Me OLD Mate JOE
My old mate Joe, his body has departed. My golfing mate, my Community involved mate, me Theater person mate, and then somewhere, somehow he sticks things in my mind. Knew and have known him. Joe is a real mate.
Some words from Joe.
Me names Joe, sometimes Joseph, and yes me coat was of many colours brave.
But I’m just an ordinary bloke, so it won’t take long, your precious time, I’ll try hard to save.
I loved me friends at the Unit, overalls resplendent orange colour bold.
I didn’t give much ceremony for acrimony, but I did my duties told.
Well, they indicated “procuring”, and in my chosen field I did sound.
I was the store man, I procured things you might say, but I lifted stuff, all for Mullumbimby bound.
Fire fronts, cookin’ stuff, liven’ rough, and I did that and some more.
Look at you, you RFS, eat me food get a break, then put the peddle to the floor.
And was I an ordinary golfer? The “Swamp Pheasants”, Mullumbimby Golf Club is well known.
Handicap? Golfer? What’s that? When me mates wanted points, well, suddenly stableford has grown.
Every Monday, me mates and I would go to do the battle.
Never won a lot, a golf ball here, two bob here, so lets’ go on with the prattle.
Beth Wicks, all off this, a profession will be unfolden’, the SEA HORSE SINGERS, and Byron Shire is the place that is beholden’.
I had a job, prop manager, curtain puller, our shows were for the locals.
Never seen so many folk, given’it out, singn’it out. Good on ya Geoff Dart’s focal vocals.
And then, OH boy, they put me in the show and then Goldilocks’ I was bound and more.
The Vegemite Kids, I’m on the skids, makeup makes us good I’m sure.
Marginally attractive, curiously distractive, I think ugly is the word, the inscription.
Joe’s me name, and I’m on me way and had a good time, on me cemetery description.
Have a little tipple climb every mountain, me partner Coral won’t object.
She had the job of carer, and it wasn’t good, that I expect.
I was just an ordinary bloke, I got more than I gave.
Help me settle down, depart this life, and don’t you be so grave.
Will you have a talk, but don’t talk of sad, and I’m certain Coral she won’t billya’.
Have a cuppa’, have a snack.
Now pour a little drink for me, willya’.
John Farley and Joe, © 2008
poem by John D. Farley
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The Bloke from Mullumbimby
You won’t know this fella, till I get on with me prose.
But I’ll tell ya this my friends, I think he’s one of those.
Now before you howl me down and question my social status.
My job here blokes is to tell a story, not just how johnfarls rates us.
They stuck him in the navy, he used to box for sport.
Adds were placed upon his soles you would see these adds quite often, with the gloves my friends he wasn’t good, he should have stuck to golfin.
Milkin cows he tried, roamin from wide and far, his hands will bear the evidence,5 thirty shows the scar.
He has a friend, and, boy is she a cutie, beats me folks how a bloke like him ends with such a beauty.
So that’s a little yarn about this bloke, and not much have you gleans. His place in life aren’t nothing much, that’s as a bloke I means.
But let me tell just how much he makes the AUSSIE bloke, yeah golf’s the go, he didn’t have a clue, played off 87, his goals were for the dough.
Well Bruce and me were average, Ross was good at golf, THE BLOKE had a problem though, his putting, well, was off.
His wallet bulged with ego and one day he laid the claim, you and Bruce and Ross and me will play the noble game.
Let me dwell upon the rules, sheep stations were the scene. A beer a beer a beer and two bob, you lose, Ok vent your spleen.
The game was in the best of jest, we practiced the art of discourse. But if you lose old friend, two bob thanks and that has got no recourse.
The BLOKE my friends would not lay down his courage was divine, we lived of his wagers, all night we wined and dined.
Somehow Bruce and me felt time was grown’ thin’, lets have a triathlon we suggested, best of three to win.
Really not the Olympics but a contest just the same, the aim was winnen’, two out three the aim.
Darts, Euchre, Golf were the games we competed, glory for the victor let the loser please stay seated.
One last thing about our bloke, it concerns that Euchre game, with one spade he goes alone his partner Ross is shamed.
