Verse Like What?

The lyrical musings of Kevin Mitchell et al, October 2005 — 19 December 2010.


16th n Mission
11436 Miles

A Short Fantasy
As You Wish

B Ark
Baa Code
Back & To The Left
Beauty Killed The Beast
Burn Your Brains

Catwalk Smile
Change The Record
Chill, Winston
Chris Moyles Chant
Closet Beautiful

Dead Women (Don't Say "No!")
Dear Boss
Different Drummings (Pts. 1 & 2)
Do Ye Ken. . ?

Eli vs. Le Pres
Emotes & Beams
Essential Cannibalism (Delicious Hot Or Cold)

Feltham Prison Blues
50, 47, 15, 65 Hike
Fingers To Spare
Fundamental Interactions

Gasoline Queen
Get That Bus Out, Butler
Get Up And Boogie
Gut Cook Pie

Half-Term Report
Hullo! Baloo

I Can't Believe It's Not Better!
I Don't Know About Art (But I Know What I Like)
Insensitive Creep

Karma, Suits You

Modesty Ablaze
Mommy And I Are One
Mother Nature's Son


Reading Upside Down
Retirement Yellow
Rhyme Crime

Shades Of Miltonia
Sick At The Mouth
So You Think Dark Glasses Are Wasted On Daylight?
√All Evil

The Ballad Of The Magical Slouchenouchengrouchen Tree
The Biggest Little Man In The World Of Adventure
The Fragile Macabre
The Man (Who Shot The Man (Who Shot The Man))
The March Of The Model Professionals
The Vincent Price Is Right
Trauma Ties

Unfit For Human Consumption
Ursa Boner

Verse For Darren

We Need To Talk
What A Cnut


Beauty Killed The Beast

Well old King Kong, he did no wrong
At home he was mighty and strong
Shoulda left him on the island where he belonged
But they put him on stage in a cage

Now Kong he was no Great Grape Ape
A god, not a hapless cartoon jape
And it bent the natives outta shape
When they put him on stage in a cage

Did you watch it all on the silver screen
Falling sailors in the lost ravine / spider scene: did you scream?
And did you cry as the West met the East?
Plunging wounded, thirteen-fifty feet to death as beauty killed the beast

A fify foot monster does what he shouldn’ta oughtta
When he gets to feel like a fish outta water
Grabbed the girl; high and low he saught her
Once he got free of that stage in a cage

So they shot him down as he took the blame
But they resurrected him all the same
Once they found that Jap Godzilla wouldn’t be tamed
And they couldn’t put him on stage in a cage

Did you watch the remake on video?
Lange’s Dwan no match for Wray as Ann Darrow, oh God no!
Will they make a monkey outta you once again?
Beauty still kills the beast as they count the pounds, dollars, and yen

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I tried to call, but you never heard it ring
You came by my house, and I wasn’t there
But then when you, finally got in touch
You said that I’d been avoiding you

We planned to meet, and you got the wrong address
We tried again, and mixed up the times
I left you a message, and it got erased
Even sent a text, it went to someone else

Please don’t take it personally
I can’t believe this is happening to me
It’s out of my hands, out of my hands
I feel like the world is trying to keep us apart
You’re not getting my messages
I’m not playing with your heart
Why can’t you see it’s not just me, it’s not just me

I know you don’t, believe in astrology
But can’t you see, we’re a compatible pair?
Just give it some time, the planets are on the move
We just need to get through, this glitch with Mercury

*By Erin McNamara

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The Fragile Macabre

She sits and stares at the Jersey shore
Could the East Coast Miss Le Breton ever ask for more?
But there’s an ill-wind blowing in across the bay
So hold on to yourself
Don’t turn your back on your friends
Or it’ll sweep your dreams away

Born and bred from ‘89
Though the '60s really were your time
With your hippy hats and angel wings
Read some more books
And count your tips
Thank yourself for everything

Oh Susannah
Did you really mean what you said?
The world can be a crummy place
But would we really all be beter off dead?
And I don’t wanna put words into your mouth
Or steal what’s inside your head
But oh Susannah
You’ve filled my boots with lead

Failure’s always sounded better
And everybody dies from life
Yet it’s the insane trivialities
That cut me like a knife

See the patterns in everything
Or is it all just really random
Depending on whether you’re high or low
Reshuffle those cards
And cut the pack
Then deal with what you’re thrown

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Reading Upside Down*

George Dubya, I loves ya
I really loves ya and that’s a fact
For invoking Homeland Security and enforcing The Patriot Act

I feels so safe at home
I didn't have to move to New Zealand
No really, honest to God, I did it for no reason

Oh George, I wish this term wouldn’t end
I have never been so proud to be an American
Who minds giving up a little freedom if it takes away the fear
When I think of you in the oval office I just grin from ear to ear

Too bad you can't stand thrice
As I'd vote for ya any day
Anything to stop those leftist commie pinkos getting their way

Imagine Arnie as your running mate
The best goddamn ticket ever
He can act better than The Gipper and your so mighty clever

Then the world will see the error of its ways
There’ll be burnings of the Koran
And just for you, the Second Coming, ‘cause Dubya, you’re the man

*With assistance from Erin McNamara

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Retirement Yellow

They always said you didn’t have the cojones
To progress much beyond middle-grade
But you cocked a secret snook at them all
Reading stocks and shares were the things to trade
So when the fledglings flew the nest
Trying to side-step your mid-life crisis
You cashed in all your investments
And bought that bungalow in Highcliffe

No more having to keep up with the Jones’
The Rat Race a thing now of the past
And basking there in the conservatory
You liken the tint to life to the rosé in your glass
Yet just like the pressed primroses of your youth
Your whole world has ever become more faded
What price to trade an anonymous past
For a future too nondescript even to call jaded?

Give me the strength to never be like him
I want to live until the day I die
I want to climb the highest peaks
To fulfill all my dreams
And sign off with a smile not a sigh

Now there’s no time left to contemplate
Your wrinkled navel never held the answer
Kirsty send her best regards from up the Amazon
And little Billy wants to be a dancer
A lifetime schemingly spent a-searchin’
Didn’t even find the pudding, let alone the proof
So you trim the hedge and edge the lawn one final time
In the countdown to embrace the eternal truth

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16th n Mission*

Ran down to the corner
Trying to find big Jay
I swear I ain't got a problem
I can stop this any day

But right now I need him
And I need him quick
I’m coming down hard
I hear he’s got new shit

Forty bucks in my pocket
And my veins are itchin’
You can get anything you want
At 16th n Mission

I’m looking around
But he ain't anywhere I see
I drop down with the winos
Hang out on one knee

I’m trying to look cool
As hipsters make their way
With burritos from Pancho Villa
I nod, show 'em I’m okay

*By Erin McNamara

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11436 Miles*

The sun shines down upon my head
But I am missing a major thread
It cuts through my heart like a knife
I should be having the time of my life

The space between us is so giant
It’s the airwaves on which we are reliant
But when you speak into my ear
It sounds like you are right here

Globalization has got me up
It’s got me down
Phone and email just ain't enough
I only long for your touch
Eleven thousand four hundred thirty six miles
Before you will see me smile!

Sometimes you visit in my dreams
And it all ends up in extremes
Which is great until I waken
And then it just feels like you’ve been taken

I’ve started counting down the days
The distance on me weighs
Not just the miles but the hours
Sometimes my esteem it devours

*By Erin McNamara

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Feltham Prison Blues*

I hear the trolley a comin'
It's rolling down the aisle
And I ain't seen the sunshine for the longest while
I'm stuck in Feltham prison; long since I had my fill
But that trolley keeps a rollin' to the self-service till

When I was just a baby, my mama told me: "Son
"Whenever you go shopping, don't ever play with guns"
But I shot a man in Tesco just to watch him die
Now every time I hear that wheel squeaking I hang my head and cry

I bet there's rich folks eating in the cafeteria
They're probably drinkin' coffee and eating caviar
Well I know I had it coming, I know I can't be free
But those prices keep a droppin'
And that's what tortures me

Well if they'd free me from this prison
If that trolley would be mine
I bet I'd just barge in a little further down the line
Far from Feltham prison, that's where I want to stay
And I'd let that lonesone checkout bleep my blues away

*With assistance from Andrew Knott

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Chris Moyles Chant*

Roly-poly dickhead
Get him off, son

Who's a cunt?
He's a cunt
Big fat cunt

*With assistance from Andrew Knott

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Dead Women (Don't Say “No!”)

