The Beatles Lyrics

by Hunter Davies

  lastly through a hogshead of real fire!

  In this way Mr K. will challenge the world!

  The celebrated Mr K.

  performs his feat on Saturday at Bishopsgate

  the Hendersons will dance and sing

  as Mr Kite flies through the ring don’t be late

  Messrs K. and H. assure the public

  their production will be second to none

  and of course Henry The Horse dances the waltz!

  The band begins at ten to six

  when Mr K. performs his tricks without a sound

  and Mr H. will demonstrate

  Ten somersaults he’ll undertake on solid ground.

  Having been some days in preparation

  a splendid time is guaranteed for all

  and tonight Mr Kite is topping the bill

  Within You, Without You

  Well, what a shock this was. We knew the Beatles were now into Indian music and playing some funny instrument called the sitar, or at least George was, but we didn’t really know he was so far into Indian philosophy.

  The tune came to George after a dinner in Hampstead at the home of Klaus Voormann, one of their artistic friends from the Hamburg years. He did the drawings for Revolver and was the bass guitarist for the Manfred Mann group. George was pottering around on a pedal harmonium when he started the tune, then he began putting a few words to it, based on the dinnertime conversation–‘We were talking…’ Sounds as if it was a typically hippie, cosmically conscious sixties dinner party. George was extremely serious at this stage, devoting all his time to studying Indian music and religion. When visiting him it was hard to get him to talk about much else. He practised the sitar for three hours a day and was teaching himself Indian script, so that he could write down what the Indian musicians had to play.

  The best line, and the title line, came later–about life going on within you and without you, supposedly taken from a book about Buddhism which his sister-in-law, Jenny Boyd, had been reading. George immediately saw the double meaning in the word ‘without’–either outside you in the world, or when you have gone.

  The other lyrics veer between the simplistic–‘you’re really only very small’–and the fairly profound ‘people who gain the world and lose their soul’, a warning expressed in many religions, though he rather ruins it by adding the finger-waving ‘are you one of them?’ The message, put simply, is to love one another because we are all one. How true. Some people mocked at the time, but George was young and sincere and trying so hard to understand something beyond himself.

  ‘The words are always a hang-up for me,’ he told me at the time of the Sgt. Pepper album. ‘I’m not very poetic. But I don’t take it seriously. It’s just a joke, personal joke. It’s great if someone else likes it.’

  The lyrics are good–the best song he had written so far. The saving grace is at the end–when after the last chords you can hear laughter. This was George’s own idea, sending himself up, showing he was self-aware, though still taking it all very seriously.

  In I Me Mine George explains that he wrote it after he had got into meditation. Looking back, the bit he liked best was the instrumental solo in the middle.

  None of the other Beatles took part in the recording, it was just George and some Indian musicians plus Neil, their roadie, banging a few instruments when required.

  The manuscript is in George’s hand. He has added a little grave with a cross on it after the phrase ‘pass away’. There are some other scribbles, in unknown hands, such as ‘Long Thin Heart’, which could be a good title for something. ‘Double Bedouin’ sounds a like a bad pun. ‘White collar workers and Polo neck skivers’ could have been some of the people being criticized during the dinner party.

  ‘Within You, Without You’, from Sgt. Pepper, January 1967, in George’s hand, with some notes, possibly for other songs or lines.

  We were talking–about the space

  between us all

  And the people–who hide themselves

  behind a wall of illusion

  Never glimpse the truth–then it’s far too

  Late–when they pass away.

  We were talking–about the love we all

  could share–when we find it

  to try our best to hold it there–with our love

  With our love–we could save the world–

  if they only knew.

  Try to realize it’s all within yourself

  no one else can make you change

  And to see you’re really only very small,

  and life flows on within you and without you.

  We were talking–about the love that’s

  gone so cold and the people,

  who gain the world and lose their soul–

  they don’t know–they can’t see–are you

  one of them?

  When you’ve seen beyond yourself–

  then you may find peace of mind, is

  waiting there–

  And the time will come when you see

  we’re all one,

  and life flows on within you and without you.

  When I’m Sixty-Four

  And now for something that could not have been more different, dragging us back to the notion of an old-fashioned band. The song was old in every sense–one of Paul’s earliest songs, written when he was living in Forthlin Road and banging out the tune on his father’s old piano (which he still has at his home). He thinks he might have been as young as sixteen when he first played the song. If so, it shows remarkable maturity for one so young, capturing the sounds and rhythm of a 1920s music-hall number, though of course his father had played that sort. He also managed to capture the period flavour in the words ‘indicate precisely what you mean to say’, while making jokes and puns. Writing a postcard ‘stating point of view’ is witty, as is ‘mending a fuse, when your lights have gone’. It’s also interesting that the idea of being old and needing someone to look after him should have come into the thoughts of someone who was only fifteen.

