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Discussion in 'Entertainment' started by Withnail, Apr 25, 2010.
It does sound Milliganesque, but I couldn't find it either - any leads?..
Sorry, I had just read the ning nang nong poem and had Spike Milligans name in my head when I wrote it I meant to say Terry Gillilam book. OOPs!
And you're not even as old as Trumpet!..
Thank goodness, I thought it was only Ageing parent and maybe John Marwood that were older than me, lol.
Snot and bogey pie
All mixed up
With a dead man's eye
Eat it on toast
Nice and thick
And then wash it down
With a cold cup of sick......
Playground song '50s...........
Aaah, school dinners...
Another playground song which was best sung by boys whilst pointing to certain parts of the girl's anatomy;
Round the corner
Since Christmas they have lived with us,
Guileless and clear,
Taking up half the space,
Moving and rubbing on the silk
Invisible air drifts,
Giving a shriek and pop
When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling.
Yellow cathead, blue fish--------
Such queer moons we live with
Instead of dead furniture!
Straw mats, white walls
And these traveling
Globes of thin air, red, green,
The heart like wishes or free
Old ground with a feather
Beaten in starry metals.
Brother is making
His balloon squeak like a cat.
Seeming to see
A funny pink world he might eat on the other side of it,
Back, fat jug
Contemplating a world clear as water.
Shred in his little fist.
Gaberdine Angus at the magazine rack
Views the situation from the front to the back
Nobody's looking for the man with the mac
Stick it right back in the stack jack
Gaberdine Angus had a mean trick
Had a mean wang - made women sick
Here's one now - go on act the goat
Gaberdine Angus - open your coat
Why waste words - risk resistance
When you can climax from a distance
Shock tactics - designed to stun
Gaberdine Angus - it isn't done
She don't run - she don't scream
Your pink extremity has gone unseen
She doesn't give the usual nervous cough
So zip up Angus - then zip off.
Playing golf or being otherwise dull
with malice aforethought
watching TV for more than ten hours a week
discussing soap operas
(or any TV programmes or adverts
in the case of a stand-up comedian on stage)
and becoming obsessed with the work of
or William Burroughs
will become a criminal offence
punishable by five years' enforced participation
in a non-stop mime
and face painting workshop
The Berlin Wall will be rebuilt -
only five metres higher.
It will keep people out.
People like the World Bank
the International Monetary Fund
the Spice Girls
and Boris Yeltsin.
Peter Lilley and Michael Portillo
will suffer immediate retrospective abortion.
In order to combat the increasing danger
to civilised society
posed by pig-ignorant
road rage specialists
theme gulags will be introduced
for anyone who drives a van with scratches down the side
and shouts at or otherwise intimidates
lone women drivers at roundabouts
or buys shares in industries
which belonged to him in the first place.
These gulags will all be situated on Rockall
and will have three themes:
Saturday night in August on the Costa Del Sol
auction day at the used car emporium on Shoreham seafront
and happy hour in a Harlow theme pub.
All themes will run 24 hours a day
365 days a year
and inmates will be able to nominate their chosen
theme on arrival.
No theme changing will be allowed
hut Clash albums
and copies of 'The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists'
will be available for rehabilitation purposes.
Tight security will be enforced.
Theme gulags will be surrounded by large, deep moats
filled with soya milk and real ale
guarded by pitbullfrogs
and kept under constant surveillance
by hundreds of high court judges
watching from carefully constructed ivory towers.
Boris Yeltsin will finally be recognised
as the traitor and Judas he is
and made to spend the rest of his days
cleaning out the toilets
at the Glastonbury Festival.
With his tongue.
Every Western government leader
and the entire staff of the United Nations
will be forced to walk naked
through the burnt-out towns
and mass graves
in what used to be the Socialist Federation of Yugoslavia
and then have the words
'Marshall Tito was right'
tattooed on their foreheads.
A Zen Stalinist National Curriculum
will be introduced into schools.
- both dialects, Gheg and Tosk -
will become compulsory as a foreign language.
Reading Geoffrey Archer
and supporting Crystal Palace
will become not just highly illegal
but indicative of a disturbed mental state
requiring instant frontal lobotomy.
The Alarm will reform.
All school students will have to attend morning assembly
and sing the new National Anthem:
'68 Guns' by The Alarm.
Mike Peters of The Alarm
will become the new Welsh football manager
with David Icke as his assistant.
The Royal Family
will be allowed to remain as figureheads
but will have to join The Alarm.
Billy Bragg will become next in line to the throne
and rhythm guitarist in The Alarm.
All game show hosts
and everyone who works for the Sun
and the Times Literary Supplement
will be shot.
Their executions will be videoed
an acid house soundtrack will be added
and huge week-long parties
known as 'graves'
Ken Livingstone and his pet newt Dennis
will become Prime Minister
and Chancellor of the Exchequer.
All privatised industries will be renationalised
and a huge TV and poster campaign will be launched
'Tell Sid tough shit.'
The Queen will be privatised
and promoted to lead singer of The Alarm.
The first Zen Stalinist Five Year Plan
will be published
declaring world peace and social surrealism
and the dark nightmare of monetarist madness
will finally come to an end.
Atilla the Stockbroker - The Zen-Stalinist Manifesto.
six of Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
A man and a woman
A man and a woman and a blackbird
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
There are no poems about long-tailed tits.
Long of tail
O tapping bird
Not welcome in
To what end
Against the window?
Is it right so
Tell us all
I ask of thee,
Tell us, then let Gramaisc be.
AJ Thribb age 61
3 Cheers for Pooh!
For Pooh -
(Why, what did he do?)
I thought you knew;
He saved his friend from a wetting!
3 Cheers for Bear!
For Bear -
He couldn't swim,
But he rescued him!
(He rescued who?)
Oh, listen, do!
I am talking of Pooh!
(I'm sorry, I keep forgetting).
Well, Pooh was a Bear of Enormous Brain
(Just say it again!)
Of enormous brain -
(Of enormous what?)
Well, he ate a lot,
And I don't know if he could swim or not,
But he managed to float
On a sort of boat
(On a sort of what?)
Well, a sort of pot -
So now let's give three hearty cheers!
(So now let's give him three hearty whiches?)
And hope he'll be with us for years and years,
And grow in health and wisdom and riches!
3 Cheers for Pooh!
For Pooh -
3 Cheers for Bear
For Bear -
3 Cheers for the wonderful Winnie-the-Pooh!
(Just tell me, somebody - WHAT DID HE DO?)
The Sunlight on the Garden
The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold;
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.
Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.
The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying
And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.
A Dead Boche.
To you who’d read my songs of War
And only hear of blood and fame,
I’ll say (you’ve heard it said before)
”War’s Hell!” and if you doubt the same,
Today I found in Mametz Wood
A certain cure for lust of blood:
Where, propped against a shattered trunk,
In a great mess of things unclean,
Sat a dead Boche; he scowled and stunk
With clothes and face a sodden green,
Big-bellied, spectacled, crop-haired,
Dribbling black blood from nose and beard.
I think his brother Julian had a thing or two to say on this......
Aww, he was nuts..