky stands there,
Blushing, clutching the torch of liberty,
Uptown Luigi who dont speak english so good,
Is having an accident,
Backing his dumptruck into the fence,
The tin cans go clattering down the lane,
A drowsy bum thinks its thunder,
And pulls the news over his head to stop the rain.

No, it ain't judgement day,
No, it ain't Armageddon,
It's just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning.

New York putting it's feet on the floor,
It's just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning,
New York putting it's feet on the floor.

Suburban refugees fleeing the cracked cisterns,
Worm ridden fruit trees stream out Grand Central,
Please to be breathing bagels and pollution.

In Time Square new graffiti, old revolutions,
A bag lady is cursing the waiter for giving her a free coffee
Lucky he's a Jesus freak moonlighting,
At the Acme discount store over in Queens,
The burglar alarm starts to scream,
A cop picks out his gun fires one and yells, "FREEZE!".

No, it ain't Worl War Four,
No, it ain't World War Four,
It's just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning,
New York putting its feet on the floor.

Nearby the Hudson a hooker makes a 'U',
To help a blind man to his pew in the park,
Some long ago home training jars the memory,
The bag lady says 'Thank you' and curties.

The herd of beaten tourists limp homeward,
Having bitten off more than they could chew,
Moaning them old big city blues,
Miss Liberty depicts her qualms and grins,
Another subway starts rattling,
And Luigi's cans go clattering down the hill.

No, it ain't some kind of ill wind,
No, it ain't the world coming to an end,
Just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning,
New York putting its feet on the floor.