Here we all are: the hottest summer in years
Yet the rain’s coming down like the great God Almighty’s tears
I guess he ain’t a big fan of the Manfred Mann
But get off of their back, cut them some slack
And take it out on me instead

So you can sing it and shout it
As much as you like
You can sing it and shout it
I give you the right
But listen to The Pig
And remember, wherever you go
Never, never even suggest that
Dead women don’t say “No!”

It’s hard to believe they were in such a fix
Just like punk hadn’t happened for the masses back in ‘76
But I’ve read the book and I’ve worn the shirt
Of course I listened to the show: “That was And You & I by Yes
“And here’s the first in tonight’s session from Napalm Death”

In session tonight
In session tonight
In session tonight
In session tonight

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Get That Bus Out, Butler

I wanna take you by the hand
Lead you through the streets of London
And it’s just as well these days I prefer to walk
Can’t take you riding in my car car
‘Cause I lack the urge for the Congestion Charge
The last time I took the tube
Seemed I was waiting at the lost North End

And though you used to be able to go faster
Upon the old Routemaster
The last 159’s disappeared down Streatham Hill
There’s been a mutiny on the buses
Some say they can’t see what the fuss it
And everything must move along with the times

So it’s get that bus out, Butler
It no longer passes muster
And Albert, tell those Double Deckers
To wait in for the wreckers
They’ve gone and changed the old guard
And sent her down the scrap yard
What use is 9 litres of diesel
If it can’t please all the people?

Harken back to the ‘60s
When Engerland swung like a pendulum do
As Nobby danced a toothless smile
With the Carnabetian army marching on
It was all Union Flags and hot dogs
Mary Quant and Twiggy
And Brian Jones didn’t just wanna hold your hand

People flocked from far and wide
Tussaud’s and The Tower. Cometh the hour
Cometh the modern transport of delight
Driving them all through the capital
Picture postcard perfect
The omnipresent red machine

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What A Cnut

It was just after 1015
Don’t know if it was a Saturday night
But that November
When Edmund caught an iron in his side
And with a cure nowhere to be found
Danegeld no longer seemed such a good idea

Murderous musical chairs
You were either for me or were dead
And now no amount of contrition
Can buy salvation for my soul

But now don’t question my sobriety
Or misconstrue my act of piety
Would you really I rather
Spoke on with forkbeard like my father?

Whether on Bosham beach or the Thames shore
You couldn’t hold them back
And the crowd didn’t ask for more
Your staid hope and ambitions
Swept away by a new wave
Just as history’s seen it happen
So many times since then

Now I’ve got Denmark
I’ve got Norway
And I’ve made peace with the Scots
So I’ll be off to Rome
And hope you’ll soon forget the rot

In the long run it won’t even matter
You clamouring earls dream of growing fatter
But look across the sea and read the warning
Beware of the stormin’ Normans

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Baa Code

Summer’s not even here
And the time is right for fear and loathing
Coming soon to a town near you
From the wolves in the emperor’s new clothing

There’s automated police paparazzi on every corner
Can’t have you driving down a fox drunk, smoking a cigar
Chip ‘n’ pin monitors your every financial transaction
And just wait and see what they wanna put inside your car

But if that’s alright with you
And you wanna be
Wanna be
Just another hapless jumbuck
Stowed in the great tucker bag
Of dirty tricks
Of the powers that be
Powers that be

And you’ve got nothing to fear
If you’ve got nothing to hide
You’ve got nothing to fear
If you’ve got nothing to hide
You’ve got nothing to fear
If you’ve got nothing to hide
But who’ll be the judge of that, I ask you
Seems freedom’s gone just a little askew

Time to pull the plug on this Ipswich witch hunt
Leave surpassing Orwell to the A14
You’re ‘king’ of the who? I didn’t vote for you
There’s too much shadowy play it’s time to tear down the screen

Even they had enough of the blind man’s bluff
And will the one-eyed man ever be king?
Or will we be Camerooned on this deserted island
Standing round waiting for the next sanctioned sting

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Do Ye Ken..?*

Feels like I’m barking at the gramophone
Still it’s better than auditioning for Larry Parnes
As interpretation redeems diction
And though I haven’t a clue what I’m doing
I know God loves a little bird

I may not be red-brested or robbing
Needy for a check-up from the neck up
But you can get on your knees and pray to Onan
To be free as The Magic Numbers
Left with nothing to treasure but a butt-full of fuck

Never thought I’d like maggots better than flies
Never thought I’d choose frail waifs to hunky guys
Never thought I’d end up explaining the wherefores and whys
Never thought I’d ever have to say my goodbyes

It might, to you, sound just like Heaven
But you should know that I’ve been through Hell
Just ‘cause the Devil’s dragged you below his level
There’s no need to send the family postcards
And be content to take me there as well

Never thought I’d worm the truth out of your lies
Never thought I’d prefer banana skins to custard pies
Never thought the whole world wore a disguise
Never thought I’d ever say “Would you like fries?”

Adieu, my friends, I can stay with you no longer
“Sorry” seems to be but the second hardest word
When you’ve been clocked more times than a seventh hand Cortina
And the bags under your eyes seem liked they’ve already been packed
It’s time to break free of the herd

*With assistance from Nicola Glaister & Andrew Knott

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Eli vs. Le Pres

Have you ever
Walked the line between good and evil?
Or have you ever
Writhed in the dirt feeling like a discarded mezcal worm?

Did you ever
Back the loser in a two-horse race?
And did you ever
Save face trunk-calling on a sibling to gerrymander?

I have never
Seen the world much beyond my porch screen door
Or been troubled more
Than by how to sex a squirming cricket frog
But hallelujah
Praise where it’s due
I’ve never felt so smart
Since imagining you sincerely give alms to God

Could you ever
Foresee Mohammad taking tea with Jesus?
And could you ever
Gain employment elsewhere as a muddling lycanthrophobe?

Would you ever
Push come to shove throw the switch yourself?
Or would you ever
Dissemble to the masses the mandate of the West Coast Nazi?

Your daddy weren’t no bankrobber
He preferred just to snert people
And to drill for Lone Star oil
And commune with fellow human weevils

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Gut Cook Pie

He sits there strummin’ out the rhythm
Just like he has since ages past
And it mezmorises all the ‘gators
Good thing ‘cause these days he don’t move so fast
Though fingers are keen and nimble
His body’s static and statuesque
And to those who can remember
He’s nothing but the very best

Let’s hear it now for
The lowdown swamp blues-boogie king
Gut Cook Pie

You better run go ask your pappy
‘Cause you won’t find him on the Net
Or the tape stall down Camden market
He’s never been that trendy yet
But if you end up in the boondocks
With no rush to make the beaten track
You’d be advised to seek him out
Just be sure to take along some Jack

He woke up one morning
Tired of playing Chess
In the zydeko echo
Baby, you can guess the rest

He sits there pickin’ out the rhythm
Like ever since days of yore
All he wanted was to be three
That’s son of two: father of four
‘Cause no big leg Emma
Ever scared the Hell out of him
How’d you think he got the nickname
And managed to stay so trim

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Trauma Ties

Your name was down for the best school
And Auntie Glenda opened up a savings account
Almost before you were were born
Look right, look left, look right again
Remember to wash behind your ears
And don’t talk to strangers
We always fancied you the talk of the town
But never this way

Now it’s only the trauma that ties us
Though it will surely drive us apart
We’re through with the TV appeals
The bedroom shrine untouched
Save for the bouquets and lilied scent

If only we could jump back through time
Never ever be late, make you walk home
Or let you play after dark
We tried so hard not to turn your hopes into tears
But the wind of fortune changed so you shall always remain
In the anonymous shallow tomb of the marmite soldier
Scratched out by the nails of the coffin machine
And that woman of murder

