King Winter

In Great Britain he is the one and only vicious viceroy of frost
He demands his will that every wide and open water glazes
So many now will show such a fragile and bitterly cold crust
And he orders the colour to vanish from your icy frozen faces
Creating a white world, for conquering all lively colours he must
Even though I am not one of these horrid anarchists I have to say
And I apologize beforehand for my hard and cold point of view
But now I am compelled to address my fellow countrymen today
To declaim an important message: away with his icy monarchy

Angels we have heard on high

From up there in the house she wants us all to know
That long ago Jesus Christ was born
Her voice coming from her bedroom in the attic above
On this winter Christmas morn’

Joy to the world, peace on earth
Are the words she keeps on singing
I don’t care if she sings it all day long

The house would be so quiet if she wasn’t here today
Or if there was no joyful song to sing
But nothing in the entire world is pleasing me more
Then to hear her sing about our King

And I put the needle on the record
So she can hear the bells are ringing
In the rhythm of her Christmas song

Angels we have heard on high …

Tell them that it matters

Let’s destroy the statues
Of all those heroes of times gone by
And rename the streets with tainted names
What if Satan has a diabolic plan
To start all over again
Without us stopping him
If we are going to erase history
Will the next generation learn from our mistakes
So please for people’s sake
Tell them where it once went wrong

Off to the pub

Where shall we go for a drink tonight?
Shall we go for a few in The White Horse in Crostwick
Or have one in The Fur and Feather in Woodbastwick quick
It was then when the idea started to nestle in Netty’s head
That we should get a pint in The White Horse Inn in Neatishead
But did you just say this evening it is my turn
For a few more rounds in The Lion in Thurne
Maybe it is the right time for one with a frothy head
In The Brick Kilns, that pretty pink pub in Little Plumstead
But if you can’t decide please let it then be
The Never Turn Back in (or from) Caister-On-Sea
Should we have a lovely pint this evening instead
In the Irstead Staithe in the center of, surprise … in Irstead
Or we might as well stay and drink with friends for good
Til the end of times in The King’s Head in Lingwood

At the Bus Stop

It was a hot day for Mabel May
And birds were dropping from the trees
And she’d been working hard
Down at St. Bart’s Confection Factory

She’s at the bus stop, her feet hurt
It’s another hour til she’s home again
And there’s this man there
He’s not so bright and probably insane

Excuse meeeeee
Cos’ you’re scaring me to bits
It’s in the middle of the night
And you’re staring at my tits

O yes, excuse meeeeee
O man you’re scaring me to bits
It’s in the middle of the night
And you’re staring at my tits

Trump’s stupidity

I don’t care if chemtrails are real
And I couldn’t care less
If aliens were probing my brains
(Or how that would feel)
I am convinced I am protected
With my Aluminium hat
And I strongly believe
Eating Cotton Candy
Won’t make me gay
No I don’t regret
Buying that 5G iPhone for sure
It won’t fry my head
Just keep me away
Do not bring me within the vincinity
Of the White House
Do not ever take me to the U.S. of A.
Cos one thing is a fact
Nothing in this world can shield me
From Trumps stupidity

Grill that Chicken, pluck your Banjo!

It’s so nice here on this campsite
Friendly people all around
Birds are chirping in the trees
Hear them singing, love that sound

Listen to that water streaming
In that river next to me
Smell of nature overwhelming
There is nothing I want more

O this camping is so joyful
Peace and quiet given me
Children playing on the square
All those wonderful things to see

So grill that Chicken, pluck your Banjo
Nothing else will please me more
Than the smell of your great cooking
And that noise you play for me