Bitter Fingers Lyrics - Captain Fantastic - Elton John

I'm going on the circuit, 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 

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, really needed 

I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das 

No more long days hacking hunks of garbage 

Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars 

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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, really needed 

I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das 

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, really needed 

I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das 

No more long days hacking hunks of garbage 

Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars 

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