Now it’s only the trauma that ties us
Though it will surely drive us apart
No more shady PI deals
Police and press delving into our past
As subtle as a wrecking ball

Now it’s only the trauma that ties us
Though it will surely drive us apart
Hindsight is such a wonderful thing
They say that new measures will save lives
Lest we forget everyone dies

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I know you couldn’t stand that movie
But that’s the kind of thing I like
Anything that goes with crackers or wine
And don’t act like we’re in the Third Reich

Sometimes I gotta hear those pop stars
Crooning about their long lost love
I wanna melt it and pour it over macaroni
Now I’m waiting for you to give me a shove

I’ve got a love affair
with Fromager d’Affinois
Wild, gooey, creamy, oh so yum
I can hardly believe it’s not triple cream
 Just dreaming about it makes me want to…

Going to Fridy’s last night was really fun
The waiter was just oh so charming
I could just slice him up and eat him with fruit
Tho you wanted to punch his smarmy face in

I just wanna layz in bed reading Danielle Steele
And imagine I am filthy rich
Get it all melty in a toaster sammich
And hope it doesn’t leave you in a snitch

*By Erin Mc Namara

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Insensitive Creep*

I have always tried to be strong
To be independent
I think I’ve done a pretty good job
So far

You make me crazy
Not in a good way
You hurt my feelings
At least once a day
I feel like I am ripping
This stuff out of me
My entrails left hanging
Out for all to see

Although I like things to be new
I have always lived 
My life more in the middle than
I want

You’ve got to see this isn’t easy
I’m laying myself out
I feel like I am waiting for you to
Save me

*By Erin McNamara

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Essential Cannibalism (Delicious Hot Or Cold)*

I’m the veggie that toils in the slaughterhouse
Blood-drain the bovine; rip out their eyes
All in a day’s work when your life’s nothing
But McShit and lies

I’d be so pleased to meat you
You’re really quite a dish
Delicious hot or cold, I’m sure
I love to dine by candlelight
And I’m chilling the wine
‘Cause tonight’s the night

Speak or hear no evil, though this monkey see
And monkey do scoop out your brains
With a runcible spoon you’re going up in a puff of frop
The SubGenius in me

Now I’m laying out my own cookbook
The Internet will publish anything
So I’m just a virtual chef in my own little world

*With assistance from Andrew Knott

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Catwalk Smile

You can learn Japanese;
Lampblack kenji with ease
Swing from the trees
Tend to flirt, be a tease
Or bring the world to its knees
Maybe ride a cock horse
Banbury Cross of course
Unlike Lady Godiva
Well, not for under a fiver!

You can’t buy style
It’s a mini fucking adventure
From leafy Surrey lanes
To the Milan circo nervioso
Like St Nic’s cat
Better to be oh so
Seldom scene: part of the herd
And keep that catwalk smile

Endurance rally in the dark:
Col de Turini for a lark
Or just learn to park
Be a snake, be a shark
Or go hunting for the Snark
Trampoline to the stars
Discover life on Mars
Tread the boards; win awards
For designing fjords

Become the latest craze
Never cease to amaze
Innovate new ways
Enjoy halcyon days
Ask your boss for a raise
Never be sold short
Swap your pint for a quart
And as a last resort
Fall back on a witty retort

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B Ark

Too many laws protecting the rights of stupid people
How on Earth now is the species ever gonna evolve

Breeding like Catholics. Behaving like muppets. The credo of Devo
Draining resources the time has come for a crack ho’s pipe ban

Don’t quote me statistics: if you’re not Chinese, odds on you’re a moron
With a gene pool so shallow your sperm don’t swim so much as paddle

Wasting time; costing more than a plague of rampaging foxes
Just thank yourself lucky no one ever suggested hunting down you

Einstein was unsure about the infinity of the Universe
Still seems big enough that our paths need never cross again

Forget probing Mars; deep space is where it’s at
This one-way shuttle can never be a disaster

Wish you luck as we wave you goodbye
Cheerio, there you go, on your way

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I Don’t Know About Art (But I Know What I Like)

Read about it in a science journal
The morbid craze sweeping across the nation
Think Humbrol meets Damien Hirst
Now you can have your own creation

Got a chemistry set for Christmas
And an old bell jar will do for mice
Soon I’ll work my way up to grandpa
The old coot won’t need telling twice

You want to do what, my son?
Don’t like the boiling acetone in your voice
Get your epoxy resin out of my house
And so it came to pass that
Teenage Frankenstein sailed away
On a wave of plastination

At first a bigger vacuum was the problem
Converted Ted’s shower, ‘cause he’s a bit soft
The cureing space was a piece of piss
Told him it beats growing pot in the loft

Now we curb-crawl at night in his pick-up
Happy hookers seem the best to attack
Like to keep ‘em warm so we use chloroform
And gaffa tape, then sling them in the back

You want to do what, my son?
Don’t like the boiling acetone in your voice
Get your epoxy resin out of my house
And so it came to pass that
Teenage Frankenstein sailed away
On a wave of plastination

OK, so never work with a halfwit
Igor had to go and blog his exploits
Took up a whole episode of Crimewatch
Good job I had a one-way ticket to Sandoy

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Shades Of Miltonia

It’s Friday, it’s five to five
And there you are stood on the doorstep
All Lily Savage and electronic tags
Screaming for the kids in your dressing-gown
To go and buy you some fags

Your old man’s crashed out again
Watching Jethro in his Y-fronts
‘Cause he’s seen all of The A-Team
He loves you and can’t bear to leave you
So he hasn’t had a job since the '80s

Choose from the brick yard
Maybe even the laundry
And for the women Allen Payne
Then get put up the stick factory
Another life goes down the drain

Wait for the highlight of the week
No slaving over the microwave
When the chip van comes a-calling
Bolt it down quick then off to the pub
For some piss it up against the walling

Then it’s signing on next Tuesday
Too much hassle to catch the bus
So you declare your sloth by post
Sit back and wait for your giro to come
With another round of tea and toast

Choose from the tabloids
Maybe even Penthouse
And for the women there’s always More
Then get halfway through the crossword
But put it down for Final Score

And now you’re off on holiday
Your brother knows a man with a caravan
And you can have it for next to free
So you all pile into the borrowed Transit
With motorbike tax and no MOT

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Gasoline Queen*

Gasoline queen
Gasoline queen
She’s the sole creator of the teenage dream

Highway cruisin’, turbo-charged injection with fire
Life’s just one long quarter mile and I’m taking it to the wire
Lookin’ out for a good time ain’t no crime
And she hits that sweet spot every time

Gasoline queen
Gasoline queen
Drive until I die, you know what I mean

Burnin’ rubber, foot to the floor fuels my desire
When it feels I’ve reached the peak, nitrous takes me higher
Roll back the soft-top and rock with the radio
Drive into a world that nobody knows

*With assistance from Paul Welsh

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Sick At The Mouth

Ladies and Gentlemen, step inside

The pink Champagne on ice
The pitch and tone of voice
The lighting, soft and low
Nature says:”Time to go.”

Footloose and free
And every night
It’s the time of my life
But I know

Antoine’s oyster bar
Silk sheets and robes of fur
Don’t blame Eydie Gormé
Just let the music play

Say what I see
It’s the best of the bits

Terpsichore, work the pole
Pierides, oh so droll
Mine, not to stand askance
We join in merry dance

Spirit of ecstasy

Every day I take a pinch
To ensure I’m awake and not dreaming

Wouldn’t want to sleep through this
Bluebirds chorus dawn at six
As herald angels arc the mist
That’s all you need to know

But if you were me, you’d be sick at the mouth
If you were me, you’d be sick at the mouth

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Back & To The Left

Everyone’s their own artist
If only painting by numbers
Falling on your face as an artform
It’s just your arm, Alan
Wait awhile and see the amputations

A great rubbing of parts
Welcome to the life of Byron
Immaculate infection
It’s my human right
I’ll burn in Hell if I want to

If you’re really saying something
Please just tell us what it is
Illuminate us to the matter
O’ whether you’re the intellectual messiah
Suffering fools so we don’t have to
Suffering fools so we don’t have to
Though it’s written through you like in B.pool candy
You should go back and to the left

Take a one bamboo
Bildungsromans in Britain
Silence equals death
Go lie down in the strangers’ field
I don’t aspire to the crooked sheeple

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The Biggest Little Man In The World Of Adventure

“Jackson first appeared in 1971 with a variety of figures and accessories…
came in a variety of hair colours…
and with or without a beard; there was even a black Jackson figure…
additional items necessary for globe-trotting adventures could be purchased…
meant to be a wide-ranging, catch-all figure to appeal to any boy's sense of adventure, whatever form the kid's imagination could take.”

