Dreck-Aid For A Decaying Decade

The lyrical musings of Kevin Mitchell et al, 11 January 2011 — 27 April 2014.


Index

A Conversation with Carrie Wilde
A Nonsense Poem
A Pretty Penny
Ask A Silly Question

Banned From D&T
Bekki's Mum, Dawn
Born To Be Mild?
Brass Horn Mourn
Brian McDeed's Cabbage Heed
British Wish Dish

Chavey On Down
Clammed-Up Glamour
Cold, Frank, Incensed, and Meh

DTC Psyche Hx
Delusional Platitudes
Do The Stooge
Dramarama

Educa-shunned

Food For Thought
Form An Orderly Queue
Frank
Free Daze Of Labour

Game Over
Gobstopper

IC Dead People
In Your Dreams
Inside Doubt

Jump Back, Honey

Late Night Before The Morning After
Like A Muddled Fudger

Mad Hatter Rap
Mews/Muse/Amuse

None Of The Above
North & South
Nurse! Re: The Times

Pam Knows
Passive Fake Octopus Of My Headsounds
Perrypathetic
PMTNT
Pretorius, Moi?

Random As A Trandem

Screaming Dreaming
Sky High & Bone Dry
Smoking
Son Of Rainbow
Suicide Jockeys

The Amazing Technicolor Yawn
The Last Song (Pop-eyed Redux)
The One True Hokey
The Shotgunner's Dream
The Wikiclassic
Total Non-Stop Action
Tracey Quinn's Quim

What To Do?
Wildest Dreams

Yolo/ono

~


Nurse! Re: The Times

Ladybird, ladybird
Fly away home
The server is down
And your kids are all gone
Your crop; it has died
Someone’s stolen your fish
They’ve beaten your score
While you were out on the piss

But Humpty Numpty fell off the wall
Humpty Numpty had an online trawl
All the King’s media and all the King’s men
Soon put Humpty back together again

And as I was going to St Ives
I met a gang with seven knives
Each knife had seven lads
Each lad had seven dads
Each dad were seven fads
Lads, dads, fads, knifes
How many got out alive?

So mash it up and sing:
Drop-down Brown is the ghostly clown around town
Wikileaked against the lamp-post on the corner of the street
In case a certain ex-First Lady walked by

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Delusional Platitudes

If depression’s not a sign of weakness
Please explain selection’s bleakness
Hole in the heart
Hole in the head
You’ve got room in both

Mourn the golden age of minions
Forget chip and pin
I’m more rack and pinion
Economic freedom
That’s just your opinion
You get sniffed by Spiro
When cashing your giro
If you trust me so much
What’s that string on your Biro?

No-eyed doe idea
I’ll cover your exes
And bury your exes
Help redefine what permissible sex is
Then I woke up from a dream
To people dancing on my TV
The shocking horror made me lay down on the sofa
In my cliff-top solitude
I’m no Youngman Grand
So could you cope with me feeding you a Magnum Mini,
Ma hinnie?

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Brian McDeed’s Cabbage Heed

Lactating intolerently
6/4 time and Y clef
Ten past fugg it on your diet of worms
I know nature and Gandhi thanks to the Attenboroughs
Courtesy of Ma’am-Bercow-rattan-whipped curs
Ella Guru, is it you?
Cable: Unplugged

Decade/Deck-Aid: Decayed
In the Garb of your age
They didn’t turn up again today
I wish they’d go away!
Trying to type under your breath
Hey mister man, your plan’s
Being driven away by wi-fi in a white van

Oh Mr Woo, what shall I do?
I’m feeling kind of Chinese Tearoom Mexican Stand-off Blues

No personality, just disorder
Phlegmelo in the voice
Oh, Mr Porter
Me da’s German shepherd
Has just eaten your Jack Russell
Le Petit Julien
And the Atomium sprouts in Brussels
No more: sold by Monsieur Bricks
In the latest EU Hustle

Me scrooble now
No-go
Wii

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Mews/Muse/Amuse

The history of civilisation is a struggle against reverting to type
Think about that as you eat your caviar, and taste the cowheels and tripe

Musicians in Bournemouth: you’re white and from Dorset
So don’t give me the blues with your classified ads

At the top of my list of things I can’t be arsed to do
Is making lists

It’s not easy remembering T. Rex and then having to qualify that you mean the band
But you learn to take it on the chin, as alas did Bolan the dashboard

I say my prayers and take Sanatogen like a good Hulkamaniac
And say how much the A-Team movie sucks

And call me jaded if you like
But the most surprising thing I saw on the news all week
Was my old local hospital

You bought a new camp bed to queue for Part 2 of Deathly Hallows?
Submit to my inner monologue and invoke a common sense demon to give you a good, hard slap

Got thrown out of a Waterstone’s book signing
They wouldn’t let me saw Mo Hayder in half
For a laugh

A restraining order is more legally binding than a marriage licence

So I’m saving up my cold-weather payments to buy a shack in the shadow of Mount Erebus
To watch the Ross Shelf melt and wait to get blown to Jeebus

Tell ‘em, Hawk!

Yet still I have a dream
Where Corden joins The Skids
And Moyles is a Big Country member
And Moyles is a Big Country member
And Moyles is a Big Country member
Where you were when James Corden hit the skids?
And Chris Moyles is a Big Country member
Remember
Remember
Pled the 5th in November
Oh God, please let us all remember

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North & South

The Shackleton Vote Flow
Retreats from the polls
There’s sauce for the gander
Flouride for the proles
Bogus excellence pulling the sled
Look, it’s Wyld Stallyns:
There’s Bill!
There’s Ted!