  Paul used to play it on stage in the Quarrymen and early Beatles days to fill in between their rock’n’roll numbers when the amps failed. Recording something which was a pastiche, and would mostly amuse parents rather than their teenage fans, presumably did not occur to them till much later.

  It’s a fun song–but the melodies and arrangements are well crafted, as are the words. You can tell it’s meant to be fun as Paul affects a pre-war George Formby, Lancashire music-hall accent. He also rolls his r’s in the Scottish fashion on the phrase ‘on your knee’. I like the grandchildren being called Vera, Chuck and Dave–and I like his voice singing it.

  Back in the sixties, once the Beatles were into their stride and gave up covering American songs like ‘Twist And Shout’, I liked the fact that they tended to sing in their own accent–one of their many attractions. In The Colour of Your Dreams, Stuart Madow and Jeff Sobul say that it was only in 1967, when they first listened to ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’, that it struck them the Beatles were singing in an English accent. ‘Rarely did an accent show up in any British Invasion group’s vocals. Most often there was an American accent or none at all.’ And the words that struck them as very British? Vera, Chuck and Dave: ‘Paul slips into his British accent, especially on the name Chuck.’ I suppose they did not realize that ‘chuck’ is a Northern term of endearment, like darling or dear, hence Paul was singing it in his own accent, whereas of course in the USA Chuck is a common first name. But it was interesting to see Americans spotting and being aware of British accents–which, when songs are sung, are usually hard to detect.

  By chance, Paul’s father Jim turned sixty-four in 1967 when the song finally came out–and I happened to be staying with him that weekend, in his home in the Wirral, where he was living with his new wife Angie. (Paul and brother Michael seemed less than keen on their stepmother; history later repeated itself when Paul became a widower and got remarried to Heather Mills, which did not exactly thrill his own
children.) While I was there, Jim received an acetate of the record, sent by Paul, and we played it all evening, me and Angie dancing round and round the room. I was young then. Jim was so pleased–just his sort of music.

  The manuscript, in Paul’s hand, seems to have got wet at some time, and the ink has run in places. At the end, the line which had originally read ‘yours sincerely, waiting for you’, got crossed out and became ‘wasting away’, which is more graphic.

  When I get older losing my hair,

  Many years from now,

  Will you still be sending me a Valentine

  Birthday greetings bottle of wine.

  If I’d been out till quarter to three

  Would you lock the door.

  Will you still need me, will you still feed me,

  When I’m sixty-four.

  ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’, from Sgt. Pepper, January 1967, in Paul’s hand, with some changes and damp patches.

  oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oooo

  You’ll be older too, (ah ah ah ah ah)

  And if you say the word,

  I could stay with you.

  I could be handy, mending a fuse

  When your lights have gone.

  You can knit a sweater by the fireside

  Sunday morning go for a ride.

  Doing the garden, digging the weeds,

  Who could ask for more.

  Will you still need me, will you still feed me,

  When I’m sixty-four.

  Every summer we can rent a cottage

  In the Isle of Wight, if it’s not too dear

  We shall scrimp and save

  Grandchildren on your knee

  Vera, Chuck and Dave

  Send me a postcard, drop me a line,

  Stating point of view

  Indicate precisely what you mean to say

  Yours sincerely, wasting away.

  Give me your answer, fill in a form

  Mine for evermore

  Will you still need me, will you still feed me,

  When I’m sixty-four.

  Lovely Rita

  Fun followed by fun, what could be nicer? Another pastiche, honky-tonk song from Paul. John could not, or would not, have written such a song about an ordinary boring person like a secretary or traffic warden, doing their boring job, which is presumably what he meant when he once said he did not do third-party songs. Is this perhaps why at the very end of the record you can hear John saying ‘Leave it’?

  Ordinary people are of course universal, and have universal feelings and problems, like getting to sixty-four and wondering if they will be needed.

  ‘Lovely Rita’ was not yet universal, being a new and modern phenomenon. Paul was amused when he learned that in the USA they were known as meter maids rather than traffic wardens. He needed a woman’s name that rhymed with meter, hence Rita.

  At first it was going to be an anti-warden song, as they had quickly become hate figures. It would have made for an easy bit of authority-bashing, but Paul liked the sexy overtones of the word ‘maid’. He imagined some boy asking her out, hoping to tow her heart away, having dinner with her–for which she paid–then trying to get off with her on her sofa.

  There was no specific Rita, but he had been fined by meter maids several times for illegal parking (which was hardly surprising, as he was very cavalier about his cars, forever leaving them parked, unlocked, in silly places). A meter maid who had fined him in St John’s Wood, near his house, and with whom Paul had chatted about her name–which was Meta Davis–later came forward to claim that she had inspired the song, but Paul had no memory of her.

  There are two manuscript versions, one of which (below) is in the hand of Neil Aspinall, their roadie. ‘In her cap, she looked so stunning’ got changed to ‘looked much older’. There are also six lines on the opposite side of the page, not part of the Rita lyrics: ‘I’m real, in a world that is turning to grey… I’m grey in a world that is turning to night.’ Was this intended to be a new song?

