Fred
Do you know Fred? Now there's a man to know
These days when politics are in the air,
An' argument is bargin' to an' fro
Without a feller gittin' anywhere.
Fred never argues; he's too shrewd for that.
He's wise. He knows the game from A to Z.
All politics is talkin' thro' the hat;
An' everyone is wrong - exceptin' Fred.
Fred says there ain't no sense in politics;
Says he can't waste his time on all that rot.
Trust him. He's up to all their little tricks,
You'd be surprised the cunnin' schemes he's got.
Fred says compulsory voting is a cow.
He has to vote, or else he would be fined,
But he just spoils his paper anyhow,
An' laughs at' em with his superior mind.
But when a law comes in that hits Fred's purse,
You ought to hear him then. Say, he does rouse;
Kicks up an awful row an' hurls his curse
On every bloomin' member in the House.
He gives 'em nothin'; says they all are crook,
All waitin' for a chance to turn their coats;
Says they are traitors; proves it by the book.
An' can you wonder that he never votes?
Aw, say, you must know Fred. You'll hear his skite
Upon street corners all about the place.
An' if you up an' say it serves him right,
He answers that it only proves his case:
Them politicians wouldn't tax him so
Unless they were all crooked, like he said,
Where is the sense in votin' when they go
An' rob a man like that. Hurray for Fred!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Blokes
Blokes ~ 'Erb
Do you know 'Erb? Now, there's a dinkum sport.
If football's on your mind, why, 'Erb's the sort
To put you wise. It's his whole end and' aim.
Keen? He's as keen as mustard on the game.
Football is in his blood. He thinks an' schemes
All through the season; talks of it an' dreams
An' eats an' sleeps with football on his mind.
Yes: 'Erb's a sport - the reel whole-hearted kind.
'A healthy, manly sport.' That's wot 'Erb says.
You ought to see his form on football days:
Keyed up, reel eager, eyes alight with joy,
Full of wise schemes for his team to employ.
Knows all about it - how to kick a goal,
An' wot to do if they get in a hole.
Enthusiasm? Why, when 'Erb gets set
He is a sight you couldn't well forget.
There ain't a point about it he don't know
All of the teams and players, top to toe.
The rules, the tricks - it's marvellous the way
He follers - Wot? Good Lord, no, he don't play.
'Erb? Playin' football? Blimey! have a heart!
Aw, don't be silly. 'Erb don't have to play;
He knows more than them players any day.
He's never had a football in his hand,
'Cept once, when it was kicked up in the stand.
No, 'Erb ain't never played; he only sits
An' watches 'em, an' yells, an' hoots and splits
His sides with givin' mugs some sound advice
An' tellin' umpires things wot ain't too nice.
Aw, look; your ejication ain't complete
Till you know 'Erb. You reely ought to meet.
~~
Blokes ~ Fred
Do you know Fred? Now there's a man to know
These days when politics are in the air,
An' argument is bargin' to an' fro
Without a feller gittin' anywhere.
Fred never argues; he's too shrewd for that.
He's wise. He knows the game from A to Z.
All politics is talkin' thro' the hat;
An' everyone is wrong - exceptin' Fred.
Fred says there ain't no sense in politics;
Says he can't waste his time on all that rot.
Trust him. He's up to all their little tricks,
You'd be surprised the cunnin' schemes he's got.
Fred says compulsory voting is a cow.
He has to vote, or else he would be fined,
But he just spoils his paper anyhow,
An' laughs at' em with his superior mind.
But when a law comes in that hits Fred's purse,
You ought to hear him then. Say, he does rouse;
Kicks up an awful row an' hurls his curse
On every bloomin' member in the House.
He gives 'em nothin'; says they all are crook,
All waitin' for a chance to turn their coats;
Says they are traitors; proves it by the book.
An' can you wonder that he never votes?
Aw, say, you must know Fred. You'll hear his skite
Upon street corners all about the place.
An' if you up an' say it serves him right,
He answers that it only proves his case:
Them politicians wouldn't tax him so
Unless they were all crooked, like he said,
Where is the sense in votin' when they go
An' rob a man like that. Hurray for Fred!
~~
Blokes ~ Gus
Do you know Gus? Now, he should interest you.
The girls adore him - or he thinks they do.
He owns a motor bike, not of the sort
That merely cough a little bit, or snort.
His is a fiery, detonating steed
That makes the town sit up and take some heed
A thunderous thing, that booms and roars a treat,
With repercussions that awake the street.