The BLOKE was hopeless in all these sports but never would he yield, then my friends the town soon found out he had a special field.
One day we all run last you see, and thinking with a smile, the BLOKE writes some prose, recites some stuff and leaves us for a mile.
You see my friends, please forgive my comments oh so rude, RAY you beaut, we re-vere you in gratitude.
We enjoy your yarns, we’re infected, you’re the peoples choice, an Aussie yarn has impetus simply by your voice.
Mullumbimby bred a BLOKE, BUT Bruce and Ross and ME we bred HIM too,
THE MULLUMBIMBY BLOKE is out there folks he belongs to me and you.
poem by John D. Farley
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You're My Mate
Ill tell you what I think, I think shes a cow
Shes let you down too many times now
Lets go for a drink, forget it for now
Put It behind you, I think its your round
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
Ill tell you what I think, I think hes a pain
He aint got a car, but he drives you insane
Lets go for a drink and sink a few
Enough about him lets talk about you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
TAXI
song performed by by Right Said Fred
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Mates
I came up to-night to the station, the tramp had been longish and cold,
My swag ain't too heavy to carry, but then I begin to get old.
I came through this way to the diggings -- how long will that be ago now?
Thirty years! how the country has altered, and miles of it under the plough,
And Jack was my mate on the journey -- we both run away from the sea;
He's got on in the world and I haven't, and now he looks sideways on me.
We were mates, and that didn't mean jokers who meets for a year or a day,
We meant to go jogging together the whole of the blooming long way.
We slept with one blanket between us the night that we run from the port,
There was nothing above us but heaven, yet we took it as jolly good sport.
And now he's the boss of a station, and I'm -- well, the bloke that you see;
For he had the luck and I hadn't, and now he looks sideways on me.
We pegged out a claim on the Dunstan, there used to be gold in them days,
There's blokes that still sticks to the digging, but Lord only knows how it pays;
For the country as far as I've seen it's as chock full of holes as a sieve
With the Chinkies amullocking through it, and yet them coves manage to live.
But when Jack took me to the cradle, the place was a wonder to see,
We washed out a fortune between us, and now he looks sideways on me.
We both fell in love with one woman -- she worked in a pub for a spell;
It ain't the best place for an angel, but angels ain't better than Nell;
For she was as good as they make 'em and hadn't a notion of ill --
It's long years and years since we parted, and seems I'm in love with her still!
But Jack was the handsomest fellow -- I saw how the thing had to be;
He got the best wife on the diggings, and now he looks sideways on me.
I left him, I just couldn't stand it -- I knew it was better to part;
I couldn't look on at the wedding with a pain like a knife at my heart!
I never said nothing to no one -- we didn't whack out all the gold;
I wanted my mate to be happy without my own yarn being told.
So I went to the coast by the steamer, and now I'm the bloke that you see;
He told me to go to the wharè, it seems he looks sideways on me.
There's steps coming down to the wharè -- some other poor bloke on the road;
'Taint nothing to him to get growled at, the boss ain't a bloke that he knowed.
Too dark to make out who's a-coming -- he's crossing the plank at the creek;
The years and the whisky are telling, my eyesight begins to get weak.
What's the odds? it ain't like me to whimper, and all that's gone by had to be,
But the old times came crowding around me to see him look sideways on me.
What, Jack! Why, old man, you don't mean it? You didn't right know it was me?
Well I'm altered -- it ain't for the better -- never mind, never mind, let it be.
O mate, the long years since we parted -- there's a blooming great lump in my throat --
I ain't been as glad, mate, I tell you, since the time that we run from the boat.
You ain't a bit altered -- you're crying -- why, Jack, don't be sorry for me,
I'm that glad that I think I'll go cranky -- and I thought you looked sideways on me.
poem by David McKee Wright
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To a Dead Mate
There's many a man who rides today
In the lonely, far out-back;
There's many a man who makes his way
On a dusty bushland track;
There's many a man in bush and town
Who mourns for a good mate gone;
There are eyes grown sad and heads cast down
Since Henry has passed on.
A mate he was, and a mate to love,
For mateship was his creed:
With a strong, true heart and a soul above
This sad world's sordid greed.