You say there’s full justification
I think it absurd: 13’ of crustacean
Loveandpeace ain’t a word of which I’ve ever heard
Still we all kern together
When there’s whey in the curd

Human kindnesses’ milk turned sour
On the power-play at the 11th hour
Who knows what in deep crevices lurk?
But there’s a man in a hole
Who will strike for work

God’s Wonderful Auction’s having a sale
Next up:
Salem’s lot of Keller’s Braille
Anita Manning’s
Under-the-hammering
Chalk outlines of Bradley Branning’s stain

Going once
Going twice
To the suave dilettante on the phone with his Zeiss
Celestial in a world of his own
‘Til the signal fails
And his chance is blown

Bouncing of satellites
Bouncing off the walls
The last ever man to come up on the pools
Blew his wad on lottery tickets
See the roundabout there?
He lives in the thicket

Took a hit on my Chanandler bong
The daze was short
And the nights were long
The things crawling over you
Are crawling with things
Punxsutawney Phil
Wake me up in the spring!

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DTC Psyche Hx

Mary, Queen of Sluts
Stood accused, of media glare, before the nation
Maybe, if so many hadn’t tried her
She wouldn’t have lost her head

On T.J.K.S.
Wicked step-mother in the departure lounge
Waiting stand-by
For the next seat to opaque fame

You say “Hello!”
We wave goodbye
It’s not OK

Bustin’ loose
Evil Willow
Descended from the ghost of Anne Boleyn
Pussy willow
Collect call for Dottie Hinkle
You really kiss anyone with that mouth
Perhaps to suck life-force, as you are mine

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Dramarama

Prime Silence, Part 1
Bubble & Squeak exaustively investigaste all scientific and philosophical possibilities
And find time to have alfresco devient sex with each other
In their fervent quest to discover who coveted Jimmy Neighbour’s oxbloods
By way of an EMP-imposed diversonary coup d'état in 1970s Kanton Zug
Does the head of the SIS know more than he’s letting on?
Concludes same time tomorrow night

Turns out to be the random work of an evil 9th level Magic-User
And his shape-shifting pet velociraptor
Picked up on a warrant for outstanding parking fines
By an off-duty PCSO
173: pretty impressive
Did you not see that car on a double-yellow in the opening pre-credit scene?
The glory was we didn’t know it

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IC Dead People

Do you need a better kettle
If you can come before it boils?
What flavour’s your Pot Noodle
Frog’s blood or balmy oils?
Had bumps felt by
The credo of Alberto
I think I’ll have quasi chocolate sweet
Perfumed with wasabi and your soul, please
Don’t go off in a bod
But is that sound advice
Or are you the mafia
And your band only miming?

If you had three cattle
And I took two
Would you throw a plurale tantum?
Can’t afford the feces
Though I admit that’s quite a pile you’ve got
Forget Wendy, darling
I’m going after Tinker Bell
And if she’s not real
Well, at least I’ll find some peace
At the bottom of the garden
Beyond your Chinese rhubarb
And sterilizing dung

How low can you go?
Mooing, sick to the ears
Doo-dooing in the margin of life
Primed production-line
Conveyor belt mechanical bovine
Hand-built as robots
Designed by God-only-knows-what
Queuing for the Da Vinci overdubs
Did you not notice
The last 20 years were heavily sound-proofed?

For those about to rock… you’re off the pace

What have the Roman Abramovichs
Ever done for us?
Scalextric Ferguson
NanoHbot hyperbaric
Rejuvenates the will
To stay put till they stop calling you Alec
Or is it the single malt?

Flaming Sambuca rabies shots
Flick the burning bean and count the cost
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Its brain was squirming like a toad
Having read the Gomorrah Code
Captain Moab seeks ATBIP
With a view to mate
Used to lookout for every day
But the sparks only flew
When you were left in charge
And forgot his watch

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Mad Hatter Rap

We are the mad hatters & we hat u
Here are some things you’ll find are true

Your eternal misery is our pride and passion
Your brain-dead rhetoric’s years out of fashion

Your pain is our pleasure
Served cold at out leisure

Your tears are our joy
In your cellarful of goys

Your screams are our laughter
Happy ever after

Your death is our life
Club-fisted fife and drum
Tattoo upon your empty head

For whom the noose tightens
The gallows swing for thee

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Game Over

So anyway
What can I say?
It’s not like the world ended
Just the other day
Can’t think
Don’t want to feel
Call me old-fashioned
But I call it the real deal
Took quite a shine off the day
And dismissed its appeal
Though I’m still not out
Knocked for six

Return to Index


None Of The Above

None of the above
It’s a sock-glove love
Hawking of the wares
And whyfores of the dove
Still mourn the loss of the Queen Muv
Doff your cap to the Gov
Be dazzled by Peter Cook
Or none of the above

Be more Bo Dudley
Diminutive and cuddley
Mama’s got a brand  new bag
Defragged, tits unsagged
Likes to play the lottery
Afford some flattery
Unadulterated  lap-cattery

Down the drain Heaven is a pink half-pipe
With poppied ginger geezers skating on thin ice
A pres de deluge on a pressed-steel tray
Aperitif to the glass by your bed
Winter sportswear by Plaster of Paris
No happy day, as Nurse Dorothy combs
And pops staples in your head

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Bekki’s Mum, Dawn*

Bekki’s mum
Has got it goin’ on

She’s all I want
And her name rhymes with porn

Bekki can’t you see
Your mum’s just the milf for me

I know it might be wrong
But Bekki I love your mum

Should it come as a surprise?
You make my sap rise
Up at the crack of dawn

*With assistance from Amie Welton

Return to Index


Son Of Rainbow

If you know what you want
And you know how to get it
Don’t ever let it slip through your fingers
For want of a dream