That's Gus. Dead flash. One of the rorty boys,
Whose urge is to express themselves with noise,
He wakes the midnight echoes, when to sleep
We vainly strive, with detonations deep.
And Gus has visions, as he thunders by,
Of maidens who sit up in bed, and sigh,
'It's Gus! It's Gus, the he-man. What a thrill!
'Mid Jovian thunders riding up the hill!'
You can't blame Gus. He has to make a row.
He's got to get publicity somehow.
How else could he stir consciousness in us
That in this world there really is a Gus?
You can't blame Gus. But oft I long, in bed,
That some kind man would bash him on the head -
A hard, swift blow to give him pain for pain.
It would be quite safe. It couldn't hurt his brain.
~~
Blokes ~ Bert
Did you ever meet Bert? 'E's all over the town,
In offices, shops an' in various places,
Cocky an' all; an' you can't keep 'im down.
I never seen no one so lucky at races.
Backs all the winners or very near all;
Tells you nex' day when the races are over.
'E makes quite a pot, for 'is wagers ain't small;
An' by rights 'e 'ad ought to be livin' in clover.
But, some'ow or other - aw, well, I dunno.
You got to admit that some fellers is funny.
'E don't dress too well an' 'is spendin' is low.
I can't understand wot 'e does with 'is money.
'E ought to be sockin' a pretty fair share;
An' tho' 'e will own 'e's a big money-maker,
'E don't seem to save an' 'e don't seem to care
If 'e owes a big wad to 'is butcher an' baker.
'E don't tell you much if you meet on the course;
But after it's over 'e comes to you grinnin',
Shows you 'is card where 'e's marked the first 'orse,
An' spins you a wonderful tale of 'is winnin'.
Can't make 'im out, 'e's so lucky an' that.
Knows ev'ry owner an' trainer an' jockey:
But all of 'is wagerin's done on 'is pat.
Won't spill a thing, even tho' 'e's so cocky.
Oyster, that's Bert. 'E's as close as a book.
But sometimes I've come on 'im sudden an' saw 'im
Lip 'angin' down an' a reel 'aggard look,
Like all the woes in the world come to gnaw 'im.
But, soon as 'e sees you, 'e brightens right up.
'Picked it again, lad!' 'e sez to you, grinnin'.
'A fiver at sevens I 'ad in the Cup!
That's very near sixty odd quid that I'm winnin'.'
Mystery man - that's 'is style for a cert,
Picks the 'ole card, yet 'e's shabby and seedy;
'E must 'ave some sorrer in secrit, ole Bert
Some drain on 'is purse wot is keepin' 'im needy.
A terrible pity. Some woman, no doubt.
No wonder 'e worries in secrit an' souses.
If I 'ad 'is winnin's, year in an' year out,
Why I'd own a Rolls Royce an' a terris of 'ouses.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fred The Clown
Orange, blue, red, white and brown
The favorite colors of Fred the Clown
A happy and jolly clown he is
But some people he likes to tease
Everyone hates to be with Fred the Clown
But Fred never showed the people a frown
He never felt bad for what he did
The hatred inside the people had hid
The people thought of what to do with Fred the Clown
They decided to talk to the mayor of town
He laughed at what the people said
He laughed until his face gone red
The mayor didn't believe the people
For Fred the Clown gives him a tickle
They always the mayor smiled that way
Ever since Fred came each day
He already knew what Fred was doing
So he decided to call Fred for a meeting
The mayor told him what the people had said
And so left poor little Fred
The people decided to give Fred a chance
So Fred the Clown gave them a dance
The dance was so funny that they laughed all day
Fred the Clown will forever stay
poem by Geneen Meyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fred the Clown
Orange, blue, red, white and brown
The favorite colors of Fred the Clown
A happy and jolly clown he is
But some people he likes to tease
Everyone hates to be with Fred the Clown
But Fred never showed the people a frown
He never felt bad for what he did
The hatred inside the people had hid
The people thought of what to do with Fred the Clown
They decided to talk to the mayor of town
He laughed at what the people said
He laughed until his face gone red
The mayor didn't believe the people
For Fred the Clown gives him a tickle
They always saw the mayor smiled that way
Ever since Fred came each day
He already knew what Fred was doing
So he decided to call Fred for a meeting
The mayor told him what the people had said
And so left poor little Fred
The people decided to give Fred a chance
So Fred the Clown gave them a dance
The dance was so funny that they laughed all day
Fred the Clown will forever stay
poem by Geneen Alyssa Meyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Time of Year a Twelvemonth Past
This time of year a twelvemonth past,
When Fred and I would meet,
We needs must jangle, till at last
We fought and I was beat.