He lived as a mate, and wrote as a mate
Of the things which he believed.
Now many a good man mourns his fate,
And he leaves a nation grieved.
True champion he of the lame and halt:
True knight of the poor was he,
Who could e'er excuse a brother's fault
With a ready sympathy.
He suffered much, and much he toiled,
With his hand e'er for the right:
And he dreamed and planned while the billy boiled
In the bushland camp at night.
Joe Wilson and his mates are sad,
And the tears of bushwives fall,
For the kindly heart that Henry had
Had made him loved of all.
There's many a man who rides today,
Cast down and sore oppressed;
And thro' the land I hear them say:
'Pass, Henry, to your rest.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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In The Age Of Celebrity Worship
In the age of celebrity worship our own small gods we do create
And mortals like ourselves in the flesh we worship and celebrate
People who are good at golf and tennis and various other games of ball
We give them their big egos though pride can come before a fall
We look up to wealthy people and those of privileged birth and give to politicians power
And in the presence of the dictator they've created a Nation's people cower
We give big egos to strangers people we may never meet
At the table that they dine at we will never have a seat
Yet the unsung heroes of our town we choose for to ignore
He is just an ordinary fellow the bloke who lives next door
But he helps his wheelchair bound neighbour without asking for reward or pay
And for someone in need in the neighbourhood he does a good deed every day
But we see him as an ordinary bloke and his praises are unsung
Many of our heroes are quite dashing and competitive and young.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Marriage Breakers Tent
The Marriage Breakers Tent
‘Cuppa tea’, me mate said to me
‘Sure’, said I with a smile
‘Then I’ll be putting the kettle on
It will only take a wee while.’
We sat there in the twilight
Chattin’ as the sun set low
Sippin’ on our cups o’ tea
And watchin’ the campfire glow.
When – BANG – I fairly jumped
Flamin’ well caught me on the hop -
A rusty old truck had backfired
And came to a sudden stop.
This old bloke and his wife climbed out
And started to unpack their load
Cursin’ as they threw their stuff
Right across the road.
Then out they come with the canvas
Old and ripped and spent
Me mate said, will you not be lookin’ at that
It’s a marriage breakers tent.
It was enormous – humungus
It was coloured green and brown
And tryin’ to erect this type of tent
Could, well, perhaps bring a marriage down.
‘You’ve got it round the wrong way
You’ve got it inside out
That’s not the door it’s the window’
The wife began to shout.
‘Leave me alone, who’s doin’ this
Get out of me flamin’ hair
Go and blow the mattress up
And get rid of all that air.’
The night came down and the moon went up
But the tent was far from done
‘Bet you a fiver’, me mate grinned at me
‘That it’s not up before the sun’.
And he could have been right, I surmised
As they kept up the hullabaloo
‘Don’t tie that flamin’ rope down there
I’ll trip over it when I get up to go to the loo.’
On and on and on they went
Til finally – ‘That’ll do – it’s good enough
I’ll fix the rest tomorrow
But now I’m really stuffed’.
‘Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow – always tomorrow
Why can’t you get things right
Why, you said yourself this morning
We’re only camping over night.’
‘Another cuppa’, said me mate
And I knew just what he meant
When he said, ‘will you be not looking at that
It’s a marriage breakers tent.’
Bill Clohesy 2007 - Inspired by Matt at Lake School Koroit - 2007
poem by Bill Clohesy
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A Mate can do no Wrong
We learnt the creed at Hungerford,
We learnt the creed at Bourke;
We learnt it in the good times
And learnt it out of work.
We learnt it by the harbour-side
And on the billabong:
'No matter what a mate may do,
A mate can do no wrong!'
He’s like a king in this respect
(No matter what they do),
And, king-like, shares in storm and shine
The Throne of Life with you.
We learnt it when we were in gaol
And put it in a song:
' No matter what a mate may do,
A mate can do no wrong!'
They’ll say he said a bitter word
When he’s away or dead.
We’re loyal to his memory,
No matter what he said.