Juvenile conviviality
Brings Dunder and Blixem round for tea
Spread your craft like Dairylea
And see who get their bumsrush on TV

Love a glove or chimpanzee
Blowing bubbles hyperbaricly
Mask if you’re in or out your tree
Been better with a daughter of Reg Presley

Summon the twelve in majesty
Pay homage to diverse rhinoplasty
Not such a wiz, more Prof JC
Even hillsides tell Coke from Pepsi

Moonwalk your way to bankruptcy
Those northern songs belong to McCartney
Just say, say, say what you see
And, try not to drop the baby

No canes in excess in the closet
Crew LT: EO did duty free
GI Joe’s gone and lost his deposit
AJ’s with Evel. And Steve

Off the wall, invincible: history
Dangerous, bad victory
Blood on the dance floor: got to be
There, forever m-m-music in me

 “What’s on?” It’s elementary
Zombie thrills repeatedly
Pop goes the king, his land grace free
From now on it’s “I” and “me”

“But the line received a blow from which it never really recovered…
additional accessories, playsets, and even a female…
were introduced, but…
it was all over.
However, some good did come out of Jackson's failure. In an attempt to bounce back from the loss while at the same time cutting costs…
re-used the bodies…
in a new line  to be launched in…
the World's Greatest Superheroes. This…
line would reap the parent company millions over the next several years.”

Return to Index



Fuelled on pomp and ProPlus
LAL’d in the chat
Twittering upstarts' content
Who else’d ever print that?

Back seat taxi driver
Coming to your Kool-Aid
Cleaning streets by proxy
Karmageddon GTA’d

Hey-ho, just couldn’t let it go
Brain kept a-trollin’ all night long
It’s just a click away
It’s just a click away
Come on baby, cause a dot-commotion

Radio Five Aliver
Run that up your flagpole
Majestic froth and firmament
Monkey nuts for the proles

Deep raging inferno
Burning into the night
Homing beacon zeitgeist
Spoiling, if not bright

Lizzy Bardsley took an axe
To Kerry’s effigy in wax
When they saw what she had done
Jack and Jade emailed The Sun

Return to Index

As You Wish

Went in search of iced tea
And the delectably feisty
Pound to a pinch, returned without a scratch
Yet some things keep
A nagging never sated by time passed
So “bottoms up,” another down the hatch

Proposed to her at Tiffany’s over breakfast
She countered with a torpid overwinter
A succulent and over-ripened pawpaw
To my wan and apostatic splinter

I seek basic honesty
Not being impaled by Mr Pointy
Heart at stake
Same mistake
Thought it was a snake
And hit it with a rake

From a pat on the back to a kick in the arse
It’s only 18 inches
Or maybe just a foot in my own mouth
In your own words it sounds absurd
Life’s one big PBR, man
Still it seems things have proceeded south

Counter-parried passing through the Bosphorus
As Thrace and Anatolia looked on
A riposte more apt to jousting hubris
Told me it was going, going, gone

Endeavour to persevere
In sight or spite of passion
The tortoise taught us how to race the hare
Knowing when to whip it
Out-jump the jumbuck
Makes Easter bunny game at the fair

In space the crux, though no one hears you screaming,
Through darkest night the Moon’s always aglow
Take solace in Aurora Australis
Asylumed in Rodrigo’s portico

Return to Index

Modesty Ablaze

Some people hide their light under a bushel
Whilst others tick the ‘no publicity’ box
But if one’s blessed with God’s gifts aplenty
I think telling the whole wide world rocks

The town crier can shout it from the rooftops
The affected take a full page in The Times
Roger might turn it out as a ballet
As for me, I’ve used music and rhyme

I’ve out-fought the muscular
Out-stalked the crepuscular
I’ve out-thought the brainiacs
Out-weirded the maniacs
I’ve out-toiled the workers
I’ve out-lazed the shirkers
Out-romanced the lovers
Out-mothered the mothers

Fame seeks anonymity of charity
The superpowered bask in noms de guerre
Secret honours conferred in camera
But frankly I haven’t got a care

Beowulfwhistling from the sidelines
Awaiting capture in epic verse
Heroic and stoic is boring
So let’s put some art before the hearse

I’ve out-foxed the huntsmen
Out-Seavered the stuntmen
I’ve out-trumped the acers
Out-paced the racers
I’ve out-gazed the starers
I’ve out-cared the carers
Out-sistered the brothers
Out-everythinged the others

Return to Index

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Better!

I don’t possess great physique
I get bored by mid-week
Excepting two weeks of August
In Grange Villa slashing leeks
Studied figures of speech
Still their ken’s beyond my reach
So mark my words:
“Be wary of the gift-horse-bearing Greeks”

Got followed by a film crew
Undertook all they wished
Indiscriminate crossbowery
How to gut and eat live fish
Alas my social mores
Adorn cutting room floors
Unfit for consumption
By the great undished

Didn’t quite catch what you said
Still, it went straight to my head
Hovis has left the building
Better dead than ill-bred
Tried using my loaf
Was it stale or the ale?
After scant consideration
Everything turned red

Am I yokel? Am I local
Well I’m right here in your face
And if that makes you uncomfortable
You'll never stand the pace
With Crazy Horse and Swanee, Jet Black
G-Plan and Matt The Hat
And the guy who did
Unspeakable things with a sword and cat

They’ve shouted time to go
So with a skanky heigh-ho
Down on all-fours, displaying her drawers
Hark, hear the cattle low
‘Cause I’m a generous tipper
But the waiters, they must wait
Form a disorderly queue
Behind the stile by the gate

Where left-associative grandma
Still stands staunch atop the pyre
For her own sake bound to a stake
Hemp roped and bailing wired
Asked for a match and it kicked off
With “your face and my arse”
Uppie squared up to Downie
Ensued a mud and stubble farce.

Are we yokels? Are we locals?
Well we’re right here in your face
If that doesn’t make you uncomfortable
You belong here in this place
With Trunky and the Lintott, Trapp
The Watermelon Man
The monkey in the phonebox
And “No go Sheephatch” Stan

When the credits of life roll
Sort the diamonds from the coal
Save from ‘man in balaclava”
So they wouldn’t stop his dole
In every corner of the realm
A sense of underwhelm
National discourse on Creation
With Alan Smithee at the helm

Return to Index

Mommy And I Are One

She told ‘em ‘bout the honey
And what makes batter runny
Bit o’ lemon pancake heartache
Creeping round souls of pure crêpes
Comes across plain feckless
Just another dog’s breakfast
From the house of Hubbard
Or so it was discovered

Strictly sunny-side up
Don’t even win the egg cup
And all the tea in China
Sometimes it feels like Dinah
She Vegemite go for it
Plain ignoring the forfeit
Down the snake back to the start
A la Helena Handcart

Never cared much for hardway juice
And Daddy’s been out-sourced
Smörgåsbord and on the loose
Banquo’s banquet on course

Gonna take up comfort eating
Been told it takes some beating
Or maybe that was diet
Still, I’d prefer to fry it
T-bone in garlic butter
A CJD’d rampant rutter
A shot-through hart and you’re blamed
For giving it a bad name

Coq au vin’s a good start
A roasting in the car park
So let’s get finger lickin’
You play whining chicken
And C five H eleven
Or nearest offered Heaven
Strategically to mask it
The writhing in your basket

If you could see the signs
And read between the lines
You’d come to understand
That everything’s just fine
Mommy and I are one
Never had so much fun
Not even hurting flies
And we’ve only just begun

Return to Index

Fundamental Interactions

Standard model physical
Cosmic Raybans and spin
If I didn’t impress you with my hadron
You had me sold on your fermions
Not my type
But, oh the quark of fate

High energy collision
We came in many flavours
Went at it up and down
From top to bottom
Every which way baryon
Accelerated particles
Availed both charm and strange
The fundamental constituent of the matter
Broke free of the symmetry group
Vector gauge bosons
Never tried it with a gluon before
Such total angular momentum
Colour change
Led to inverted beta decay

Father said: “Meson,
Satisfaction means interaction
With little inelastic scattering
Unless you’re seeking the main reaction."

