Shit Christmas (My words set to music and sung by Chaz Crane to the tune of Blue Christmas)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-v32wVp_PY

The Itch

Wedding bells
Nappy smells
Filled with poo and pee
Darling dear
Listen here
This really isn't me

 

Nagging whine
Dinner time
But, and here’s the rub
Darling dear
Listen here
I’m going down the pub

 

Wanting love
Elbow shove
Asked for marriage right
Darling dear
Listen here
I’m too knackered tonight

 

Lovely eyes
Silken thighs
Beauty I can’t bear
Darling dear
Listen here
I’m having an affair

 

Screaming fight
House alight
I think it’s time to go
Darling dear
Listen here
You’ve been so nice to know

 

 

Macho Man (Set to music)

Macho man, yet more of my light and cheerful words set to music and performed by my mate Chaz Crane. Light and cheerful - who am I kidding...?

 

 

http://chascmusic.wordpress.com/?s=macho+man

 

Sleep (Acoustic version and pretty damn cool).

Acoustic version of "Sleep". Melancholy, but brill.

 

http://chascmusic.wordpress.com/2012/10/16/sleep-accoustic-version/

 

Dreary Dreary Me

Another collaboration with Chaz Crane. Words mine, music and singing his.


http://chascmusic.wordpress.com/2014/02/17/dreary-dreary-me/?relatedposts_hit=1&relatedposts_origin=436&relatedposts_position=0

Sleep

Another song performed by my mate Charles Crane. In this one, I love the way he has combined verses from three of my offerings. Good job Chaz!


http://chascmusic.wordpress.com/2012/10/11/sleep/?relatedposts_hit=1&relatedposts_origin=424&relatedposts_position=0

Demon Drink Blues

This was the first of my poems (or lyrics as Chaz calls them) that my friend Charles Crane set to music and performed. Video by another blogging chum, Dioclese.

 

 

http://chascmusic.wordpress.com/2012/09/26/demon-drink-blues/?relatedposts_hit=1&relatedposts_origin=556&relatedposts_position=0

Bad News (Set to music by Chaz Crane, but renamed "Bears". I think you'll see why.)

Bad News/Bears


http://chascmusic.wordpress.com/2013/01/14/bears/

Dark Place (My words set to music/performed by my friend Chaz Crane, lovely bleak video by our mate Dioclese)

http://chascmusic.wordpress.com/2014/02/28/dark-place/

Ghosts (my words set to music by my friend Chaz Crane).

http://chascmusic.wordpress.com/category/lyrics-by-tony-groves/

Easy Peasy

I can rhyme quite easily, age on age

Filling up each long blank page

Spouting words with little meaning

A fault for which I have a leaning
 

Because I’m here you keep on reading

When mercy is what your heart is pleading

And though I have a kindly heart

You must finish all before we part
 

Ever had a dream where you can’t escape

The victim of murder, robbery, or rape

Chased by monsters and can’t get away

Well, you’re in one now, even though it’s day
 

The poet spins in darkened grave

Niceties’ eternal slave

This tosh insults his metered ear

But he’s down there, while I’m up here
 

So let him keep his clever wits

While I write on of bums and tits

Being worthy ain’t my gig

Which rhymes, of course, with pig or prig
 

Everything I write will match

Day and night, but here’s the catch

Is my poetry worth a light

Or is it just a bag of shite
 

I sod about with words and rhymes

A thousand, thousand, thousand times

Sausage-like I’ll string my words

Writing of plums, whey and curds
 

I must stop now to my great sorrow

But I’ll be back upon the morrow

Filling paper white or blue

With, yes, a great big heap of poo

 

 

 

 

None so Bold

I remember a time good people, when the English were proud workers
But the man closed all our industries and now he names you shirkers
I remember a time not long ago, when there were oh so many jobs
But the man imported cheap migrant labour and now he calls you slobs

 

He’s insulted you for years folks, yes he’s treated us all like fools
He’s sold out our great country, following his own sick set of rules
He kowtows to anything foreign, gives his respect to one and all
But the English could be dying and he’d leave you where you fall

 

He’s sold off our family silver and auctioned off all our gold
But he’d sell his mother’s soul, my friends, to be in the Euro fold
This man his name is quisling, our enemy, our deadly foe
Should’ve put the traitor against a wall and shot him years ago

 

And our young folks die for nothing, so loyal, brave and true
They died fighting wars from history and sadly they still do
Bullets and bombs they face my friends, courageous to a man
Maimed and killed for freedom, though the man knows it’s a sham

 

Democracy expired years ago and all justice will soon follow
Though they pretend we still have liberty, their lying words are hollow
The man has back-stabbed our people and stolen all we’ve got
And don’t think that’s by accident, it’s all part of his nasty plot

 

Like the Romans, soon, the English, consigned to history’s bin
But the man won’t shed the smallest tear, on his face an evil grin
Now little left but fading memories, of glorious feats of old
There were never any as great as us and never none so bold

 

 

 

Whatever Happened to Melody?

