Three Sheets to Kishkiyya · Track 84 · middle
Fishy About the Gills
VOLUME IV — the HUNGOVER morning after. The idiom and the song's title hook: "Fishy About the Gills". Its true history: England, mid-19th c. — drooping mouth and squared cheeks like fish gills; the rough-morning look. Render this beat of the night as the band's affectionate, funny, celebratory tribute — the idiom itself is the chorus hook.
Lyrics
[Intro] Step right up and behold the specimen! Got a face like a proper flounder today, don't we? [Verse 1] The sun is up on the London stone, And my top hat's resting heavy on the dome. I’m a mid-19th century sight to see, In a brilliant bit of Barney Rubble, that's me. The mirror shows a rather squared-off cheek, Like a Thames-caught cod who forgot how to speak. I was the king of the pub at a quarter to two, Now I'm puffing my lips just to shuffle on through. [Chorus] Oh, I'm looking quite fishy about the gills! A spectacular victim of midnight thrills. Panting on the carpet like a stranded trout, Wondering what the hullabaloo was about. Yes, fishy about the gills, my friend, Where the jawline sags and the corners extend. A magnificent ruin of a music-hall swell, And honestly? I wear it rather well. [Verse 2] Let the doctors fetch their 1850s cures, I’m a living marvel on these hardwood floors. My complexion is a lovely oyster grey, But I wouldn't trade a single hour of yesterday. There's a rhythm to the thumping in my poor old head, A jaunty little snare drum right by the bed. Just fetch me a kipper and a wobbly chair, I'm a gasp of water in the open air. [Chorus] 'Cause I'm looking quite fishy about the gills! A spectacular victim of midnight thrills. Panting on the carpet like a stranded trout, Wondering what the hullabaloo was about. Yes, fishy about the gills, my friend, Where the jawline sags and the corners extend. A magnificent ruin of a music-hall swell, And honestly? I wear it rather well. [Bridge] Flop to the left, now flop to the right, That’s the shuffle of a gent who swallowed the shine. Keep your rosy cheeks and your bright young eyes, I've got the bloat of a fellow who touched the skies. [Outro] So toss me back in the river, boys. I've had enough of the surface noise. Fishy about the gills. Squared up, drooping down, and... well, I suppose I'll just lie here on the rug.