So then the summer fields about,
Till rainy days began,
Rose Harland on her Sundays out
Walked with the better man.
The better man she walks with still,
Though now 'tis not with Fred:
A lad that lives and has his will
Is worth a dozen dead.
Fred keeps the house all kinds of weather,
And clay's the house he keeps;
When Rose and I walk out together
Stock-still lies Fred and sleeps.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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The Poet Laurie Ate
Laurie was my dog
And he loved to bite
He wasn't very clever
And not at all bright.
He didn't like my friend
A mad poet called Fred
One day Laurie bit him
On the back of his head.
Fred wasn't at all pleased
And bit my dog back
So Laurie retaliated
And went on the attack.
They wrestled on the floor
And Fred got bit a lot
So to get my dog off him
I hit the mutt with a flowerpot.
But Laurie was very tough
And the pot bounced off his head
Then poor old Fred stopped moving
In fact he was now Dead.
I didn't know what to do
The poet didn't deserve to die
Looking down at Laurie
I asked this crazy dog Why?
But he just didn't care
And kept chewing at Fred
This loony dog was eating him
The he swallowed dead Fred's head.
Poor Fred was now all gone
But this must have been his fate
To lose his life to a psycho dog
The poet Laurie ate.
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Despair is like a cable that is buried just under the surface of the ground. You pull it up and pull it up, but that cable just keeps right on going, clear across a field, until you come to a bunch of guys who are burying the cable. Then just walk up to them and go, 'Hey, have you seen Fred' And they'll say, 'Fred who' And you say, 'Fred of snakes' Then cover your ears, because big laughs are coming.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rocket Town
Let me take you down down down to rocket town
Yeah we're going down down down to rocket town
Let me take you down down down to rocket town
Yeah we're going down down down to rocket town
Every time I see you baby(hey yeah, hey yeah)
There's always a tear to be found(hey yeah, hey yeah)
This request just won't stop coming(hey yeah, hey yeah)
So come with me now(go Fred go, go Fred go)
Let me take you down down down to rocket town
Yeah we're going down down down to rocket town
Let me take you down down down to rocket town
Yeah we're going down down down to rocket town
Every time you keep me guessing(hey yeah, hey yeah)
It's always the same run around(hey yeah, hey yeah)
Ammunition won't stop gunning(hey yeah, hey yeah)
So come with me now(go Fred go, go Fred go)
Let me take you down down down to rocket town
Yeah we're going down down down to rocket town
Let me take you down down down to rocket town
Yeah we're going down down down to rocket town
Rocket town is a state of mind
Close your eyes, it ain't hard to find
Everytime I taste your honey
There's always a sting to be found
This suggestion won't stop buzzin'(hey yeah, hey yeah)
So come with me now(go Fred go, go Fred go)
Let me take you down down down to rocket town
Yeah we're going down down down to rocket town
Let me take you down down down to rocket town
Yeah we're going down down down to rocket town
Hey yeah, hey yeah, let me take you down
Ooh hey yeah
Rocket town is a state of mind(go Fred go, go Fred go)
Close your eyes, it ain't hard to find
Rocket town is an attitude
Good for the head
Mental food(repeat)
song performed by by Right Said Fred
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed
As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear goes on his head.
His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,
a head's no place for underwear!"
But near his ears, above his brains,
is where Fred's underwear remains.
At night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the light
and softly croons, "Good night! Good night!"
And then, for reasons no one knows,
Fred's underwear goes on his toes.
poem by Jack Prelutsky
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Re-Entry
[ringmaster:] "step right up, step right up everyone. whether you're good or bad, happy or sad,
whether you're an emotional wreck, or a blissful speck in the black hole of an existance we
call life. step right up, and witness something you will be soon to never forget. feast your
ears on the most ferociously soothing waves of sonic communication to ever be created. built
for you by the master..."
[fred:] "hey!"
[ringmaster:] "...built for you by the mast..."
[fred:] "hey, shutup already, what is it?"
[ringmaster:] "what is it?"
[fred:] "um... yeah, dog. what is it?"
[ringmaster:] "what is it?"
[fred:] "dude, chill man."