In my world of My Little Ponies
Unicorns, stardust and one-night-onlys
Glitter and Care Bears learning to hambone
I am the son of Rainbow

Too many cooks spoil the broth
Like having few toes can make you a sloth
Too many uncle-snouts in the trough
Make you tread the grapes of Tim Roth

If they know that you got it
Then they all will want it
Don’t ever let them steal it away
For want of a scream

Chunks of your life spent
Inside coal bunkers of doom
They laugh and call you a horse
Don’t mean that you need a groom

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Smoking*

Baccy, Mayfair its all the same
But really we’re just trying to hide we’re lame
But really we just want the fame

First fag of the day
But really we have to pay
Waiting out side the shop
But Keith flops

Oh my fuckin’ days
The one that sings gaily
We are smoking and we are not joking

40 - 55p each
Behind the counter out of reach
Come back when you are 18 if you wanna miss the scene

Getting a tattoo
Show what I think of you
We’re not sniffing glue in a subway full of dog do

Oh my fuckin’ days
It's Miley - she’s always so smiley
Until she hits the smoke
And then she turned broke
Until she hits the smoke
And then she turned broke
Until she hits the smoke
And then she turned broke

Hey Lucy Loosie

*With assistance from Amie Welton

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Pam Knows

She knows, you know
She knows, you know
Your woes and so
Pam Nose, she knows

She knows, you know
She knows, you know
Your highs and lows
Pam Nose, she knows

She knows if you can touch your toes
She knows when you blow your nose
She knows “love grows where my Rosemary goes”
She knows, you know: Pam Nose

She knows, you know
She knows, you know
Your comes and goes
Pam Nose, she knows

She knows, you know
She knows, you know
Your sucks and blows
Pam Nose, she knows

She knows what in your closet grows
She knows about your sis and bros
She knows all your to’s and fro’s
She knows, you know: Pam Nose

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Wildest Dreams

Got your ulzzang tentacle-raped bride
Kinbaku’d in a trunk
Memories of your childhood breath
Stink of stale uncle spunk and coal dust
Railroaded: not grand,
And garlic nan’s still in a funk
That your mother got launched sticky
From the top of a bunk

You never thought
That it would happen:
You and an under-age girl with a strap-on
Now the eunuchs in tunics are coming down the stairs
To suck you off to the Grand Moff
Death is a star
Should you be unawares
Gripped by the deadly phantom, with no pants on
The Boho hos and their half ounce of Drum
Doubled you over in the bunker with a sandpapered thumb

Buck it
What, it’s not a trend?
There’s a hole in mine and I feel a little pale and listless
Ailing, off to India
Rubber: o the context
Of the memory kinda lingers
It’s within your power to fail
Hearty and hail
Lick the live rail
After you go the slugs and snails
Wedding, but to no avail
The bride & groom: nuptials life-locked in the Skinner Box room
Nuts deep in the uncanny valley
Sally right up your alley
Set up by Grassy Noel
Haughty culture
Soze all of us
Cheryl cola of the D.O.L.E. dola
Typing with a tie-pin
Compulsive chickens
The blind invisible
Up the injunction

Fiction? No, thanks
Phrases
Oopsiedasies
Jog on: I’d run a fucking mile
All different shades
Of could have, would have, should have
Pop-pickers, sic ‘em while the world snickers
Unstable horse has bolted
The gay of your fail inverse exaulted
Tennent’s Super-injunction
Reducing your function
Rotten iconoclasts finish last
Stand in line to take the cue
From proto-Nazis and long-dead pederasts
The number you have dialled has not been recognised
Hunker for the bunker, coalhole make you cry uncle
Selling small amount of wee-wee all the way home
Get a flid kid fid vid in Chidd for a quid
Squidley Diddley have you seen Sid?

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Clammed-up Glamour

Tentatively-placed ad
Prospects up a gum tree
Think you’re sugar plum
All dead faits accomplis

Frost is all around
Direction in camera
The fish is in the bowl
Time has come to stammer

The clamor is on for
Clammed-up glamour
Hammy demeanor and clammy hands
Got to keep up with the pace of the race
To appease the plans of the fans

Desire lines on the rug
Furrows on your brow
Mephisto in the corner
Confidence in its shell

Display little glee
Paternal coax a boobie
Hairspray and nylons
Static-shuffle Suzie

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Born To Be Mild?

God resigned the other day
Wouldn’t let us have our way
Now we’re in charge
Best to think
Its cruel to disobey

No more killing
No more slaughter
We’ll redefine the global fauna
In images of our disorder
Troubled oils? Just pour on water

Heaven’s above in my 10th floor paradise
Where alabaster bust Ubesti
Shat vegan sacrifice in a box
The untermaus feed the snake
Felis sleeps while serpent wakes
Makes ducks of all the drakes

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Total Non-Stop Action

He’s an iMPACT Wrestling geek
Has to tune in every week
Challenge – channel 46
Gotta get his kicks

Sunday night’s all right to fight
Boots are bulled and trunks are tight
And in mid-week’s the pay-per-view
What’s a geek supposed to do?

TNA – it shows the way
TNA is here to stay
TN, TN, TNA
That’s all you hear him say

She’s an iMPACT Wrestling geek
Also tunes in every week
Hopes to one day go to a show
Meet her eternal freak

Tattooed muscles turn her wrong
Swerve-turn hustles waft her fronds
Cause a scene at the arena
If you wanna make mystique geek keener

TNA – it shows the way
TNA is here to stay
TN, TN, TNA
That’s all you hear her say

Got each other in a hold
Kayfabe into the fold
TNA showed them the way
Wrestling here to stay

TNA – it shows the way
TNA is here to stay
TN, TN, TNA
That’s all you hear them say

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Frank

Just call me Frank
I speak my mind
I didn’t write this song
But I don’t mind

Touch that dial
For the truth to find
Or is it just the blind
Led by the blind

What do I want?
Take what I want
When do I want it?
Next Tuesday
What do I want?
Zap what I want
Robbery tees info super highway

Rubbery trees?

