Can't keep up

 Walking with my bitches

bitches, bitches

Keeps giving me stitches

stitches, stitches

Cos they walk so fast

fast, fast

I can't hold up my britches

Britches, britches

My pants fall down

down, down

All over town

town, town

So I try and them pull up

up, up

But my bum it itches

itches, itches

I trip over my hoes

hoes, hoes

And over we goes

goes, goes

And we land in dem ditches

ditches, ditches

So now I don't walk with them bitches

bitches, bitches

But I work at the old people's home

home, home

Where they walk more slowly

slowly, slowly

Come and visit me homey,

homey, homey

5 in a row

 Bombs in west Bradley 

5 bombs

In a row

Molotov bread basket

Undertaker 

I was an undertaker 

He was an over taker

Who reached heaven first?

There was a speed limit on the stairway to heaven 

But an escalator down to hell

Treason , the reason of a tree. When arguing with a tree it's always a good idea to suggest it be treasonable and to stop barking orders at you. Do trees actually like to be weed on by dogs? They may just see as a bit of watering and quite like it, instead of getting mad. You can't assume all trees are untreasonable. 

A canny mason

 He was a canny mason

Very good with stone

He even carved a basin

For my very home

 I knew him as a greyson

But he soon showed other tones

He wasn't just in shades of grey

But black and white and brown

Oh he was a canny mason

And built all the buildings in town

Carved and hewn the face on

Every facade of regal crown

Mermaids on the balustrades

Lions on the coronet

Ask him not of gunpowder plots

He'll likely hew you from the neck down

But buy him a sack of wine

Let him weigh the stone in his palm

He'll tell where and how to place it in

The wall 

Then they'll all fall down

Inspiring work

 The steeple jack came

What work are you in?

I'm in spires, 

oh how inspiring, I'm an aspiring steeplejack you know

Oh really? What line of work are you in?

I'm a roofer, I only do flat roofs,, but I need to branch out

Extend my self

It's about the elevation, 

well only do it if you're inclined

Oh I am inclined, very much inclined

I look up at the church roof and think

That tower needs something

Oh and I don't mean cornices or more gargoyles, no sir

It needs a little je ne sai qua

A spire?

Exactly

A spire to reach to the stars

To touch God's hand

Well let's not get carried away

Say are you busy these days?

Well, I'm running from one spire to another near enough

Oh a steeplechase?

You could say

Well I know of a church, the damn spire just fell off

Crack and came spiralling down

Caught a parishioner totally unawares

Mrs Beeching , terrible thing

She never did have a head for heights

always afraid to climb the tower's spiral staircase

and Now she has spire for a head

Not very inspiring, 

She has a steeple through her temples

She finally got the point

Unfortunately it struck her too late

Well the thing is the cockerel hit her first

She heard this whirring

And the weather vein span down like a helicopter

It had fallen off

North, South, East or West, it kept spinning

She was dizzy with which way the wind was blowing

Then?

A golden hen, finally came home to roost

Well you should be careful not to keep all your eggs in one basket

My dear man it was a cockerel, not a chicken, a golden cockerel

My wife is into cocks too,

I beg your pardon? Cock-a-toos?

No cockerels, the weather veins

She paints them, gold leaf you see, we do a double act

I take em off their high perch, and she gives

Them a new lease of life

That's rather gilding the lily isn't it?

Well, it's rather gilding the cock

Ah the man with the golden gun

Oh your veins are so glorious I see

weather they are or Whether they are not

Is not for me to say

She's the weather-woman 

and I'm the steeple jack

Actually Perry the stone mason is my name

Though I'm also into flying buttresses

And my wife is Jemima the gold leaf artist

She's up at the crack of dawn, painting cockerels like the sun

So you are into butts and your wife is into cocks

Well good day to you sir!