And we should never hesitate,
But strike out good and strong,
And jolt the slanderer on the jaw –
A mate can do no wrong !
poem by Henry Lawson
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At My Side
Come sit by my side
My mate did say
So we can talk about things,
Before it is yesterday.
We can talk about us
We can talk about love
We can even talk about you
Or we can sit and smile.
If you would only come,
And sit for a while.
Lets forget about our worries
And our Child and work for one day
Lets think about us again
For time quickly passes away.
Come sit by my bed
My mate cried on
Because the more I think
The quicker time passes on.
What's the greatness of victory
If no one comes to see you win
What's the might in any wealth
If no one knows where you had been.
Tomorrow is my enemy
While today and yesterday a friend
Lets talk and enjoy each other awhile
Before the coldness enters the wind.
Though I never came and sat at Her side
In those many days She use to say
Now I am alone and I always cry,
For now I come and sit at Her grave.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Advice to a Wannabe Lover
You could be dead before the dawn
Lost in a pile of second-rate porn,
Admit it now, you've had it, mate,
It's just no good, love came too late
To change the way you act and think,
You sold your soul to the demon drink.
Admire her beauty while you can,
You poor old sod, you excuse for a man,
She's beautiful, too good for you,
She has a mind, high standards too,
Did you really think you could be her friend?
Look at you, mate, you're round the bend!
You can't expect a woman like that
To fall for you - she smelt a rat
When you tried it on with your silver-tongued chat.
Better pretend it was all a mistake,
She's seen right through you and knows you're a fake.
At least you knew her for a while,
Her voice so beautiful, and what a smile!
It's a memory you'll want to save
And take with you to the silent grave;
But as for today, just give it a rest
You'll drive her mad by being a pest! !
Be grateful that she wishes you well,
Then go back humbly to your private hell.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Depending on what day of the week it is and what time of the month it is, I'm a good friend or not a good friend. I'm more or less a good mom or not a good mom, more or less a good mate or not a good mate. That's just life, whether or not you're public.
Tiger Woods
He is many times over a multi millionaire
And arguably the World's greatest ever golf player
The golfer most young golfers would love to emulate
The legendary sports star and a golfing great
'Tis true Tiger Woods is the golfer to beat
In every golf tournament in which he compete
For many years now the World's number one
So many golf majors the great champ has won
The golfer who has proved himself in every test
That's why by so many he is rated as the best
Professional golfer in the World of today
By millions beyond the borders of the U S of A
The World's number one golfer for many years now
Though to the father of time he eventually must bow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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American Dream
American dream
American dream
American dream
I must surrender to my American dream
Please do not call me
There is a wedding ring on my ring
And I am building my American dream
I found an American soul mate to love
And to share my life and my American dream
I am getting married and settling down
Good bye single life
Love is the best thing I can give to the people who also share my American dream
Soul mate give me a kiss
And let's dream the American dream
I want my self, you, and every body else to be a part of this American
Dream
We are starting over with an American dream
What I lost before
It is not of any value to me any more
I can't replace it
But you are a part of me
And that is what matters the most
This American dream belong to us and every body else
My heart belongs to you my soul mate
Days will come and go
But I am here for you
We can make a difference when we claim the American dream
Maybe tommorow we will sail on a moon beam
My soul mate has blue eyes
Soul mate I ask no more than this
Please give me a warm kiss
Somewhere in the American dream roses will bloom
And ships will sail across the sea
Poets will write their poetry
Singers will sing in the boulevard cafes some love songs that touch Every body's heart
Flower girls will sell flowers in the streets of the American dream so
The man can buy some
Flowers for there girl friends and lovers if they have any
I can't let any body else steal our American dream
We must save this American dream for us and every body else
If you want to be a part of the American dream
You will have to be a good citizen of the American dream
poem by Aldo Kraas
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She Ain't Your Ordinary Girl
(Robert Jason)
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She don't love carelessly that's what I've always heard
'Can't use the usual lines she measures every word
No empty promises proof is what it takes to win her heart
The truth and nothing less, simple things that set her far apart
Save your diamonds and your furs she's not your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary, no she's not
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary, oh no
She ain't your ordinary girl
No midnight alibis, no foolish games for her
And if you cross the line you'll get what you deserve
But when you see her smile nothing seems to matter anymore
And in a little while you'll feel like you've never felt before
Like no other in the world, she's not your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary, no she's not
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary, oh no
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
Save your diamonds and your furs, she ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Knowledgeable One
They are not the brightest for to give them their due
And on his subject matter they did not have a clue
He seems a bit clever the older bloke said
To which his younger mate answered not right in the head.