Frank by name
Freak by nature
Say it to my face
And I’m sure to bait ya

Burning rubber
And I’ll smell you later
Make you into shoes
Like a GaGagator

What do I want?
Take what I want
When do I want it?
Next Tuesday
What do I want?
Crap what I want
Kick up a shitstorm in your way

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Like A Muddled Fudger

Heard you’re born to lose
Never earned your blue suede shoes
Still you’re spreading news
The legend’s become humongus
But who the smurf is Johnny Fungus

Searching hard for clues
Burning midnight oil since you blew a fuse
Trying to pay your dues
And humouring the rumour
We ask who is this baby boomer

Who’s Johnny Fungus?
Are you Johnny Fungus?
He’s a fun guy
He’s a fun guy
Johnny Fungus walks among us
Maybe he’ll Johnny Fungus
But you’ll never know ‘til you try
Never know until you try
That Johnny Fungus – is a real fun guy

Chinese rock in your head
Better red leather than dead
Where has you query led?
Speak and one-true-tongue us
Let slip who is Johnny Fungus

Invite Ramones
Then execute The Rolling Stones
Have you the cojones
Being so far from the proof
On your journey to the truth

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Tracey Quinn’s Quim

Tracey’s quim
They go in
On a  gin or vodka whim
They go in on vodka/gin
In they go to Tracey’s quim

Tracey’s quim
They go in
Strike a light; it’s pretty dim
They go in and cause a din
When they come to Tracey’s quim

Tracey, Tracey, Tracey Quinn
They go, they go, they go in
They go in without a doubt
They go in but don’t come out

Tracey’s quim
They go in
Fill their boots up to the brim
Wipe your feet ‘fore you go in
Before you go in Tracey’s quim

Tracey’s quim
They go in
Every one out on a limb
Buff the limb: keep the bush trim
In the garden of Tracey’s quim

Tracey – don’t change your name to Stacey
Or move to Cockermouth
You’re FAB in time and space
The queen, joker and ace
With half the human race
Spelunking past third base

Not one of them
Not one of them
Not one of them
Not one of them
Not one of them

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The One True Hokey

Left boot in (out)
Right arm up (down)
Is that what it’s all about?
Right boot in (out)
Left arm up (down)
Shadows cast a doubt

Defend your pokey as the one true hokey
That’s what it’s all about

Then every once in a while
We shed our tears; embrace denial
Put both feet in our open mouth
Everybody turn about

Right boot in (out)
Left arm up (down)
Is that what it’s all about?
Left boot in (out)
Right arm up (down)
Shadows cast a doubt

Jackboots in (out)
Both arms up (down)
Is that what it’s all about?
Jackboots in (out)
Both arms up (down)
Everybody shout

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What To Do?

What to do?
What to do?
You still hang with the same old crew
They beat you black
And choke you blue
Grind you up to make their stew

Was that your name I heard on the news?
Still giving your old folks the blues
Like to think yourself King Rat
But you’re down there with the mice and shrews

What to do?
What to do?
You still hang with the same old crew
They wind you up
Tell what to do
Send you off in to the blue

Didn’t I see you on page one?
Been out on the town having lots of fun
Speed freak on a thrill seek
Won’t give it up till you reach the ton

What to do?
What to do?
Now it’s come: your time here’s through
They plant you deep
Then praise you true
Claim the write-off from The Pru

Should I get visited by your ghost
I’ll know you’re toast halfway up a lamp post
In terms of the sympathy vote
Expect the least if you live the boast

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Pretorius, Moi?

New day and a de-frockin’
In the bag and a padlockin’
Take a trip to the council tip
A bath to give them the slip

Timepiece is a tock-tockin’
Soon there’s a new ship dockin’
Come to play and get to stay
If you’d just like to walk this way

Tailgate hazing
Foghorn blazing
Leave a trail in your wake
There’s hours more till dawn and the new day is born
Plenty time in thrall to mistake

I like a bit of hard rockin’
I can take a hit of rough shockin’
I light the fuse on blue suede booze
But I can’t fake who I choose

Got to be silk stockinged
High-town crow: low-down mockin’
Rip the tab to a heartbreak trip
Give the horn of plenty a sip

And if you’ve done made it this far
Tiny dancer in the jar
Don’t think of it as just a crime
Just you wait until showtime

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Inside Doubt

I am happy
On the inside
My outside wants to kill you
On the inside
My outside
Wants to kill you on the inside

Offline
Online
Offline
Inline
Defined by design
The monkey shines

I am happy
On the outside
My inside wants to kill me
On outside
My inside
Wants to kill me on the outside

Happy, oh so happy
Happy, oh so happy
My outside is on your inside
Your inside is on the outside

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The Shotgunner’s Dream

Jack o’lantern lady
Just a little crazy
Candy or a baby
Goes down the same way, maybe

Shere Khan for a mother
Baloo-made-for lover
Jungle boy’s been smothered
Full five-finger glovered

Pa-pa, oom mein papa
Pa-pa, oom mein papa
We’ve come so far in this car
May I please take off this bra?