[ringmaster:] "it... is limp bizkit!"
all around the world, you know me
all around the world, we know you
song performed by by Limp Bizkit
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The only thing that frightens me a little is when I'm called Kevin rather than Fred, but that's how people have known me for so many years. So, I can't really blame them.
quote by Fred Savage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fred Astaire
Romance me...dance me
til I dont care
You havent lived until youve danced on air
Whisper nothings if you dare
Wont you please, be my fred astaire
(jam):
Everybody up...everybody up
Everybody up on the dance floor now
Everybody up...everybody up
Everybody up on the dance floor now
I know they call you mr. lonely heart
But youre the leading man to play the part
You dont have to be a millionaire
All you have to do is be my fred astaire
(chorus):
Get up now...get up now
Get up now...be my fred astaire (x2)
(jam):
When you move its like a melody
Serenading...the very heart of me
Ill be your ginger rogers on the floor
Swirl me. twirl me til I just cant
Take no more
(chorus):
Boy if you could only read my mind
Youve been in my dreams a thousand time
(jam):
(chorus jam):
Everybody up
(get up now)
Everybody up
(get up now)
Everybody up
(be my fred astaire).
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tough cat Sam returns
Tough cat Sam is restless
he wants to box again
retirement is boring he says
he misses the action and even the pain.
Jess says he's lost the plot
and he's being a grumpy old cat
although Sam maybe knocking on a bit
he can still do a hundred press ups on the mat.
He wants to fight the reigning champ
a psycho cat by the name of feral Fred
he hasn't lost a fight in years
and two poor opponents ended up dead.
But Sam has been working out
and eating lots and lots of raw fish
feral Fred has heard all about this
and says he'll grant Sam his wish.
The Feline Gazette ran the headline
that Sam is too old and must be mad
they wrote some nasty things in their paper
saying he was washed up and very sad.
But Tough cat Sam had heard it before
and announced that he was in really good nick
while feral Fred laughed and taunted Sam
saying he was just an old cat and thick.
So Sam had his fight with feral Fred
and for fifteen rounds they went paw to paw
and when the fight finally came to an end
feral Fred was lying knocked out on the floor.
Tough cat Sam was the champion again
the oldest cat to retain the boxing crown
and as Sam proudly said to the feline press
' I'm living proof you can't keep a good cat down!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nytaars-Aften 1848
Farvel, farvel, Du gamle Aar,
Din Bortgangs Skaal vi drikke!
Din Virken dyb alvorlig staaer,
Dig glemmer Verden ikke.
Det nye Aar nu banker paa,
Kom ind! velkommen være!
Du Barn, som endnu Ondt ei saae,
Du Freden til os bære!
Fred over Dig, vort Fædreland,
Og dine aabne Strande,
Fred i hvert Hjerte, i hver Stand,
Fred over alle Lande!
Læg Du de Saar, din Broder slog,
Beskjærm os vore Kjære!
Med Hurra og med Dannebrog
Du af os hilset være!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Charlie And Fred
The Hollies
Charlie and Fred
(Allan Clarke/Tony Hicks/Graham Nash)
Track 8 on album 'Butterfly' october 1967
He rides on his horse and cart, Charlie does.
working from six until nine.
Collecting old rags and used bicycles,
old iron of description of any kind.
Here comes Charlie, Charlie the Ragman.
Throw out your old clothes for Charlie and Fred.
Earning a living off things we've discarded.
Earning enough for the board and the bed.
You hear him shout "Rags and old iron."
Everyone knows him that way.
Once a week, they come 'round calling.
How long it's been, I can't say.
chorus
They live all alone in a hovel.
He puts his money away.
Taking enough to just live on,
and at the end of the day
he's saving enough
to put Fred out to graze.
(repeat)
Has anyone seen Charlie lately?
Charlie just ain't been around.
Everyone's seen Fred is grazing,
chewing the grass from the ground.
Children say Charlie is happy
giving balloons to the angels instead.
Where is Charlie, Charlie the Ragman?
Don't throw your clothes out.
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mr. Fred
I loved mr. Fred
He was my friend
But was taken from me
Death took him from me
I dont have anymore to say
The poem ends.
There is nothing left to say
I loved my friend
His name was mr. Fred
He went away from me
How I wished him to stay.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Counting the Stars
Fred spent his childhood playing guitars,
Hunting for rabbits and counting the stars;
When he got older he sat around bars
Drinking tequila and smoking cigars.
Then somebody told him they thought he was dumb
And he knew that at last his moment had come -
He constructed a rocket and travelled to Mars
And that's where you'll find him watching the stars.