Return to Index


What schmatta?
Could just as easily
Be an Emanuel to me
Lying like life’s a bed of poses
Sauteed in your own nutter butter
Pick it up and walk

Mad hatter
Joined the tea party
For two, at 2:40
Ignore the national hunts and haughty
Even fields of play have poppy days
We give thanks and praise

All rise
And sing hymn number
That’s how much you mean to me

Yes son, no Sun
Three black bin bags of bows
And riven baggage for the porter
His schematic drawn daughter
Bloodied with a pencil
Led like a horse to water

Cropped circles within circles
Wield wheals within wheels
On which butterflies are broken
You and tsunami can only stop us now

Return to Index

Fingers To Spare

Round the table there’s Erol, Cal and Mylo
Together with The Boyle and Ms Klass
All set to discuss Alex Turner’s prize
While I’m walking backwards in heavy disguise

But I don’t care
You haven’t a prayer
‘Cause without fingers to spare
I won’t be there

They’re changing the guard at Buckingham Palace
Christopher Robin went down with swine flu
Alice is marrying one of the guard
But CR’s back at home playing with Pooh in the yard

The fact laid bare
She hadn’t a prayer
That without fingers to spare
He wouldn’t be there

This Is Your Life at the top of the hour
To play at tributes they’ve flocked from near and then
I’m off into the sunset on an Orinoco barge
Holed up in the galley sifting Farine de ménage
Sail away, sail away
Sail away, sail away

Oh yeah, I don’t care
Don’t tell me you’re ma soeur or br’er
When they doled out gregarity with plenty to spare
RSVP’d “I’m washing Goodhew’s hair”

Not by appointment to the Queen, the Pope or Mandy
Like trap one graffito ‘artist’ ain’t seeing me next Tuesday
Cajole, badger, behove
Be crafty, veiled and shrewd
Still you can sing your blues to the invisible man
I refer my learned friends to Arkell v Pressdram

You may like to share
Bathe in public glare
But without fingers to spare
I won’t be there
You can stand and stare
Or curse and swear
While I’m force-fielded
In my Brat Cave lair

Return to Index

The Man (Who Shot The Man (Who Shot The Man))

Didn’t see me on that grassy knoll in Dallas
My mind deceived Zapruder’s camera’s eye
I stood and lurked in DPHQ’s basement
When Oswald went to the sweet by and by

I’ve overlooked a motel room in Memphis
Paid lethal tribute to another king
Had a ball at The Ambassador
Made sure that Chapman got to do his thing

Who am I?
I could be “X”
The national insecurity hex
I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you
I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you too
I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you
I could tell you, but you get the picture?
Let’s just say: “I’m not the man
“I’m not the man who shot the man
“I’m the man who shot the man who shot the man”

But it’s not all bada bing!

Propped up the Shahanshah in Iran
Watched Saddam’s back then put him on the rack
Helped arm warlords fighting in the ‘Stan
Ensured that Noriega got ‘the sack’

Didn’t contradict Col. North and the Contras
Don’t even bother mentioning Vietnam
Smiled when the French sank Rainbow Warrior
And ensured that Kyoto was just a sham

Try as I might we couldn’t get to Castro
But Kim Jong Il, he’d better watch his step
Whenever paranoia finds us threatened
Be sure the secret legion will cry: “Hep!”

Return to Index


Fell asleep in my train of thought
Woke up in the Neasden of your mind
Seems it’s not just Sid and Doris who are bonkers
And a good’n’s getting pretty hard to find

You’d stand at the foot of my gallows, stealing hearts
Like Mrs Lovett doling 2d tarts
A reign of terror performed sans-culottes
Where your “haves”  ceaselessly decry “have-nots”

What you think
What you write
What you say
What you do
That’s why you’re my
That’s why you’re my, my, my my…
And Babygroman doesn’t understand
This fabulous ruin wasn’t in the plan
More than just so much face-kicked sand
The anguished cry rings throughout the land

Remember the great emotional baggage strike?
The time you told me to go take a hike
And build a bridge between the twin peaks
Or to play endless hide and no seek

Don’t tell me you like your bread brown
I’m coming up, don’t be going down
And down and down and down and down to
The sound 6’ underground

Return to Index

Closet Beautiful*

Freeze, don't move
You've been chosen as an extra
In the movie adaptation of the sequel to your life
Stand quiet at the back there
‘Til the camera’s on a roll
Wonder from whence the fiddles came and who’s playing your wife…
And the lead role’s gone to Katy Brand!

If I could tell you
I could sell you
If I could see, hear, touch and smell you
But if I’ve got not taste
Maybe you’re arsenic-laced
And it’s repent at leisure
After acting in haste

We all have our skeletons
And I’m cleaning out my closet
The landlord’s round tomorrow
Don’t want to lose my deposit

Where were you when the lights went out?
Playing “mirror, mirror” when you should have had doubt
Eat the goddamn apple, maybe you’ll choke
Wanted to cop a feel but you’re giving me a stroke

Got a wide on over the receiver
Jumped in a cab and came to show her beaver
And then I saw her face
Just like a retriever
If you think that’s splitting hairs
Next time I’ll use a cleaver

“Stick around,” you plead,
“What you got to lose?”
It’s not the falling but the bruise. Reckon
The best part of you ran down yo mama’s trews
That’s why I’m knocking spikes in my shoes

Out of this world or just on another planet
Those aren’t Smarties and you’re just a fucking gannet
They don’t have the answer and neither do I
If you don’t want to be here least you can do is try
Much harder

Jack & Meg went down the hill
But what sweet music they made
Why can’t we be like storybook children
Instead of a Grimm’s fairytale?

Is it fantastical or realistic?
Feels like I’m awake when I’m dreaming
Tub grinder’s set on high-torque auto-slow
And somewhere, Jordan dies screaming

Been waiting 20 years for Lisa Simpson to grow up

*With assistance from Alexandra Steiner

Return to Index

Chill, Winston

We argued who’d ride shotgun
Till I shot them with my shotgun
A rough-shod ride is no fun
Off the set with no sun

Horseshoes and handgrenades
Close counts and overlays
Day trips to Whipsnade
A pointed stick to poke the Angry Nades

Tried the gorilla position
Like a man on a mission
Just led to extra frission
Two falls and a submission

P regina – blow fly
Buzzing round heads in lo-fi
With Joker-faced clown fisherman
Brass balled to porn my soul

Send in the sex clowns
With their palindromic sounds
Precarious frowns
And abstract comedy nouns

Sabine, where’ve you been?
Living the dream and causing steam
And as for Penny?
Not many, Benny!

Life is fickle
Hammer & sickle

So back to casting aspergers
At irreverent soft vergers
And building men of wicker
To immolate strange vicars

Return to Index


Yeah? Well Veronica Sawyer
Nails through your psalms
At The Overlooked hotel
Booked yourself in with some MDMA

From the swarthy one-legged Lascars
To future champions of Nascar
Flushed down the toilet in some seedy bar
Killed in the name of life

If animosity’s the best policy
Please tell me what’s the vig
Could I still afford insensitive crepes?
To tiptoe through the tulips with the naked apes

Chinook in my head
And I’m feeling every last nibble
Of imaginary bone cancer
Guess pills aren’t the answer

Took a trip on the canny bus
Till John The Revelseater got the munchies
And Bruce & the goose met the bloke from Stoke
Duckman: can we kick it?
Yes we can!

Cornered at last on 15th & Valencia
An alternate dimension from the past
The Devil replied “They made me do it!”
‘Cause he knows you just gotta choo, choo, chew it.