And a passion I have in phases
I like to edit wiki pages
Not all at once but several stages
Leave the readers in fits of rages

Put that in your pipe and smoke it
Put that in your pipe and smoke it
Smoke your pipe and wish you hope it
Makes your dreams come true
Makes your dreams come true
Everything turns blue
But you don’t know what to do
Now the thoroughbred is glue

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The Wikiclassic

There go the Jesi
Back to the wiki edit-wars
From two weeks in parenthesis
Roll out the NaziBots and Advanced RP

Vandalise your own page
A modest proposal
Terror drugs the war on stupid
A uniform is not a stone on which to grind your own axe

Buzzards circling The Gibbet
The Bactarians are extra humpy tonight
Birthed of a nation
Bialystock plummet

Cheers from the snug Bar Humbug
The only way is up
The gravity of the situation
Waiting for the drum machine to start

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Brass Horn Mourn

Talk about the GOAT
Gone and got my goat
Churning out by rote
Sticking in my throat

Something to promote?
Pass me the remote
With buttons I vote
Before you get to gloat

And on the other side
There’s an A-Level field-trip
As someone in a smock
Extols an ancient sheep dip
They’re so wide-eyed
The director is legless
Commissioned by a suit
In a clothes peg headdress

I hanker for a Marston’s Firestoker
But all they have round here is Blandford Fly

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Screaming Dreaming

Alienation
In a lean nation
Brings debasement
Demarked fenestration

In relation
Standing and foundation
Shrill and piercing
Demobbed plantation

One man’s dreams
Are another one’s screams
Plots fresh off the blotter
Or second-hand schemes
Once round the block
Then break into teams
The debate goes on
For reams and reams

Christian or pagan
Euroamerasian
Fresh out the pot
Steaming and Cajan

Thatcher and Reagan
Plastination
Preserved for posterity
Hereditary starvation

Talk of frustration
Walk the Dalmation
The biggest spotty dog
At the work-farm station

Grope for elation
Demean privation
You’re just a step shy
Of the next sensation

Add the scores upon the doors
Subdivide by all the wars
Draw the lots for mine and yours
Just don’t hang on the applause

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Banned From D&T

Took a chisel to stinking Courtney
Threatened to cut off her miserable head
Cut it right off until she’s dead

Thrown out of the room
No designs on pushing her broom
Roaming corridors: I ain’t no snitch
Unlike that terrible bitch
All for what she said of me
I’m banned from D&T

It reminded me
Of when I grabbed a branch from the Ugly Tree
And beat that boy down to his knees
So don’t you mess with me
A.S.P.I.E.
I see you and you’re so NT
By design and technology
That simply don’t help me
Unless you take a trip to A&E
And I’m banned from D&T

Banned from
Banned from
Banned from
Banned from
Stinking D&T

But I don’t care you see

It reeks
It reeks
It reeks
It reeks
Of the memory

Return to Index


A Pretty Penny

Ride a cock horse
Of course
Of course
Ride a cock horse
Of course

Unless of course
Your steed’s a dead loss
Needs taking by force
To stop gathering moss

Take the cream of your crops
To his Béla Bartóks
‘Til the lollipop man
Turns from “Go” to “Stop”

Unless of course
You’re forgetting to floss
Or seek a divorce
Before showing who’s boss

Take your best bridal
To his bone-idle
See if he won’t confess
To being an infidel

Unless
Unless
Lest of course through remorse
You take out your purse
But the Maundy discourse
Just makes things worse
Kiss the frog and lift the curse
Or through bitted teeth hiss for the hearse

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Gobstopper

Pre-op pop in the candy shop
Hard, sticky, sweet and ready to rock
Trick or treat, jump to the beat
Open wide: it's "all you can eat"

Gobstopper bop
Gobstopper bop
Gobstopper bop
It’s a wigwam flop

Pre-nup bride on the big dipper slide
If that’s coconut mat my brain is fried
Round and round, up and down
Reaches the top when she hits the ground

Precocious teenaged brat
All forward speak and backwards hat
Sat on the bench, chatting to a wench
Even older than Dame Judy Dench

Gob, gob, gob, gob, gob
Gobstopper bop
Gob, gob, gob, gob
Gobstopper bop
Bop, bop, bop, bop
Gobstopper bop
Gob, gob, gob, gob
Gobstopper bop

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Chavey On Down

Bedtime
Bedtime
It’s way past your bedtime
Out late committing some crime
Trying to turn a nickel from a dime
Hanging dirty keks on your neighbour’s washing time

Head time
Head time
Gotta get some head time
Sucking like a lazy-arsed mime
Get less of a burn from quicklime
Want a bigger bang then stand on a landmine

Red dots keep forming on your head
If it’s not bhangra it’s the way your music’s bred
Nothing seems to fit
And it gets right on my…
Check those shoes
They look a little clowny
Stroke that chin
It feels a little downy
Check my face
You’re making it all frowny

Shed time
Shed time
Out in your shed time
Working past your dole time
Not fermenting any kind of fine wine
Knocking up the brew for sale down the Wavy Line

Med time
Med time
It’s way past take your med time
Laid back and yet all sublime
Trying to work it out to a single line
Before it broke and the monkey got stoked and all divine

Thanks for the memories gran
Mammary glands
Mammaries and glans?
No thank you please, man

Return to Index


The Amazing Technicolor Yawn

Wake up all you sleepy heads
There’s Reds under the beds in sheds
While on the news I see the Blues
Are squaring the hypotenuse
And what of the Yellow peril
Jumping in like Flynn (that’s Errol)

Also Greens; and other colours
In the inner city boroughs
Bide a wee - divide and win
Unite, reform the pale has-beens
Paint the scape with hues afresh
Nurture buds (but I digress)

So, what to do? A lot to do
In the pot’s a not to do
Eat your prune and rhubarb
Stew: deduce the old guard
Invoke the urinal solution
Of a rainbow revolution

Vote them up, smote them down
Besmirch their emblems round the town
Touch that dial, tune out, turn off
Toast with cocktails Molotov
Rein them in, shed some blood
Replace them with someone called Mud

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Do The Stooge

I’m yours
I’m yours
She’s mine
She’s mine

I’m yours
I’m yours
She’s mine
She’s mine

I am yours and she is mine
Let’s all have a real cool time

Because
Because
Why not?
Why not?