Fred was unusual, give him his due,
He certainly achieved more than me or you,
He didn't waste money on girls or fast cars,
He knew that his talent was in counting the stars.
So if you're depressed and haven't a clue
Just think about Fred and you'll know what to do,
Don't waste all your money on girls and fast cars,
Just relax and be happy counting the stars!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Man of Worth
Dear Uncle Fred's the type of man
Who to his neighbours gives a hand.
A man who would not deal in lies,
Who never could a soul despise.
An honest man and one so kind
That he should be the first in line
To proudly pass through portal's great,
When trumpets blow at Peter's Gate.
When God decides that Fred should die,
Then, in the parlour where he lies,
His friends will flock to bid farewell
To one who lived his life so well.
But when it's time for me to go,
And in a wooden box I'm stowed,
The visitors will be but few
Who come to say a fond adieu.
And herein doth the moral lie,
Comparing Uncle Fred and I,
A man who I have much admired
And wished his traits I had acquired.
To judge a person's worth in life,
And if for others he caused strife,
Just count the friends that bid farewell,
And by that method you can tell.
A Girl Named Fred
Once upon a time not many years ago
a girl named Fred fell in love with a boy named Fran.
Although the names seemed an odd combination
and could easily be confused by people who did not know
that Fred was a girl and Fran was a boy.
They made the perfect couple as everyone agreed
and when their wedding day arrived,
the priest who was standing in
did not know about the names
only that he was marrying a Fred to a Fran.
Turning to Fran he said,
Fred with you take this woman
to be your lawful wedded wife.
Excuse me Father, but I think that should be husband.
The priest looked up a bit dismayed, but just carried on.
Turning to Fred said Fran will you take this man
to be your lawful wedded husband.
Excuse me Father, but I think that should wife.
The priest’ eyes rolled around in his head
very dazed and confused.
The silent sniggers in the congregation began to grow louder
as peels of laughter not bells rang out within the church.
The poor priest was now in utter disarray
and after blessing the rings;
he handed them back the wrong way about.
Then the poor priest red faced said
to whomever I pronounce you man and wife.
Just to make things more riotous
someone switched the Wedding March
to Rock Around The Clock,
which sent the bride and groom bopping down the isle,
and the poor priest he had a nervous breakdown
saying he would never perform
a wedding ceremony again.
He would stick to funerals
as there was only one body involved
and they wouldn’t talk back to him.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Charlie & Fred
(clarke / hicks / nash)
He rides on his horse and cart, charlie does.
Working from six until nine.
Collecting old rags and used bicycles,
Old iron of description of any kind.
Here comes charlie, charlie the ragman.
Throw out your old clothes for charlie and fred.
Earning a living off things weve discarded.
Earning enough for the board and the bed.
You hear him shout rags and old iron.
Everyone knows him that way.
Once a week, they come round calling.
How long its been, I cant say.
Chorus
They live all alone in a hovel.
He puts his money away.
Taking enough to just live on,
And at the end of the day
Hes saving enough
To put fred out to graze.
(repeat)
Has anyone seen charlie lately?
Charlie just aint been around.
Everyones seen fred is grazing,
Chewing the grass from the ground.
Children say charlie is happy
Giving balloons to the angels instead.
Where is charlie, charlie the ragman?
Dont throw your clothes out.
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Washing up
'Grab a hold of that dish-cloth our Peter,
And give me a lift with these dishes;
We don't have a genie in this house
To help us, by giving three wishes.
It's manual labour our Peter,
A straightforward job in the sink;
A mountain of mucky old dishes
And then we can go for a drink.
Our Ena is ever so fussy though,
The glasses, they MUST be done first;
The cups and the plates are then easy,
The large greasy pans are the worst.'
'Put plenty of 'fairy' in Peter'
Said Fred, 'it will save you from scrubbing;
We'll soon have them spotless and shining
And then me and you can go clubbing.'
'Grab a hold of that towel our Freddie,
This mountain is now just a hill;
Just two more, then a colander Freddie,
And then I'll be on to the grill.'
Soon the hill was as flat as a pancake,
The dishes were done and all dry;
Fred and Peter were happy as sandboys,
To the boozer their feet would soon fly.
'Hey Ena! they're done, we have finished,
I told you we wouldn't get vexed; '
'Hey Peter, and Fred! no you haven't,
I told you, the ironing is next.'
(Written Jan 1996)
poem by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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