Brief encounter on a helter skelter
When I got to the bottom I stopped

Return to Index

The Vincent Price Is Right

Credit, you are the best thing since money
If I had a penny for every time I’ve been told I’ll save pounds
You can only paddle so deep and deny you’re swimming
Still you think you’re Michael Phelps and that you’re winning

Cute shapes and fruit cakes
Are you paying too much
For your Dwight Fryes?
Buy one get one free, I said
Buy one?

This chicken’s fresh but what about healthy?
With Dave in the middle
Where’s the room for irony
Got the priviledge?
Go and abuse it

What does everybody want?
What does everybody need?
Non-slip masks
Pewter hip flasks
And a hobnail boot for that kick up the arse

Euphonium with bill payer’s permissium
Runaway scrape
Centre of unattention
Don’t much like your application

Is my logic undeniable?
Are people so supple and pliable?
As Monday siphons off the weekend
Another day, another dullard

Don’t blanche away in the street
So the humdrum boardroom boredom
Cut down all your dreams
On that picnic at Hanging Rock

Meanwhile, the Slumberjack
Looks into The Face of Boli
And ponders why your mother hasn’t worked
Since the Steptoes sold their cart

Return to Index

 Emotes & Beams

In the heat of the night
Before first light
Bathed in synthetic glow
From the old Vaio

Looking bejowled and peaky
Blotched, haggard and streaky
All hail the wan king
Of his virtual feif

Granted through duty
To cruising for booty
Along the misinformation
Super-highway of life

When you reach those Pearly Gates
You’ll stand with hand on heart
Look St Peter straight in the eye
When the questions start

Call me pedantic
But is it really romantic
Stroking a keyboard
In lieu of your wife?

With kids in the back room
All will be awake soon
Fledgling-like for breakfast
From snapped, crackling pop

Drop them at school gates
Sideways ogle their mates
Speed past l.pop lady
Making haste to the job

You design listings websites
For other listings websites
No wonder distraction’s
Order of the day

So time to punch clock
Morphs to jerking in sock
In your cubeish office
When the cat goes away

Then the mice do run
Back home for the real fun
Peck on cheek then tea
And the cycle replays

I paid my rates
Was never late
Certainly pulled my weight
And I wouldn’t be here now
If I’d stuck to cyber dates

Return to Index

The Ballad Of The Magical Slouchenouchengrouchen Tree

We slouch, we ouch.
We slouch and ouch and grouch.
Slouch, slouch, ouch.
Ouch, grouch, grouch. The slouch, ouch and grouchen show!

Slouchenouchengrouchen Tree
Slouchenouchengrouchen Tree

A rex quite untyrannical
Hip hopular
And popular
Its faults are microscopular

It’s magical
Night after on-the-razzmical
Mind-melding Mr Spockular

An oracle
Truly phantasmagorical
And jocular
Throws parties quite spactocular

Supremely roll ‘n’ rockable
Prom frockular
A timepiece quite tick-tockular

It ouches when it slouches
It grouches when it ouches

And twigular
Election unrigular
Just don’t mention the warable

It’s pinkular
And perkular
From the 7th moon of Mercular
In tranian
For galactic triathlanian

Return to Index


Rich white folk
They start to choke
Their prawns turn awful sour
Prime time TV
Not made for busy bees
Natives revolting, if not dour

In liking sport
Just as it ought
Including dollops of frustration
Building them up
Guillotining them down
The passion of race-relations

If the answer is:
A) Truth; or
B) Lie
Then it’s a screwy situation
Where the question’s for the nations

It’s 1-1
Can’t hear fuck all
The red-tops, they are a ragin’
A score draw
No two-match Talibans
And the squads they keep on agein’

If the answer is:
C) Proof; or
D) Nile
Then it’s a screwy situation
Where the question’s for the nations

Sing Sing, Ossining
A right-up state
We’re the worst of the Chester’s
With phoney investors
Goal-line neglecters
And massed viper’s nesters
Sing Sing, Ossining

If the answer is:
E) Now; or
F) Off
Then it’s a screwy situation
Where the question’s for the nations

Sing Sing, Ossining, etc

And Rodney Marsh is queuing up, God forbid!

Return to Index

A Short Fantasy

I have this recurring dream in which I'm Clint Eastwood: stood patiently on Main Street in some lawless Western border town, lighting my cheroot with a deft flick of the match against my left cheek, with the Sun high behind me for tactical advantage.

Only I'm not The Man With No Name, I'm Dirty Harry; instead of the local Mexican bandito warlord, three-score paces afront of me stands Tori Amos. Mockingly, she twists her lip and snarls: "Are you feeling lucky, punk?"

I toss aside my hot dog, tasting both mustard and trigger finger in a reactionary sweep of my own. We walk. The tension builds as heads appear at windows, people file slowly and expectently from their wooden store-fronts: somewhere a mariachi band has struck-up a menacingly moody Morricone air. We walk.

We walk, and I let slip my well-considered retort: "Go ahead, make my day!" Tori tosses back her head, in defiance at the sultry sweat forming in beads on her brow, and laughs as the tension builds further. And we walk. Nearly at arms length, now we stop: staring hard into each other's eyes, scrutinising for the merest twitch of weakness.

An impatient two-bit wag enquires from the boardwalk just up past the saloon whether we're "gunna draw them pistols or stand there whistling Dixie?" The tension is at crecendo: something has to give. In going to make my move I notice Tori is unarmed: naked!. In this split-second of hesitation she makes a sudden play for my weapon and instinctivly I blow the back of her head clean off.

At this point I always wake up.

Return to Index

The March Of The Model Professionals*

I lived many years afore
I tripped for what I quested for
O’er vale and mountainside
Glacial constructs I spied

Tragically bent on a winsome corner.
Hapless, homeless like an unwholesome bruise
The Helium Drum: raising the pitch of life
The old folk sunken like their great head of stone

Col. De Bugger & Innes Ownright
They studied the floor plan
It turned out, a flawed plan
E-tronic blueprints
Drawing ‘round Trebor mints
Rohypnotised her
Crossbow-killed and cannibalised her

The Sturm und drang of die Uberman
An exploding pram of the black hand gang
From Komingtang to hunger pangs
“Wear poppies for mind-peace: Fights wars!”

We give you The Gulf of Tonkin Incident...

I thought I saw The Mighty Truth
In wainscoting or maybe a door jamb
The New Clothes has grown sticks
Man found up own arse
Tarzan turned Cheetah
Cryogenic niterider keeps the goal ever wider

As north and south
To ass to mouth
The odessey’s been Homer pulling a Homer
The cry of an apathetic cow guards the home
From No.2, London
Whatever strange is afoot at the Circle K
We’re busy shouting at people in up a cul-de-sac in Norway

At the end of the day life’s a bout of survival
Eyeballing the crowd
Cut-throating your rival
Awful primitive, not to mention tribal
All sticks and stones
And the courts of libel
He really liked hummus and had a big hit in Switzerland

*With assistance from Andrew Knott

Return to Index

Ursa Boner

Nature would have you a skeleton long enough
In the meantime, hang a fine suit on it
And life won’t give you the breaks
If you don’t stick the boot in it

Next time I see you
Gonna leave you where I find you
And if that’s in the closet
Close the door behind you

Don’t take your heroine in vain
Or blaspheme the Queen Mum’s name
You can feed me
You can beat me
But just don’t starve me
Before you eat me

Frankie’s son, Howard
Custer’d yellow coward
To add or subtract is lustre
But the hen and the cock were in Carrickmacross

Wiija bored
Oh, in Spain, do they have a Xav problem?
In the end he was found: wired and wirey
Soiled amidst grapeseed and tarpaulin
18” rubber Blackpool Tower in his lucy

Toffee Penny chews
And Excalibur Veal
Hang–your-own moneky bistro
Now the pharmacy’s gone gastro
With added percepto & emergo

More Anna Karen than Donna Karan…

Return to Index

√All Evil

Every day when I awake
I pray for God my soul to take
So sparing me from killer rays
And dayless dogs’ urban decay