Because
Because
Why not?
Why not?

“Because” I said, and asked “why not?”
Let’s make this party hot to trot

Party on…

Party on with James for Ron
Red hot smoking sons of no fun

Return to Index


Sky High & Bone Dry

Sky high
And bone dry
Yet drowning
In my surroundings
Amazed by the thrall
All of it
To fold
Have and to hold
Be still
Be tolled
Belle of the bawl
Town crier’d desire
Six o’clock
And all’s swell
No news: good news
Pray show and tell
Twixt Hell and Heaven
Come seven, eleven
Dance of the hours
Crossspan the flowers
From petals to nettles
And precious metals
Accept the plaudits
Dodge the heckles
Strive to jive
Keep stayin’ alive
It’s one for the honey
Two for the hive
Beeline for the door
Beeswax on the floor
Slippin’ and a slidin’
Like bareback riding
Jockey for position
Compose your contrition
Have you read
The terms and conditions?

Return to Index


A Nonsense Poem

Defiant of giants and Robin Reliants
He cocked a snook at them both
Donning a plaid frock he skipped with a hop
To the corner to vend half a loaf
But the buyer had gone – made do with a scone
No longer to wait for his tea
So he trudged back forlorn while sounding his horn
And set about training a flea

Return to Index


In Your Dreams

I live in a car
And I wear a bra
And I don’t go far
In my car or my bra
It came from my pa
The car not the bra
That came from my ma
I’m gonna be a star

With my bra round my head
Wrapped up in my bed
In the gloom of my room
In my tomb of doom
With my shiny tin foil
And samples of soil
Rubbing linseed oil
As a nocturnal toil

Into a bat
Not for cricket and that
Being not a persuasion
More for zombie invasion
And coming of the all-malign fetation
So that I can call on all of Creation
To join in jubilant celebration
Elevating me to my true worthy station

Return to Index


Jump Back, Honey

Jump back
You’re out of whack
Better think again
Before you launch your attack

Sit down
Lose the frown
Comes the time to
Take a dressing down

Told off
No time to scoff
Time to learn the lesson
If you wanna be a prof

Everywhere it seems to be
Authority
Authority
Is pushing and hand jiving me
Into the shape I “ought to be”

Ring bell
Kiss ‘n’ tell
But if they find out
It’ll sound the death knell

Bad girl
Your teeth’ll curl
End up as an extra
In My Name Is Earl

Didn’t want
To make her
All it took
Was draw, fags and papers

Return to Index


Form An Orderly Queue

Hold up:
Here come the main advancers,
With the questions to your answers:
The dancing prancers; one-time chancers;
Duty-free day-trip-to-Francers;
Texas Longhorn cattle ranchers;
And don’t forget the Bengal Lancers,
Hitching to the last post of
Medallioned Hai-Karate stancers

There’s more:
The body of the party:
Airy-fairy arty-farty;
One-hundred-and-eighty darty;
Mostly dressed in shades of khaki
Pointing and clicking their carkeys
Leaving scratch marks on the parquet
Disassembling the marquee
And they’re not even that narky

And then:
At the rear there is the tail
The ones: leaving a sluggard trail;
Punctured on a rusty nail,
For whom no excuse can fail;
The in and out of mental jail;
And a lost beluga whale,
Leading to ultimate betrayal:
A bucket list beyond the pail

Return to Index


Food For Thought

“Cornflakes and coffee,” she said
That’s where the conversation had led
An unusual diet – no need to deny it
There’s many a way to be fed
Fudge it and fry it, choc on the sly it
Slice it ‘n dice it and Spry Crisp ‘n Dry it
But when it comes to get my fix
I prefer tea and Weetabix

So be there at eight
And don’t be late
For pushing food around the plate
A tissue for the issue
Doggy bag and tag it
As we skirt around the Vimy Ridge-like
Assault needed on your fridge
And mutual portions fit for a midge

I’m considered well-stocked
What if my technique has been mocked?
Defrost on toast, a Sunday roast
More half-baked than half-cocked
Meal deal lacks real appeal
Let’s hear it for a comic steal
Bunter moves in for the kill
A pie left cooling on the sill

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Ask A Silly Question

Why is it still wet?
It’s wet because it’s not dry yet

When will it be dry?
When there’s no rain left in the sky

How long will that be?
‘Til there’s no water in the sea

Ain’t that quite profound?
Just like the world is big and round

Do I see where this goes?
By any other name a rose

Can I ask one more?
A mirror shows yourself the door

Is this the brush off?
As they say: “Watch the cloth, moth”

Return to Index


Educa-shunned

Johnny’s in the bivouac
Freda’s had a heart attack
All because they’re bringing back
‘O-level style’ exams

GCSEasy, lemon squeezy
Flat as pancakes, twice as wheezy
Fit for nowt, or so they say
With papers set by Teasy-Weasy

Learn by rote, the little scrotes
Keep them at it ‘til they vote
Splice the beam, vacuum the mote
Fill with bull and take the goat

Bring back the birch, butlers that lurch
Waxen ‘taches, secret tuck stashes
Gray mare schools with stricter rules
National serviced apprentice tools

That’s what the people say
That’s what which people say?
That’s what some people say
At least they used to
Back in my day
Anyway

When you thanked sir for a hanging
Not cursed six months for affray

Return to Index


PMTNT

Collect me like a lucky charm
Taffeta and sling-backs
Stepping out, waltz arm in arm
Just don’t step on my cracks