Since he did seem a clever young person to me
With the older bloke's assumption I could only agree
And though I too not the brightest I was duly impressed
With one in his mid twenties who with knowledge is blessed.
The bloke in his thirties to the barmaid for another beer did call
With the knowledgeable one he did not seem impressed at all
And when the knowledgeable one had left the pub he turned to me to say
This bloke Socrates he was talking of who is he anyway?
His name is a name that I cannot recall
He cannot be famous he does not play football
I informed him the one of whom the clever one did speak
Is a long dead philosopher a legendary Greek.
He and his mate in his forties began to discuss Sunday's big game
Every player taking part they know them by name
Of football between them little they would not have known
Suppose like it is said of people to each their own.
poem by Francis Duggan
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As Good as New
OH, this is a song of the old lights, that came to my heart like a hymn;
And this is a song for the old lights—the lights that we thought grew dim,
That came to my heart to comfort me, and I pass it along to you;
And here is a hand to the good old friend who turns up as good as new.
And this is a song for the camp-fire out west where the stars shine bright—
Oh, this is a song for the camp-fire where the old mates yarn to-night;
Where the old mates yarn of the old days, and their numbers are all too few,
And this is a song for the good old times that will turn up as good as new.
Oh, this is a song for the old foe—we have both grown wiser now,
And this is a song for the old foe, and we’re sorry we had that row;
And this is a song for the old love—the love that we thought untrue—
Oh, this is a song of the dear old love that comes back as good as new.
Oh, this is a song for the black sheep, for the black sheep that fled from town,
And this is a song for the brave heart, for the brave heart that lived it down;
And this is a song for the battler, for the battler who sees it through—
And this is a song for the broken heart that turns up as good as new.
Ah, this is a song for the brave mate, be he Bushman, Scot, or Russ,
A song for the mates we will stick to—for the mates who have stuck to us;
And this is a song for the old creed, to do as a man should do,
Till the Lord takes us all to a wider world—where we’ll turn up as good as new.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Shed
A mans’ gotta have a shed y’know
A place he calls his own
Where he can go and loose himself
Like a king upon his throne
It can be neat and tidy
With everything in place
Or one un –wholly bloody mess
Where there isn’t any space
But you can rest assured old friend
No matter how it fares
It’s his domain and castle
Down to the worn out chairs
He proudly shows it to his mates
Who goo and gar and ask
What’s this and that you got in here
Including in the flask
There’s pictures stuck up on the wall
The likes that women scorn
But it wouldn’t be the same you see
Without his female porn
And if someone dare to take control
Woe betide the feathers fly
Until he once again can say
Don’t come in here and pry
When it’s why on this one fateful day
A hapless brown came in
And all that happened after that
Boy, you should have heard the din
Jo blake slipped here and he slipped there
To keep out of old mates way
But old mate was having none of that
As he entered in the fray
Things they went here and they went there
As the chase in-ten-si-fied
With old mate going hell for leather
To get that snake outside
Almost a full one hour had gone
And neither would give in
The snake kept just enough in front
To save it’s slippery skin
Until it spied a big wide space
That was in fact the door
And slipped out quick as anything
Away from that bloody floor
When old mate stopped and looked around
When the battle was complete
He couldn’t believe the mess there was
He was out to it on his feet
But satisfaction slowly grew
Sweat began to dis-si-pate
As he softly whispered to himself
I’ll not share with any snake
So, take heed all those who enter there
And know it’s in his head
He’ll do whatever it does take
To defend his bloody shed
Don Stratford © 18 / 2 / 2005
poem by Don Stratford
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You're Up Chuck
Chuck had gone to a medium
To communicate with the dead.