Don’t wish to move heaven and earth
Just milk the market for its worth
Bequeath my heritage of dearth
à pauvre M. Visage d’Oeuf

Explains Lewis Hamilton
Not being the Laird
But it doesn’t even begin
To melt the Riddle of the Stinks
Or the ice in your gin

I want to go sing in the choir
Think Richard king, son: Danny dire
44 inch-haired chest
Under my M&S wool vest

Don’t wish to celebrate armed force
Of all the Queen’s men and horse
As one man’s gain’s another’s loss
And find chasing big rabbits course

Hereby I declare black is white
And day is night, and wrong  is right
And while I’m at it: left is right
And talk is cheap and times are tight

When I’ve gone and washed my car
I put my teeth back in their jar
Every night when I’m asleep
God says a prayer and has a weep

Return to Index

Karma, Suits You

Paid for a feature
Gotta, wanna meet ya
Pupils wide
But who gets to play the teacher
Like art and sport
And a full-bodied port
Reserve the Hobart Muddy
‘Til we’re holed up in the study

Kama Sutra?
Karma suits you, sir
Cyber, funky diver
Your favourite imposition
Brad & Janet?
Isle of Thanet?
Frankie says “Relax”
Sort that wheat from the chaff

Hers & His
Throw the towel in
Love is in a make-up bag
You better start a-trowelling
The birds are flocking
The beasts are shocking
But it’s the sting of the bees
Brings you to your knees
Gerry manned a gander
And the phone-in Pole
Playing bingo with the Qashqows
As his credit allows
Swept off feet in supermarket
Forgot to trolley-park it
Too many consonants
And not enough vowels

Inch along
Fly to Incheon
Go camping on Cape Fear
With the wrong idea
Whine & diners
Industrial accidents
And used-to-be miners
Lenin & McCarthy
Unite and mount carefree
Stoned night at the museum
Didn’t need to see ’em
Kissing babies
A mute hippie
On acid with rabies

Ba-ba-badoo, badoo
Badoo, badoo, badoo…

Return to Index

Get Up And Boogie

Like your mama don’t know where your sister done go
Or your brother’s double life as a parasitic ho
And if you think your dad’s trad – just a bit of a lad
If you’d tuned in last night you’d have known you’ve been had

So get up and boogie
Don’t be so choosy
The world’s at your feet
So party till Tuesday
The line’s over there
For strolling for Lucy
Form an orderly queue!

It ain’t so cool counting flowers on the wall
‘Til the cat’s got your tongue ‘cause there’s bodies in the pool
For the while play the fool and if the court needs a duel
They’ll let you know when you need “your fucking tool”

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Half-Term Report

God save the B.B.C.
Laid the wreath for what you see
Depressed the truth, the juice ran free
Pipped at the post for wont of fee

God gave us T.U.C.
Emancipate the termighty
We repay with “monkey see”
The diabolic steroid in our pee

If all the world’s a stage
And the boy and girls pay-to-players
Not the say of your sooth
Nor the spook in your tooth
Can save our souls from soylent Earl Grayers

God gave democracy
Highlighted inequality
Mother Nature? Mother’s “C”?
Glad you’re not on the jury

God modulated frequency
Drew battle plans for an army
At 6:06 engaged melee
The touchline chants “Easy! Easy!”

You want to teach the world to sing
But one thing you forget to mention:
Feeling more at home
In an autistic tour-party at a sci-fi convention
My ticket’s for Friday
My ticket’s for Friday
My ticket’s for Friday
My ticket’s for Friday

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Verse For Darren

Dreamed we were not drowning as we waveD
Awashed by faze of ever-frowning aurA
Rebels against hot aiR
Reverence of the roveR
Every now  I recreate the scenE
Never let the other grass look greeN

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Different Drummings (Pts.1 & 2)

So you really want it?
Well now you’ve got it
Fetch the wedding bonnet

The sun it shone
It cast a shadow on it
Draw a veil upon it

Madmen and their ravings
Turned on moral lathings
One-way golden pavings

Scrimpings and savings
Evictions and enslavings
Back to painting in the cavings

Time to move on
The great and good’s gone
Acid house where once was ecstacy
Confidence votes
Respectful of dotes
And little lambs eat poison ivy

The cattle’s lowing
Greener grass is growing
Four horsemen went a-mowing

You say you’re going
The cracks are showing
Good luck with your on-towing

Bubonic bucolic
Can’t grasp the ironic

Now feeling chronic
Slip into catatonic
Imbibe repentatonic

I sat, alight, and spied the myriad outreach of suboptimal disquiet woven throughout the Jerusalemic lifescape to the winsome air of the pie-eyed piper: like the late/great sagacious Paul  – fifteen-minutus mirablis - tentacles everywhere, suckers to a-manning the gunwale, undigging the chunnel, the syphoning funnel.


And as my beacon burned, its attraction to the few attendant gypsy moths – no-diploma aroma and phantasmagoric rhetoric - rebels without a cause to endulge in less self-destructive behaviour, partook the moment to savour, drawn-on to a reciprical trajectory by mutual fascination: a mutual fascination in the tri-county demise of Boris Karloff, by an unspeakable perversion, bound like swans.

Don’t break my arm
Don’t break my arm

I’m traveling back in time, to Combpyne, for the landslip
Compiling acid-fried spider diagrams from Mars
Hundreds of Manhood
Fit the Selsey Bill
Picking cabbages

Studied golf at Came Bridge
Monkton & Came to a halt
In 1957, Bogarting a joint:
The untouchable Elliot Ness
Locked monster-like
To his lips
From Amsterdam
Posing as a Tram-man
Disturbed by the herb
Or maybe the vision conjoured up by
Adult Baby-Gros in Primark
Yet still my cousin scolds its overcrowding
On Facebook: line, sink, hooked
If life’s a game of chess
I’m off to mate with a rook

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Unfit For Human Consumption

What can you offer me worth getting out of bed for?
No metaphor can countenance the bleak haphazard dread sore
Sniping from the gutter
Talking margerine not mutter
Gorra, lorra, lorra laughs
Cheap banking fines from overdrafts

Sing, hale and hearty
At Hell’s office Christmas party
Boxing the compass with the bought-ledger clerks
Over whose dead body
Luke-warm, nigh lifelesss in the lobby
Syncopates the bemusing chorused twitches and jerks

Here’s your one guitar salute
This is council house country

As the world turns vegetarian, who mourns the butcher?
The king’s arrogance and a gust of wind
Damned for all Uncle Ernietiy
Mike Hunt, like Lord’s, you’re welcome to it
The cock stroke never really did catch on
But it’s like we’re still going for gold
But it’s like we’re still going for gold
First it’s bronze and then silver, then gold
First it’s bronze and then silver, then gold
First it’s bronze and then silver
Then fairground goldfish scraping barrels
Fairground goldfish scraping barrels
Fairground goldfish scraping barrels
Haunted by The Lonesome Death of Roy Carroll

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Change The Record

The good old times of by-gone days
From bangin’ heads to twistin’ craze
Of shillelagh law and rag-men’s mutts
Kentucky Fried Chickens and Pizza Huts

We’ve seen them come
We’ve heard them go
Something’s oh so quick quick slow
The B&O voltage is down
Grab on it next time around

Double, double toil and scrobble
Ears bleed and fillings wobble
Litmus untested free air
Indeed fair’s foul and foul’s the fare

Red dots keep forming on your head
Could it be the way your music’s bred?
Perhaps you should have heard The Sound Of Bread?
Perhaps you should have heard The Sound Of Bread?
Stuck to toasting Hovis Presley as undead
Not the king’s Mel and Sue “who?” of Stage-Divers’ Ed
But you said:
Log on, detune, drop out
Log on, detune, drop out
Log on, download, detune, drop out,
Log on, download, drop out

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Mother Nature’s Son

Every day that I don’t get killed and eaten is a bonus
Fixating on the order: trying to shift the onus
Then once in a while comes an imperial shag, if I’m lucky
The stars and the seasons aligned and the populous plucky

In between it all comes the hanging around
Meantime to kill, lost and never profund
Jeremy Kyle: don’t touch that dial
There’s hours to while, to the massed wit and guile

