There are rich folks who keep em
and tramps who do sleep in em
There are flower planters, and potters and hoes
And fun guys who stop in em, and blow fly who pop in em
And blue bottles who blow hot n cold
But a garden will harden your taste for the women
Said God to Adam back then
Be they full fat or skimmin
Those full bodied women
For Eve, Adam was a fool
You might meet him in April with the showers
Or in May while he's weeding the flowers
Or in June when the boon
Of a sweet summer swoon
Is in full bloom in the beds and the trees
He's a goose in the berries
He'll kneel down like the Maries
At the feet of The Lord Jesus at the tomb
He'll park it and lark it
Like a Nightingale market
When the hobgoblins come into your room
He'll Fuchsia and Susia
and cousin cross loose yer
with the guinea fowl and the Peahen
And then they'll imbue yer
with apple juice from a milieu
of trees
that'll make you think of the birds and the bees
Because Sunday in a garden, is when all work must stop
Then God leaves his sickle upon table top
And he lies down with his missus
And she rests her mop
Because the house is as clean as can be
And because the garden never will be free
From inside his green sleeve
Where he wore his heart for Eve
Oh what can you make of the musical garden
The trumpets and strings and guitars in em
The fluted lilies in rhythm go
drumming to heaven like a lettuce love show
And I'm in heaven when I'm in them so
Oh keeping up with the Jones
Who with begonias and bougainvilleas
Are entertaining Huguenots And Astronauts
And gnomes
But beside the pond
Where frogs all frond
Upon frilly lillies with sticky willy tongues
The Combs of the honey
The ribald ribbit that isn't funny
But just when a neighbour is a friend or dial tone
When your garden is the same as
Your next door neighbours
Then you should be very afraid
To be better than the Franklin's or Jones
Who tend and water religiously
Whether they are together or alone
It keeps their hands busy and better
that than dizzy with petty jealousies
For which to atone
So dare you look beyond with your eyes
oh outside of the gates of paradise
So to paradise market
Where the sales tags mark it
All discount prices on God's creation
But of course man will sell it
To garden gates of hell with it
Where it will be too hot to grow it
Anyway
And bring it home to grow it
Let the bees suck and show it
And just once you may know it
To be good
That at last you've made
a neighbourhood
but your neighbour's a pain in the neck
because she's always sunbathing on deck
She says you're blocking her light
Next we're into a fight
and nobody's framing the night
So let bygones be bygones
And bury the hatchet
For the next year a new government
Is bound to unthatch it
Just weave it together
And chat over the hedge line
For there's nothing better than the weather
To converse about to kill time