Australian Film

 a Possum's creed

a cross between Muriel's Wedding

and Assassin's Creed,

a very popular Australian dram/action film

Flounders in Flanders

 I saw her there in a chestnut chair

She looked like a widow with willow stair

She stared out the window, she was hidden windrow

That billowed and bellowed her pain pellets spare

I saw her there like a crooked chameleon

All bent like a stick insect changing her feeling

Coloured hair like a maniac, bold and brash as an anorak

Crazy psychology of the sociopath's lair

I saw her there she stopped me in the doorway

All guardian of the universe her sphere of blue shit

Like a globe of becoming a purple mist succumbing

Combing the beach for wasted lives they have quit

I saw her there, but she is a little hitler

In charge of nothing but a dream that is wished

Who knows what to believe in, I don't think odd or even

Are numbers she's gambled on just bad waters fished

Her name it is Mandy, her banks they are sandy

Shores where her ship is scuppered and wrecked

So she started a bar for Amazonian pirates

And she banishes all those not on her wish list

Just ask for your hard hats, there nothing is stolen

Just ask for your dry tongues, just ask don't speak

Unless you've been spoken to by the Queen of the showroom

Just a Caribbean dive full of drunk fools and old fish

Iranium Uranium

 Iranian uranium

Oh it hurts our craniums

What the fucking hell is going on?

We've been living under an illusion

That our human rights are God given

Or at least preserved by a universally acknowledged law

But none of that is real, we're just lucky to be

On a small island that helped give birth to a Titan:

America

What saves us from obliteration is just the King's coronation

That had a lot of pomp and circumstance to it

That appeals to a dictator like Trump

If we weren't historical winners, white, westerners

Then certainly our lives would matter less

We can be living in this peaceful bubble

Until the war outside knocks on our door

Ultimately it's about survival,

Who will get the good stuff

The reality is America are not afraid

To go after what they need and want

Trump will be considered a prophet

A martyr

A winner who won a war and took oil off a regime of low to middling power

Before they became too powerful to resist

What makes me sick is saying he is a religious figure

That God is on his side

Well strength and power is

Perhaps a belief in God and the Christian way

Helped

However, framing this as a crusade

To Christianize Iran seems wrong

Really because of live and let live

However their regime abuses it citizens

Iranian uranium hurts my cranium

Machete

(Heard accompanied to the sounds of a machine clanking

and chomping, cutting and pressing, slashing

pressure release in steam and rising and falling, crashing 

metal kettles and plates, like a steam train that can't be late

a machete machine)

 I only want to tide things over

Oh I only want a bride to be a wife

It's not just a four leafed clover

I only want a knife to cut through life

Oh so won't you be my machete

Match eatty like a parrot or a kite

always flying over my shoulder

Always on the lookout for some strife

Oh Machete, match eatty, cut

and slash through the undergrowth

You can cut a path through the trees

You can cut, cut unto ourselves

Get us free from our ties which bind

Oh Match eatty Machete

Cut my hands off and use them as ashtrays

I'll be your gorilla in the mist babe

if you'll only give me your kiss

I'll even waive my rights to habeas corpus

Corpus christi stigmata of the wrist

Run a nail through my feet babe

And hang me up on my own crucifix

Oh match eatty machete

Cutting through the hearts on the list

What am I to do?

 What am I gonna do

Now you say

"I don't love you"

When my whole world feels

As if it's over

Oh yes it may be true

That I can live without you

In that case my lonely days are over

Still what am I meant to do

Now you say

I don't love you

Must I wander forever

The whole world over?

I'm shooting arrows into rainbows

I'm blowing bubbles at volcanoes

I'm throwing boulders over waterfalls

Just to see if I can shatter their illusions

Oh what am I to do

Now that you say

I don't love you

Am I really a hopeless bum 

On the sidewalk?

Well that's how you make me feel hun

So you better run, if you see me coming

I'm a son of a gun out for some hunting

And I'll shoot you too, if I see you running

Just tell me where to aim my gun

I'll be coming for you

Oh What am I to do?

