Old Spice, head lice, Brut and Body Mist.
Where's the next race venue in your diary you lucky, lucky b*stard?
H
Praise be to Baby Jesus and all the little orphans! (had the Phoenix Nights DVD out again last night) You're a John Cooper Clark fan! I thought I was unique.
Tables flew. bottles broke, the bouncers shouted, "Lumber" - the dummy got too chummy in a Bing Crosby number!
Oh, I could go on and on and on and on. His machine-gun delivery of Psycle Sluts at Leeds Town Hall is legendary. What a top fella - even though he's a Manc.
"for you that's how the world could end; not with a bang but a Winnebago"
Sorry guys. But I agree re JCC. He's still on the curcuit I understand. Some might say he was the white Lynton Kwesi Johnson.
Psycle Sluts (Pt II) by John Cooper Clark
the dirty thirty
the naughty forty
the shifty fifty
the filthy five
zips, clips, whips and chains
wait for you to arrive
hell's angels by the busload
stoned stupid, how they strut
smoked woodbines till they're banjoed
and smirk at the swedish smut
life on the straight and narrow path
drives you off your nut
by day you are psycopath
by night you're a psycle slut
on a bsa with two bald tires
you drove a million miles
you cut your hair with rusty pliers
and you suffer with the pillion piles
you got built in obsolescence
oh you got guts
but you don't reach adolescence
slow down psycle sluts
motor cycle michael
wants to buy a tank
only twenty-nine years old
and he's learning how to w**k
yesterday he was in the groove
today he's in a rut
my how the moments move
brut fun psycle sluts
he cacks on your originals
he peepees on his boots
he makes love like a footballer
he dribbles before he shoots
the goings on at the gang-bang ball
made the citizen's tut-tut-tut
but, what do you care, piss all
you tell 'em psycle sluts
now your boyfriend burned his jacket
ticket expired
tyres are knackered
knackers are tired
you can tell your tale to the gutter press
get paid to peddle smut
now you've ridden the road of excess
that leads to the psycle sluts
or you can dine and whine on stuff that's bound to give you boils
hot dogs direct from cruft's
done in diesel oil
or the burger joint around the bend
where the meals thank christ are skimpy
for you that's how the world could end
not with a bang but a wimpy.
See this too, worthy of H I reckon. Or the other way round.
http://www.cyberspike.com/clarke/tenyears.html