No particular one had come
To mind to talk to, but instead,
Chuck, an avid golfer, did want
To find out if he could still play
Golf, after he'd gone on to haunt.
The medium had this to say,
'Good news, bad news. The good news is
'A great course is waiting for you, '
'To hone your skills as a golf whiz.'
'Hit those shots eternally true.'
'The bad news is that you are due'
'To tee off this Monday at 2.'
Mate Soul
To find mate soul
Its like asking a dream
to become reality
becouse mate soul is
that what you feel
to someone
the fluid that carries
little butterflies in stomach
sweet drunkennes without alcohol
Mate soul is
when you see reality
sometimes feel that
his mouth stinks
you do not like the same
music every day
to go fishing even
when his mother
came to guests
but he makes same good cofee
its still buys you gifts
stands up to kiss you
when you come tired from work,
and when you sober of
sweet drunenness
and still feel a sweet taste.
This is mate soul
poem by Jankovic Zoran
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The Wonderful Aussie Waler
When Allenby's Army smashed the Turk
Who was the bloke who did all the work
The Aussie knows and he'll tell you straight
That most of the job was done by his mate
The wonderful Aussie Waler
It was umpty-nine in the shade each day
And the wells were spoiled in the Turkish way
But with nothing to eat and plenty to do
The heart of the Waler carried him through
The wonderful, wonderful Waler
For ten long weeks through the desert hot
He plugged along and all that he got
Was a drink, or not a drink a day
But did the stamina once give way
Of the wonderful Aussie Waler?
Was he the one to desert his mate?
Just watch him coming up the straight
With twenty stone of harness and man
No wonder the Turk was an also ran
With the wonderful, wonderful Waler
When drinks were not and feeds were few
There still was his harness that he could chew
With a nibble or two at another's mane
He plucked up heart to march again
The wonderful Aussie Waler
And when everything edible seemed to be stale
A hair or two from a neighbour's tail
Makes a pleasant meal and there's no doubt
They took it turn and turn about
The wonderful, wonderful Waler
A great Australian through and through
There's a good time coming old horse for you
There's a paddock green with grass to your knees
And there you shall roll at your lordly ease
My wonderful Aussie Waler
With a gallop or two to keep you fit
And won't it bring back the thrill of it!
There 're no more hardships and little work
For the cobber who broke the heathen Turk
My wonderful, wonderful Waler
But what is that the orders tell?
This mate of mine they're going to sell
To the old home paddock you'll never come back
They are selling you as a local's hack
My wonderful, wonderful Waler
The times together that we've been through
When all that I had in the world was you
Out there! Out there in a world of men
You were more than wife or sweetheart then
My wonderful, wonderful Waler
There was trust and mateship in your eyes
A horse has no soul - All lies I All lies!
And more than a kiss or soft eyes that speak
Was your muzzling nose against my cheek
You wonderful Aussie Waler
A life long slavery is your fate
Not while a mate can still shoot straight
Your eyes - I need a steady hand -
Good bye old chap - you understand
You wonderful, wonderful Waler.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Badges, Posters, Stickers, T-shirts
Me and my mate we think youre great
Some we like and some we hate
I know him Ive seen him on the adverts
Got any badges posters stickers or t-shirts
You were bloody great last time you come
I thought me ead was stuck in the bass drum
Bloody loud, me bloody head hurts
Got any badges posters stickers and t-shirts
So howd you get a start in show biz
My mates as good on the drums as he is
My mate thinks Im bloody cracked
Please sign my jacket on the back
All them badges made of plastic
I think theyre great, just fantastic
Im unemployed, hes still at school
He gets annoyed cause Im such a fool
You dont half sweat a lot up there
Have you got showers in here?
Youre bloody great, my bloody head hurts
Got any badges posters stickers and t-shirts
Yeah, me and my mate like ac-dc
Hot & sweaty, loud & greasy
My mom says were a pair of perverts
Got any badges posters stickers and t-shirts
Cmon mister
We hitch-hiked here in pouring rain
Now weve missed the frigging train.
Hey! can I have one of them lagers?
Thanks very much, mate. can e have one?
A-one, a-two, a-one two three four...
song performed by by Dire Straits
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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