One last chance as I recall.
A back pinned against a wall.
A tongue too tied to say a word.
They answer to no one.
“Don’t you wait to come around,
but no hard shoulder breakdown.
Not even a smile to cross the deal?
They answer to no one.
You must know you read the palms.
Of every cheat you try to charm.
Of every soul with money gone.
Now whose going to pay for another one?
The room is full of many men.
Some who fold, some who bend.
Some who deal in where and when.
Some who can’t remember when.
Living in their private hell.
They don’t photograph so well.
But they don’t point and they don’t tell.
They answer to no one.
No regrets or safety call.
They reach out and grab it all.
They move too quick to complicate.
They answer to no one.
Twist the arm and pull the hair.
They take what no others dare.
So come and give it all you’ve got.
They answer to no one.
April May June & The Ladies on Strings Lyrics
Verse: The April fools, ignore all the rules. Each day started icy and cold.
Then like the first violin, birds started to sing.Their melody melts like molten gold.
Break: With violin.
Chorus: The ladies on strings, such beautiful things. From finger and bow the notes linger and flow.
Verse: May may bring, a more pleasant theme. With Violas rich and warm.
It often passes without bothering the masses. Who wait for the summer swarm.
Break with Viola:
Chorus: The ladies on strings, such beautiful things. From finger and bow the notes linger and flow.
Verse: June says hello, like a big old Cello. A soft and silky cantilena.
Familiar sounds of livelier crowds, float gently around the arena.
Break with Cello:
Chorus: The ladies on strings, such beautiful things. From finger and bow the notes linger and flow.
Outro with Violin Viola Cello
April May June The ladies on Strings
The April fools ignored the rules.
Each day starting icy cold.
Then like the first violin, the birds started to sing
Their melody melts like molten gold.
May may bring , a more pleasant theme.
Violas deep and warm.
It often passes without bothering the masses.
Who wait for the summer swarm.
June says hello like an old Cello.
A soft and silky cantilena
Familiar sounds and lively crowds.
Float gently around the arena.
Thoughts of a self taught gardener.
Don’t sow lettuce in December
Or plant parsnips in the snow.
Those yellow flowers like it rough.
In February they may show.
Garden centres are for coffee.
Slow walks and expensive clothes.
Don’t buy annuals in September.
For birthday gifts try gardening gloves.
Supermarkets are for bedding plants.
Petrol Stations sell them too.
Weed and feed will burn your grass.
Just like an acid dew.
You can grow your own tomatoes,
They’ll need watering everyday.
Like a thirsty clinging pet.
Don’t book a holiday.
Larch lap fencing always fails
It’s expensive to repair
Your neighbour says it’s on your side
And it’s flattened his prickly pear.
Those noisy kids on trampolines
No more hammering please.
My neighbours dog barks far too much
My plants hate you more than me.
The Lawn.
For 58 years they had mown the lawn.
Never missed a shift even when the children were born.
They used an old manual, mowing machine .
Bought secondhand from a man, at the local bowling green.
They took great delight at removing all weeds.
Reseeded the grass where the naughty dogs had peed.
Through sun wind and rain, they spent hours and hours.
Tying back straying plants and removing dead flowers.
The children now grown, with families of their own.
Always had an excuse, not to come to visit and mow.
This years winter, lingered on for far to long.
With flu and covid jabs we weren’t feeling so strong.
Beryl, i’ve something to say, don’t call me eccentric.
Theres no turning back. We’re going electric.
The British Steel
I started working in the boiler room. The first year there was as a wooden broom.
“Sweep those floors clean and make them shine”. I knew the floors there were not that kind.
The sweat and dirt soaks into your shirt. Black heavy boots for the new recruit.
Grease and oil, no electric coil. Heat and steam and lifting beam.
The taste of heavy metals on my tongue. Silver dust covers everyone.
A fiery furnace at the gates of hell with flashing beacons and warning bell.
Working hard on the production line. Watch young men growing old before their time.
Molten metal splashing everywhere. Near misses and a warning prayer.
The output was up and we won a cup. To show the rest that we, we’re the best.
“This team works” photos on the canteen wall. The strongest men with the biggest balls.
Then silence, in the pressing halls. Watching slowly as the empire falls.
Seven hundred jobs have to go. The union man said he didn’t know.
Final talks fail and we are on the news. If I could sing then I would sing the blues.
I had saved some money for a rainy rain but it’s rained so long the money floats away.
Sitting on the interrogation chair. Just sign here and just sign there.
“We don’t believe you are meeting the required rules. Looking at me like a scrounging fool.
The taste of heavy metal is on my tongue. There’s no work and I don’t belong.
Visit Twitter @TnGTheBand. Or have a listen.
Straight from the bottle.
She pressed her lips and drank straight from the bottle
Every last drop squeezed
Straight from the bottle
In the next bin found
Something soft and round
So sweet that strawberry
Brought back a memory
She pressed her lips and drank
Straight from the bottle
Her man was making plans
Straight from the bottle
“We got a life ahead”
Some days spent lying in bed
So sweet this memory
Of how things used to be.
She pressed her lips and drank
Straight from the bottle
Every last drop squeezed
Straight from the bottle
In the next bin found
Something soft and round
The taste of raspberries
Bring back sweet memories
She squeezed his hand
He was her man.
Once tall and proud.
Laid him in the ground.
She pressed her lips and drinks
Straight from the bottle
Every last drop squeezed
Straight from the bottle
By the next bin found
When kids came looking round
The smell of rotting fruits
Broken glass and Big Issues.
Three Numbers
I’ve got three numbers, lucky me. Ten pounds from the national lottery. I guess i’m a fully paid up devotee. Of this get rich philosophy.
Is it my Ying or is it my Yang or is it because i’m a desperate man. Fish chips tobacco and cigarette papers are my essential oils and essential vapours.
I play the horses and do the pools. Smoke too much and drink too much booze. Do all I can to keep afloat. Trying not too blow this ten pound note.
I knew this man and his big loud wife. They never worked a day throughout their whole life. They pulled all six and I could have cried. These are the types we all despise.
It’s a long long crooked road and not all of it is paved with gold. These pavement gaps all seem so big in shoes that cost a couple of quid.
Dreams of Butterflies
I can hear the birds sing and it got me wondering.
The last time that I heard a train or looked up to see an airplane.
It’s like I’m looking at the world from the wrong end of a telescope.
In the distance all I see are people living in a dream.
Deserted towns and quiet roads. No big city overloads.
Empty buses never stop at empty schools, and empty shops.
When we awake and finally realise. It’s no dream but an nightmare in disguise.
So surround yourselves with those that care. Some were there and then were not there.
Last night the sun set in the west and stars reflected in my eyes.
Tomorrow the sun will rise again and we’ll awake as Butterflies.
TC
She’s a Hurricane
She was the pick, at the Triple six. Just standing there. I was attracted to her stare.
She’s going to have me raw. Knowing i’d go back for more. To play her little game, enjoy a little pain.
She has the eyes, of electric skies. I know her soul and it’s as dark as coal.
She’s a hurricane, and she destructs the same. Watch her suck me in then spit me out again.
Smoke fire and ice is a land like hers. How can she take control of both my heart and soul.
Shes my atmosphere, i’ve got to keep her near. If I try to fight her curse I know she’ll make thing worse.
Questioning, i’d give up everything. To feed her fire because she gets me high.
She makes it clear that i’d have no future here. Unless I pay the price. I go with her advice.
Anthony Cooney Visit @TnGTheBand on twitter. 