I don’t like house, I don’t like rap

I think they’re so much artless crap

They rumble on in a mindless babble

Hypnotising the drugged-up rabble

 

You don’t need skill, you don’t need a thing

You don’t even have to learn to sing

Shout out loud your list of shopping

As all the while the air you’re chopping

 

With relentless rhythm and lots of bass

You’ll soon acquire the aggressive face

Shout about killing and shout about drugs

Yelling to a room full of spaced-out mugs

 

Back to front trousers and a baseball cap

An angry mouth with unstoppable yap

Are all you need in these strange times

Apart from a pill and a couple of lines

 

I may be getting old, I may be out of touch

But I see more beauty in an elephant’s crutch

They don’t know love, or understand gentle

I think they’re twisted, or possibly mental

 

I mentioned already that house is crap

So I wrote these words to the rhythm of rap

This is my tribute to their kind of song

Come and pop some E and then sing along

 

Drugs are good, drugs are good, you know you really should

Drugs are good, drugs are good, you know you really should…

 

 

 

Solemn Vow

Me and drink had some fun times
Like when I fell over, hit my head, broke a rib
Got up to mischief, stayed out too late
But with never a lie, only ever a fib

Fourteen cold lagers on a Friday night
Thirty-seven more up until Monday
In bed till gone two, missed a day’s work
Still drunk, I thought it was Sunday

Drink’s been a stout friend
Supported me through all the troubles of life
Through funerals, weddings, Wednesday night telly
And the problems I had with the wife

I’ve quaffed my share of cider and wine
Drunk sherry and binged on the hard stuff
But when it comes to the old amber nectar
I never could get quite enough

With the juice in my veins I’ve laughed a whole lot
But then probably wept even more
I understand highs and I understand lows
With even keels I’m just not so sure

My constitution not the force it once was
I’m older now, but much wiser too
I know that drink is my enemy
And also exactly what I must do

I’ll give the booze up, I’ll abandon it
Cut it out of my life like a cancer
I will abstain and jump on the wagon
That is the only real answer

No more for me the devil’s brew
No more turning into that bad Mr Hide
No more antics and no more sorrys
A wave of sobriety henceforth I will ride

No more guilt and no more shame
No more agony and no more pain
I will be good and I’ll be nice
I’ll be white bread, I’ll be white rice

I will stay sober for all my tomorrows
And that is my honest vow
As for tonight, I can just catch the offy
But only if I leave you right now…




 

Not Heard the Last

Powdered milk and dog-end day, got no money, got no pay.
Got no family, got no wife, but I got trouble and I got strife.

 

See me coming, head for the hills, turn your backs you Jacks and Jills.
Talk to the window, talk to the wall, glass and bricks don’t hear my call.

 

Life so pointless makes me yelp, but don’t need pity, expect no help.
Grey the colour, my imprisoned soul, turning black down in this hole.

 

Can’t face food, eat banana, eat some more, but that’s manana.
Nails long, with unkempt hair, not much matters when in despair.

 

Heart thump hard, stomach knot, count the blessings I ain’t got.
Live in hope and struggle through, is what they tell me I must do.

 

Battle on, tho all for nothing, not counting pain, hurt or suffering.
Could friends save me, if still any, who would miss me, not too many.

 

What thought’s true, oh what is real, will this get worse or start to heal.
Reality become so hazy, twisted thoughts make me crazy.

 

Mood so bleak, dreams all tattered, how did life leave me so shattered?
So where the loss if I should quit, this life of endless empty shit?

 

But how could this boy ever quit, deprive you of his sparkling wit?
How could this fine lad ever die, with still this twinkle in his eye?

 

Why deny you this huge brain by slipping quietly down the drain.
Oh the humour you would miss, without me here to take the piss.

 

Life's been hard, life's been rough, but it wont beat me, I'm too tough!