Turn me on then blow me off
Run hot and cold on tap
One of these messing ‘round days
You’ll learn to take the rap

She said:
Teenage PMT
Maketh a two-headed Godzilla thing of me
Stomp your little Tokyo
So back off with your bazooka, Joe

Cool and moody, Heidi Doody
Sister time to act
You’re ailing and failing Rudie
It’s a matter of fact

Russian roulette, fake etiquette
Your life style is a choice
Forget the words, they’re for the birds
And all speak with one voice

Like a bad cough treated with syrup
You rode me one foot in the stirrup
Backed each way, a hedge fund bet
Crossed the tease, and claimed the set

Return to Index


Random As A Trandem

I’ve been vexed and perplexed
And been bruised and confused
But nothing has ever quite made my blood boil
Since lining my hat with tinfoil
Like you

I’ve been on trial and in denial
Been restyled and defiled
Though they were all but a snip
Buttered parsnips for The Horslips
Compared to but a single quip
From you

Been written off in poetry
And stilted mime no-goetry
From puppet shows
To old scarecrows
Where I belong fate only knows

The be-bop stopped
The line dance copped
The monkey choked
And the bassline dropped

Yet everyone loves Kylie
From the sweet and innocent puppy dogs
To the dark and depraved defiley
Like a snail, they leave a trail
And just as slow. Truth will prevail

As your brother’s been smothered
In the under-stairs cupboard
Gas meter and greet her
Anguish completer than
Following in carbon footsteps
Everyone I hoped for dead is still fucking alive; and at the Tut & Shive

Nessun Doorman (None Shall Pass)
By the burned out Datsun in the underpass
You’re not coming in nor Harry Brown
Obi-wan, golden, rock ‘n’ rolled ‘em
But you’re just toast, a burnt-scraped crepe-souled old ‘un

Facefuck battle-truck, ready to ruck
Thanks for the offer
Aww shucks, you flatter me
There’s this prior engagement I can’t wriggle out of
See, resistance is futile
They’ll crispy-fried batter me

Haunted for the rest of your days
In 60 million different ways
Death by 1000 cuts
(Typo - negative)
Spill the beans if you’ve got the guts

Colder than a cold place
Blacker than a coal face
All style and no grace
Between-the-ears space race
You won it
Won it in The Sun it
Was The Sun wot dun it
Net bonus to the species
No limit how far we can throw our feces

Return to Index


Suicide Jockeys

Doing the ward rounds
Win an award sounds
Broken banks - a nation drowns
Its stray dogs in provincial towns

Is that a von Rebay?
No, £6.99 on ebay
PAYE now – die later
Save for the big cheese safe from the grater

Beating down cancer
Blankety Blank is the answer
Break the cycle – steal an advance
Selling your soul to the narcomancer

Jack was nimble
Jack was Jill
Had a march on ten thousand up Benny Hill
Poor traits imbued
Someone got screwed
From triumph of will to auld land-fill

Savile Row shell suits
Prescribed a jog to Boots
Swallow pills to cure your ills
There’s a flock at the door all armed with bills

Forgot the acquaintance
Was it too high-maintenance?
Just a blip, or was it a glitch?
Coming from you that’s a bit ostrich

Satan’s Santa
The poor man’s answer
Better learn to rock and roll
The piper’s playing and you’re the dancer

Return to Index


A Conversation with Carrie Wilde*

Kvetch Hell (for it is he):
How are you this November?

Carrie Wilde (for it is she):
I am…quite vastly over & under whelmed by this November. In many delightful & undeligtful ways. How are you?

He:
I am also under whelmed but delighted, as always, to hear from you. x

She:
Perhaps December will be more whelmsome. I doubt it, but, well… *sulks & continues devouring her supper of half a cucumber*

He:
We should meet and do wonderful things.

She:
Should we? I think I may have used up my wonderful things ration for November. & November’s wonderful things morph into meloncholias. Hermeticism, that’s the thing…

He:
I am seeking rescue from such things, or at least mutual hibernation. You seem the unobviously obvious selection.

She:
Can one rescue a rescuee while being rescued by a rescuer, however? The syntax is terrifying…

He:
Perhaps the ensuing vortex of paradox will create a calm sea of singularity. You see?

She:
Yes. Yes. That’ll be it. *converts household furniture into an ark*

He:
An ark to arc our sparks of speciality.

She:
Spark & spout, cups of cerebral tea.

He:
To tease the trapeze, net safety to appease the skins of our knees: if you please.

She:
I am Siamese if you please. I am Siamese if you don’t please.

He:
Twin towering infernos of desire to rearrange the stranger dogs in mangers.

She:
The less strange dogs may stay, if well-behaved.

He:
Tiptoe elliptical through my two lips.

She:
Lostloud whisperings of lettucekings.

He:
Titanic the iceberg to hush their tones.

She:
Deploy the drones! Deploy the drones!

He:
Unmanned and swarthy tanned, their ploys demanding chancer answers–

She:
Than whose supplied by badger ranchers.

He:
Maybe necromantic du bois blanchers?

She:
Maybe.

He:
A lady to the last!

*With assistance from Carrie Gooding

Return to Index


Perrypathetic

Jack of all trades
With a wide-ranging tariff
Threw down his sheriff’s badge
And moved off to Paris

Mycrofting in The Highlands
Didn’t miss a beat
Just told ‘em to line up
With the meat beat NEETS

Howie and Wilhelm screaming from the trees
You pissant
You pedant
You puissant disease
Chip shop forked tongue
Keith Lemon sole
Got shot of the lot
Laugh? I nearly rock ‘n’ rolled

The quality
Of history was not strained
He ate, shot and left
The bags down the drain

Shylock Sherlock
Cracked the case
For a pound of flesh
Wrapped round his face

Return to Index


The Last Song (Pop-eyed Redux)*

Hey you!
You’re really something
Head in the sand
And arse in the air

Hey you!
You came from nothing
And you’re going
Right back there

Your world’s gone screaming mad!