You say there’s much more to it than that
But we all boil down to the same tub of fat
You can whiten your teeth
Be cast in bas-relief
Still to the dog-eating dogs you’re a hunk o’, hunk o’ beef

And I’m glamping, you’re glumping
I’m liking, you’re lumping
As the world rumps and pumps
I’m watching you jumping
I’ve studied the angles
The Doctor’s dangle
While you were feeding your nuts
Through the mangle

Ai Weiwei, Delilah?
They sat down beside her
And passed round the cider
And ten-bag of skunk
And out came the spiders
The more greed the glutton
The brassier the button
Push it on the milking effect of the louches
Continue to moider as Rome’s over-run
By giant mutant cockroaches

Supersonic’s come back with a boom
And all we’ve got is Ban-Ki Moon

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Lier, lier, pants on fire
You’re damaged goods
A self-denier
You tick the box
Connect the wire
To lament engagements prior

Mama Dali from the melting baobab tree
Thought English an ology
And offered no apology
For knowing bluetoothnology

Bleeping for a booster
Combed and wattled, perched the rooster
But didn’t fit the masterplan
As the capon superman

I like to think of myself as a game-cock
Won my spurs down the bridge
The biggest bang since Messines Ridge
So take your idioterne
Let the others discern
And not get a look-in
You don’t look and learn

Someone left the cake out in the rain…then posted a pic of it on Facebook
I don’t think that I can take it

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Hullo! Baloo

In a wheelchair on a treadmill
Waiting rooms prescribing Adville
Not in touch so please don’t call us
Away with the fairy cakes you see
My beach volleyball fantasy
Carpentier v the Ambien Walrus

Hundreds and thousands of nonpareils
With water on the brain
Are draining my neuro-fens
And make me pray for rain

The tawdry pit, this miry Slough
On the great west road to nowhere
You can up on the down train
Better not even go there

There’s an infinite number of monkey in the phone box
They’ve got your number
You’ll never pay the loan off
Steak, and Costakidney
Take a chicory tip:
There’s too much sugar in Camp coffee
I for coffe
You for coffe
Do Not Adjust… with Denise Coffey

Back on track
You need a bridge to fill the gap
To spend a year playing nap
Espousing existential crap
Dressed as Napoleon in your nap-nap

While the card of the master race
Declines the smoker’s love embrace
The ace face moved into place
Drilled and bit clean through the brace

I want to date Karen Buddhist
And stand up to the hoodists
Lurking in the subway
With chicken-dancing subs from Subway
And their futures run aground
Not ultrasound to be myopic
Choosing a marathon as your topic

And at 5am, consulting the Grammaticus
It’s bags of fun with buster and just not cricket
A promiscuous mating strategy would be the ticket
But I haven’t got a barrow so I’ll burrow in a thicket

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Burn Your Brains

As the world spurns, you mourn the loss of agitpop
Watch as it burns: Gandhi turning in his flip-flops
Retain The Ashes going into bat at Millbank
Remains of the day: the tremor as my heart sank

Johnny’s in the street behaving like a Frenchman
Wearing a crown, he’s only just a henchman
Someone’s made an omelette of your pension
So you're egging him on to crack the tension

Burn your brains
Burn your bras
All that you stood for
Is hanging out your arse
They say “where there’s muck there’s brass”
Up my neck in it; it’s not smelling class

We’re no better than we ought to be
What we lived and died and fought to be
Wear your poppy with pride intravenous
IV therapy: the fight. You should’ve seen us

Do you read The Socialist Worker?
Are you an inveterate curtain jerker?
Have you ever fantasised life in a burqa?
Or as a cold-pizza eating, channel-surfing shirker?

Emma, Emmaline
I'm gonna write your name, high on Mr Sheen
Emma, Emmaline
I'm gonna mould your effigy in Plasticine
Make you the biggest star Claymation’s ever seen
In the Wallace & Grommit fingercuffs scene

Valued investments go down as well as up
Enjoy your hog-roast on a sack full of pup
You can flail and fail for the Holy Grail
Or drink from a bottomless Dixie Cup

Rank and file [you’ve used that one before – Ed.]
Watch News at Ten, get your sweet dreams in before bed
Drop the pill, o hit the pillow
Bent over backwards discovering Zed’s not dead

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Dear Boss

I’m working on a translation
Of Anglo Saxon chronicles
In my spare time, with set-square
Solving the non-canonicals
A funny thing happened
On the way to the forum
Splashing in the kiddy-pool
Gay abandoned decorum

From Kolchak: night-stalking
To floating in the river
Or bouncing off the walls
Gowned and surrendered arms a-quiver
Was it just a typo?
Did the author have a hypo?
Spitting feathered sour-grapes
The Luddites turned to litho

Says who?
Says you?
Did not!
Did too
In the third revised edition on page 92!
Annotating in the margins of life in blue
Be it blood or be it crayon
Selling as hot cakes down in Hay-on-Wye
Why, why, why, why?

Did you fry and eat a kidne?
Did you trade for magic beans?
Were the Royals and/or Masons
Pulling strings behind the scenes?
Did you keep a secret “diary”
While drying-out in The Priory
Delivered Poste Haste
Goose-chase; deniable in enquiry

Still playing cloak-and-dagger
Do you post as “Mildford Magger”?
Lacking Penicillin
To soothe your penis-illing
Did you work with body weak
But mind all too willing
A La Cosa Nostra
You stick to in-house killing

Wearing a red hat for period drama
He crept round the back, not wishing to alarm her
Faster than the speed of thought
By the time she found out, the atmosphere was fraught
There was a killer who had a dog
And Dingo was his name-o
And Dingo was his name

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Rhyme Crime*

Uncle Fister had a sister
Oiled her up and skin n blissed her
One in the pink
And one in the stink
Bent over double
Her face in the bowl of dirty washing up

*With assistance from Andrew Knott

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Musicians in your city
Blitzkrieg uptight Nazi shitty
In the same boat
All at sea in a sieve

Used to bleach her moustache

Non-stoked heed since her sister tried
I know that fright, but I’m vain enough to prefer it
Thought He was God, but only by candlelight
I’m practicing, not perfect, and that could still mean your Ras

The One Song
Doomed to repeal
College widow with a musket
Clubbed to death Hoxton Creeper
The penis: mightier than the sword?

Assholes evenly distributed
To die at Osborne House
Milf filth cons-piracy
Keddensy Henry
Daughter, Arthur & the wizard
Bag my charred hand in the New Mexico desert

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50, 47, 15, 65 Hike

Head by Tefal
Interrupt the wedding
Thwarted by the precautionary balloon
Go fester stripes
Spooky spoon

Hilary Hatton had a tryst
With a vicar’s daughter
Grant maintained

Think that’s hard act
Go down to the hollow
Swallow ancient rituals

Counting coup
Keeps his money in a tiger’s mouth
Garrotted with a banjo string

Internet porn and trash TV
Aliens mother of all EMPG
Commander to Earth virtual channel surf
Reenact the Four Rooms lighter scene

Pissed on by a parrot
The accidental archery hole
*bull sigh*
By degree erodes my wit

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We Need To Talk

Bareback rider
It’s a funny old game
Someone else always to blame

Tag lady
Electronic, moronic

Pish posh
Hog wash
Chopper write and write and write
And still it don’t make you not wrong

Think before you ink
Kook magnet
Cal’s flask
Main mast

Out on the roll
Couldn’t shut his hole
Now he’s a prism
Warming Satan’s soul

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So You Think Dark Glasses Are Wasted On Daylight?

Oil Swell
King for another day

(Your mother gets them out on)

Aroma gourmet
Striving to make things a little less suckful

Creepy & cult-like in San Francisco
We celebrate the vice

Subtle undertow
I need an early night
And I’m too tired to fight

Brassed off
Balls to the monkeys
Grinding their own organ

Defenestration for the nation
The never knowingly under-stimulated piper

Ali der Golem in chains
Guybrush Threepwood

Cricket / football / tennis match
Coma toes

Having my say not getting my way
TTNF where art thou my Romeo

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Return to The Splanchnic Verses

This page © Kevin Mitchell, 2010.