  The other manuscript is mainly in Paul’s hand and contains some different lines, such as ‘filling in a ticket with her little blue pen’. At the bottom of the left-hand page, the last line appears to be an attempt at a pun on her name–‘go to meter’, i.e. go to meet her.

  ‘Lovely Rita’ from Sgt. Pepper, January 1967, possibly in the hand of Mal Evans or Neil Aspinall, their two roadies, with corrections by Paul. On the left-hand side are lyrics for another, unknown song.

  Lovely Rita meter maid.

  Lovely Rita meter maid.

  Lovely Rita meter maid,

  nothing can come between us,

  when it gets dark I’ll tow your heart away.

  Standing by a parking meter,

  when I caught a glimpse of Rita,

  filling in a ticket in her little white book.

  In a cap she looked much older,

  and the bag across her shoulder

  made her look a little like a military man.

  Lovely Rita meter maid,

  may I inquire discreetly,

  when are you free

  to take some tea with me?

  Took her out and tried to win her,

  had a laugh and over dinner,

  told her I would really like to see her again.

  Got the bill and Rita paid it,

  took her home I nearly made it,

  sitting on the sofa with a sister or two.

  Oh, lovely Rita meter maid,

  where would I be without you?

  Give us a wink and make me think of you.

  Lovely Rita meter maid.

  Illustrated lyrics for ‘Lovely Rita’, mainly in Paul’s hand, with some lines in capitals, possibly Mal’s hand, not used.

  Good Morning, Good Morning

  John rather dismissed this song when I asked him about it as we sat in his little room at Kenwood with the TV blaring away. ‘I often sit at the piano working at songs, with the telly on low in the background. If I’m a bit low and not getting much done, then words on the telly come through. That’s when I heard “Good Morning, Good Morning”–it was a cornflakes advertisement.’

  The words of the jingle went ‘Good morning, good morning. The best to you each morning. Sunshine breakfast. Kellogg’s Corn Flakes. Crisp and full of fun.’ In John’s version there is also a reference to Meet the Wife, a popular TV show at the time.

  Later, in his interview with Playboy, John was even more self-critical, calling it a throwaway song and garbage.

  It is a bit of a hotchpotch of found phrases and clichés, veering between being nasty and cynical about the treadmill workaday world, then he adds, ‘but it’s OK’. Paul thought it was John reacting against his own boring life and empty marriage and having nothing to do. The line ‘go to a show, you hope she goes’ possibly refers to Yoko, whom he had met (in November 1966 at the Indica Gallery) but not yet got involved with. That didn’t happen until May 1968.

  The record begins with a cock crowing, as it is morning, and ends on a cacophony of animal noises. One of the perks of being at Abbey Road, EMI’s studios, with its long history, extensive facilities and multitude of instruments and devices lying around, not to mention an impressive sound archive, was that almost any odd noise they wanted could be found fairly quickly and tacked on.

  The final noises included cockerels, birds, dogs, cows, a fox being chased, lions, horses, sheep. They were supposedly deliberately arranged in order, with John insisting that each one was capable of eating or frightening the one before. I can’t say I spotted that at the time–or now. But they’re great sound effects.

  The manuscript, in John’s hand, has a few crossings out, but is no different from the recorded song.

  ‘Good Morning, Good Morning’, from Sgt. Pepper, January 1967, in two inks, Paul in blue and John in green.

  Nothing to do to save his life call his wife in

  Nothing to say but what a day, how’s your boy been

  Nothing to do it’s up to you,

&nbs
p; I’ve got nothing to say but it’s OK

  Good morning, good morning

  Going to work don’t want to go feeling low down

  Heading for home you start to roam then you’re in town

  Everybody knows there’s nothing doing

  Everything is closed it’s like a ruin

  Everyone you see is half asleep

  And you’re on your own, you’re in the street

  Good morning, good morning…

  After a while you start to smile, now you feel cool

  Then you decide to take a walk by the old school

  Nothing has changed, it’s still the same

  I’ve got nothing to say but it’s OK.

  Good morning, good morning…

  People running round it’s five o’clock,

  Everywhere in town it’s getting dark,

  Everyone you see is full of life,

  It’s time for tea and meet the wife

  Somebody needs to know the time, glad that I’m here

  Watching the skirts you start to flirt now you’re in gear

  Go to a show you hope she goes

  I’ve got nothing to say, but it’s OK

  Good morning, good morning…

  A Day In The Life

  After the reprise of the Sgt. Pepper theme tune, telling us we are getting near the end, we have a real end–probably the most cataclysmic, orgasmic, crashing, vibrating, shuddering, juddering, shattering, echoing end in the whole of popular music. ‘A Day In The Life’ is often considered their greatest ever song, the best produced, most inventive, most moving. Little wonder it gets played at so many funerals all over the world and has been described as pop music’s version of The Waste Land.