April fool

In jest - many a true word is said ingest:

You banter, I canter

You chaff, I chafe

You fool, I muel, and mew

Said in fun, I reach for my gun

You tell a gag, I reach for the rag

Disgrace, lose face, egg on my face

Just jape, I try to escape

You jive, and I barely stay alive

You make a joke, and I am like a whiff of smoke

You jolly broom man, drunk on life

I pull out my brolly, wait for rains' strife

You josh, I am flotsam and jetsam awash

You kid, I bring the sacrificial lamb of I am

And it's just a quip, but I equip myself with weapons and armour

I'm readying for war games

You wisecrack, and I break, I snap

I'm on the edge, like Iran

My finger hovers over the button

Just then a leaf falls from a tree

And upsets the balance between you and me

yuck you say, get a sense of humour

I was only pulling your leg

In jest you say that I shouldn't care

this jibe, or that haze,

When you jeer, a tear falls from my eye

When you mock, the grace of God in shock

I shake at your rag, tag rally, 

Laughing down the alley

Always on the razz, 

But which is the better way?

My quiet, way, of restraint

Or to let loose every day

In bitterness or not to rib, 

To ridicule, tease, it's mean

But what if you don't fit in

To society's mould

Then how the world unfolds

In caricature, of prophets

lampoon the man in the moon

parody, and get carted away

For being a bit mad,  a little loon

satirize as a Satyr , never satisfied as a martyr

Has to always go that one step farther

To prove your point

And have the last laugh

Story

 There should be some kind of story

There's history

There should be herstory

and then mystory

And yourstory

And we combine them all to tell a story

And remember that it's only a story

That it's all just a story

And that it doesn't matter ultimately

Or that it matters deeply

But we can let it go

Because it's all going

and it's all coming round again

Where does the story end?

It never ends

Because it never started

Or it always ends

Because it's always starting

Again and again

To be retold

Detective Tight Ladder

 I was getting my tools together to go

Window cleaning 

When I noticed a pair of tights in my ladder

How did they get there I thought 

I have no explanation

Had I lent my ladders to John, the cross-dressing, transvestite window cleaner?

No, that was last week, he had given them back, ladderless

Tight-ass the builder also borrowed them

He could have got his tight ass stuck in them

But did he wear tights?

The plot thickened, and so did my porridge as I stirred it and pondered

Pondered and stirred it

Then it hit me, there was that lad the other week, he had borrow it for his

Amatuer dramatic show, they had been building the scenery and erecting 

and painting the backdrop

Aladdin tights, that was it, a cross between the Arabian nights and Billie Eliot

So in the end he had a ladder in his tights, 

And I had his tights in my ladder,

The mystery was solved

Orc world

 Fin estre - end of the world

Fenetre  - Window

Orc estra = world of orcs

An Orchestra of Orcs

A Romance for Orcs in three movements

High and dry

 I really feel like I'm in a living tomb

Encased

Self-sealed, hermetically

Like a hermit

Waiting for what?

High tide?

For the river to rise and bring me new life

Just on the shore line

Lapping at life

Dipping my toes in

Wading in the shallows

Afraid to venture into the deep

To swim, push out and explore

Up here I'm high and dry 

Strung out on a washing line

Caught in a fishing net

In my own tackle

My own hooks and bait

I've caught myself

And got tangled up

I need to cut loose

Break free and just swim

Escape

There is nothing for me in these waters

No life or hope of interesting work

Maybe Bristol, if it's doesn't drive me berserk

The Emporium of Past lives

 Pandering to Mandy

Why do we pander to Mandy

Why do I meander and pander

Like a river of pandemonium

Into the mandated Mandy kingdom

Of utter strangle hold dominion

She has on social currency and fuel

Like in the strait of Hormuz

She's got her claws around it

Choking, she's about as crazy as Trump

In her utter blindness of vision

No multi-channel options like Netflix television

Just a Mandy towers, mini Mandy apprentices

To carry out her bidding

A pit of vipers, a stinking compost of rot

And corruption

A seething bed of vice disguised 

as community relations

A necromancy of diplomacy

Casting evil spells from a witches coven

Getting her evil elves and fairies

To dance around her sacrificial table

Oh Heathen whores who unholy dance

Burn, burn in the fires of chance

Kitchen utensils

 Spoons: they can dish it out, and they can take it.