This is the last song
Boys gone and blew it
Girls gotta chew it
This is the last song
Boys better brace
Girls pull a face
They’re gonna do it to you

Hey you
Ostrich people
No evolution
Wind of change in the air

Hey you
It’s too late for flight
So lay an egg
Or grow a pair

Your world’s gone screaming mad!

This is the last song
Boys gonna screw it
Girls gotta spew it
This is the last song
Cry me a river
Indian giver
They’re gonna do it to you

*With assistance from Paul Welsh

Return to Index


Late Night Before The Morning After

Come closer
Come closer
Speak clearer, my dear
My eyesight is failing
Hearing mighty queer

I can’t make it out
It’s quite indistinct
But have you by chance
Left your drawers in my sink

You went out last night
To paint the town red
De-‘tached and besashed
Paper crown on your head

They gave you some L plates
Portered your glass
Fixed a cute curly-tailed
Ring toss set up your arse

Now head in your hands
You sit quiet as a mouse
As first thing tomorrow
You sit in the House

Return to Index


British Wish Dish

Ready to go
Two dots above the “o”
It’s yeah, yeah, yeah
But I don’t think so

Talk about night
Wanna give a fright
Blank mirror stares
I don’t think it’s right

Don’t sock it to me
With that circuitry
Blah blah birds and beasts
I’m the son of a bee
You may be a sucker
Vain blowing with the whether
No unpukka pucker’s
Gonna pluck my tail feather

Not too late, Kenneth
The hour, not a date
Call me some time
About your brass neck plate

They set me free
Upon the TV
But when I tune in
Where’s the miscellany?

Ghoulish rock
Goulash roll
Horse head in a plot
On the bed of my soul
Bury it deep
Read ‘em ‘n' weep
Give me some room
And I won’t say a peep

Return to Index


Cold, Frank, Incensed, and Meh

“Dream job” is an oxymoron
“Dream paradise” is my half-Bourbon
Look once, think twice, cast fluffy dice
Jade’s one-to-one, and special fried rice

Have you seen someone ‘bout those jumping conclusions
Or confessed in distress to colluded delusions?
Would you skin a manatee to save all humanity
Or boil up its fat for the sake of your vanity?

“Says who?” asks he
“Says she,” say we
Then they teabagged the pot
And set me free

If you’re paid from the public purse
To make things better, and people worse
Your can sweat and toil as a comedy foil
To earn your keep, not swear and curse

You don’t like being the butt of jokes?
Then go wipe the butts of those post-strokes
The ass it sawed right through the angel
Fished its cake, its dog and mange: all

Avoiding laying with its fleas
So not to catch social dis-ease
He locks the door, the Sitzpinkler
Turns up his iPod, and pees

Fuck you, very much indeed
Planting a seed for children in need
Sorry, mum; won’t do it again
The last of my brain’s dribbled down the drain

I’d run a marathon but for functioning-knee theft
Or retire to Sussex if there were any bees left
Been done and gone and I’m feeling bereft
My palatte’s base, not triple-cleft

I watched a prawn once.
It was all pink and fleshy
Looked quite disgusting;
Tasted nice though: messy!

Return to Index


Passive Fake Octopus Of My Headsounds

Rum punch hunch bunch
Short ‘n curlies in a scrunchie
A Munchkin moment
On a brick road stained
Stained by the extracts
From a mithering abstraction
Of what once was the main attraction
A fatal distraction
Post anti-navel

Extra-venus
Intra-venous
Don’t try and nail that strychnine-flavoured jelly to the wall
Play School has just finished so now it’s time to be cool

A Swisskit
A Slanket
My kingdom for a loose fit
I stalked the nightmare dusky bastion
In search of some Eng. Lit.

Your gardening’s off the Butchart
Left feeling diddled by National Health
St. James’ infirmity was the ward
Your truss went south

Airfix kit
Labradoodle
I visited the sites
I hid from a black dog bare in Colorado
Asked how the bride felt on the streets of Laredo

While my unopened post ignored your injunction
Revelling in depths of deprecated function
Bin Resigned
Bin Expelled

Return to Index


Yolo/ono

Down on my knees and I don’t mind crying
It’s farther to the bees than the Bolan shrine
“No” leaves ivy’s creeping woody vine
Went looking for a match but I ended up dying

Your nut, old son, looks like a Brazilian
Down on your one, two, three knees
To cover it like EJ would cost half a million
Bitter tasting almonds scoring the cricket tease

Yolo-lo and a bottle of rum
The perfect night out kept the blues on the run
And in the morning you got a divorce
After she came like Henry the Horse
Dance that waltz!

Sitting on a hilltop thinking about flying
Or throwing myself down the shaft of a mine
Instead of slopping in a bucket for want of a spine
My ace: your farce, kitemarked, spin-drying

I can’t refuse your offer – too super-Sicilian
For blue skies whither sore eye sees
Just hold on tight every time you ride pillion
Got a second-hand cough and small amount of wheeze

Return to Index


Free Daze Of Labour

B-lister skinned round
In the other team’s van
Fired an X-Certette missive
Down your throat from her hand
And on the way back
Just for the craic
Waxed lyrical on the size of your sac
As if that weren’t a fnuff

Return to Index


Return to The Splanchnic Verses

This page © Kevin Mitchell, 2011.