Go spread this defiant word, the last of me has not been heard!

 

 

 

 

But for the Grace

That person in the doorway, unkempt, with straggly hair

Perhaps he is a visionary, who's seen too much to bear.

 

That wino with the trolley, stuffed full with rags and junk

Perhaps they once lost all they loved and that's why they're so drunk.

 

See those who swallow booze and drugs, not counting up the cost

Perhaps it is to ease their pain, or because they feel so lost.

 

That man down in the gutter, though he might not show it

May just be a troubadour, an artist, or a poet.

 

To all those who sneer at them, like they are a different race

You only walk an easier path because of God's good Grace.

 

That person in the doorway, unkempt with straggly hair

Perhaps he is a visionary, who's seen too much to bear.

 

 

 

 

Survival of the Fittest

Survival of the fittest, the strong are so alive
While the weak, who do their level best, struggle to survive

Reality is where we're said to dwell, but I am not so certain
The eyes we use to see this world deceived by a false curtain

Natural selection, preferring the favoured few
If you’re not a chosen one, there’s little you can do

Survival of the powerful and of the filthy rich
While standing on the bottom rung, life is one hard bitch

It seems the natural order hands the few the lion’s share
The rest they too get equal shares, but of poverty and despair

The land of the living when blessed with milk and honey
Is the land of the slow demise when you have no food or money

Survival of the rich man, he can afford to laugh and sing
The poor man has to fake his smile, because he hasn’t got a thing

The wealthy frequent the Ivy, spend a mint on food and wine
While the Foodbank or the dumpster is where the poorest dine

Survival of the richest, the greedy, so pleased to be alive
While the poor, exploited every day, just battle to survive

Death and Taxes

Sing while you're winning, that's what the fellow said.

Might as well sing while you're losing too, cause you will soon be dead.

 

Smile and be happy, that's what you ought to do.

You know you really might as well, cause you'll be dead soon too.

 

Being dead is easy, so no need to be sad.

You're alive right at this moment. so you may as well be glad.

 

Fourteen billion years this universe has been spinning.

You've been dead for most of that, so sing out while you're winning.

 

Reasons to be cheerful, that's what the geezer said.

I liked that bloke, he was a real card, but look! The bugger's dead!

 

Sing while you're winning, that's what the fellow said.

We might as well sing while we still have breath, for soon we'll all be dead.

 

Life places on your face such a maudlin frown,

But considering you're still breathing, why not turn it upside down?

Death and taxes can't be dodged, we all take that as read.

But at least the twat who swipes your cash will wind up just as dead.

 

Smile is what they told me, it could be a lot worse.
Then I realised just how right they were, as I watched a passing hearse.

 

The same fate awaits us all, dying our final act.

All new people in one hundred years and that's a simple fact.

 

So sing while you're winning, just as the fellow said.
Unless heaven truly waits for us, you can't sing once you're dead.

 

 

Fickle Fate

Finding madness in life’s bitter dish

Eat like a mouse, drink like a fish

Clinging by nails, losing my grip

Clinging by nails, feeling them slip

Driven insane by worry and fears

Driven to drink that flows out in tears

Frustration and anger tearing apart

Noise in my head, pain in my heart

Limbo the place I’ve come to dwell

Emotions a prison, home but a cell

Thoughts they tumble, twist and whine

Thoughts so odd they can’t be mine

Drown them with the cheapest drink

But drunk or sober, think, think, think

No one to tell the things in my head

Solitary breakfast, alone to my bed

Escape into sleep is only too brief

Ponder if death would be a relief

Struggling on while heaving a sigh

Try to be strong though starting to cry

Did karma bring me to this sorry state

Or a cold, cruel twist of old fickle fate

Language

Language so like a bottomless pit
Ignore its depths and lessen the wit.

 

Language provides for all you need say
Serious or not, both at work or at play.

 

Language alive, constrained by no rule
To the poet a flower, to the writer a tool.

 

Speech that medium by which men get through
Who they are, what they want, all they think, need or do.

 

Speak of your feelings, of your heart and your mind
Join more fully with those of your kind.

 

Language evolving, increasing your power
Expanding your faculties hour on hour.

 

Words, the ingredients when you want to write
Whether your recipe be fulsome, pretentious or trite.

 

A ladle of this, a soupcon of that
Baked in the oven kept under your hat.

 

If a book is a meal, perhaps potato or rice
Vocabulary lacking is food without spice.