Bowls: they can take it, but they can't dish it out.

The meaning of Brief encounter

 Perhaps the film is an answer to the question:

Where in this clothes shop do you keep the underpants?

Briefs on counter

Badger sett free

 I'm so black and white

Black and white that's me

I only see right and wrong

The grey shades don't occur for long

I wanna live like a colour TV

I wanna trade in my coat

I've been picking up my giro

On the unemployment lines

Benefits to badger

Wildlife welfare cheques

They treat me like a charity case

On the breadline, I wanna break their necks

All the money goes on car parks anyway

These well wishers, it's true

But why don't they just try living for a day like we do

On the Badger Breadline

Hard lined, and hard nosed sniffing out grubs

From under a rose

What I like I'm stubborn until I get it

I'm unimpressed by their cameras

watching where my Sett is

How would they like it if I set up shop outside their home and started filming

everytime they come and go?

Noting what they eat and when and even every time they take a shit

There's no dignity in it

Anyway I'm changing, the emperor's changing clothes

I'm going to paint myself a rainbow badger

See what Chris Packham and his wildlife crew

Will do

They'll probably pull their hair probably re-write natural history

They'll put it down to badger stress from living on the breadline

He didn't turn grey, just for badgers, he turned multicoloured

Like a TV with its wires crossed like a satellite on the blink

Like the moon shone a disco ball of sparkling strobe lighting

And I just let myself go and danced like Grease Lightning

I just slicked back my rainbow locks and rocked around the BBC garden

I just let rip my rainbow ship and it sailed off into the horizon to harden

I've had enough of living like a pauper

I'm gonna live like Cindy Lauper

Because Badgers just want to have fun

Badger breadline

This one's going out to all my 

mustelids out there

All my polecats, weasels, stoats,

All my skunks from other mothers

My pine martens and otters

Keep it real brothers

Sacred is the Murray mint and humbug 

I'm just another badger on the breadline

I'm just another badger on the breadline

I'm just another badger riding the badgerline

It's from Frome to Rome and it is on time

I've got to get myself together in time

I'm just another young badger living on the breadline

You wanna roll with me, you've gotta take the punches

You wanna eat squirrel well we'll have worms for lunches

We ain't buying our meals from Greggs or subway

We're lookin in fields, digging up dead stumps anyway

We can

Just another young badger on the Breadline

I'm talking about breadline, dread-line, that homeless feeling deadline 

Always on the run, ready, get Sett, go!

Watch the farmer's gun

Always lookin for our badger cave

Better make sure we don't dig our own grave

Living underground, away from busy traffic sound

Below and beyond the blue yonder

When we come out its starlit wonder

Black and blue the heavens chew

Over our immortal questions we ponder

Who was the Holy Badger Father

Head of our Order

The brotherhood of the Badger

Jean Paul Sartre 

Came from Secret World 

Rescued By the Abbot

Came to live in the habit

With Run away rabbits

But he brings them all in

When he gives his sermon

All the animals sing

Hail to the king

Hail to the brotherhood

Order of the skunk

Hail to the Holy Badger

High up Holy Monk

Storm at sea

 Oh your teeth are chattering and your cage is rattling

And I can hear your glass ceiling shattering

Well outside is the rain

And inside is the pain

Of my heart crashing against yours

Like some Viking longboats

Clashing oars

Pandamonium all aboard

This ship of success

Break through the storm

Until you see the sky

Wild wiley loon

Flowing along the cutting edge

Of the blade of your love

That falls like a lightning strike from above

Right into the heart of me

Through the storm's eye