We English
We English
are drinkers of tea
We like to play polo
and speak eloquently.
We have framed portraits of the Queen
Hanging up on our walls
We smoke cigarettes
and dance at balls.
We have bad teeth
and spell colour like that
my Grandad smokes a pipe
and wears a top hat.
We all know prince Will,
pass our time in red boxes,
Buckingham palace is our 'ghetto',
and we enjoy hunting foxes.
poem by Frances May
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Shield
Mama plays a queen on the hill built on a dream
While the children play in the field
Papa smokes the pipe of a sweet and better life
But how strong is the shield?
Can peace be found on the carpet above ground
Where sky is forever blue
So let it pass baby now, the slow and riding cloud
Which may take me from you
Many things a man can lose
His self, his rights, his views
But never his heart or his love
So take this hand of mine and climb baby, climb
To the hill up above
Now you can play a queen on the hill built on a dream
While our children play in the field
I can smoke the pipe of a sweet and better life
And trust in the strength of the shield
So trust in you love, and lucy of above
And let light pass like a wheel
Dont take the chance of lifes hectic dance
Kiss the strength of the shield
The seeker will be found by the looker on the ground
And to his wish he will yield
Fate will have its word, of course (? )
And time will change its course
And hold the strength of the shield
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buckingham Palace
They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
Alice is marrying one of the guard.
"A soldier's life is terrible hard,"
Says Alice.
They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We saw a guard in a sentry-box.
"One of the sergeants looks after their socks,"
Says Alice.
They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We looked for the King, but he never came.
"Well, God take care of him, all the same,"
Says Alice.
They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
They've great big parties inside the grounds.
"I wouldn't be King for a hundred pounds,"
Says Alice.
They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
A face looked out, but it wasn't the King's.
"He's much too busy a-signing things,"
Says Alice.
They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
"Do you think the King knows all about me?"
"Sure to, dear, but it's time for tea,"
Says Alice.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Pipe Smoker
Because I love the soothing weed
And am of sober type,
I'd choose me for a friend in need
A man who smokes a pipe.
A cove who hasn't much to say,
And spits into the fire,
Puffing like me a pipe of clay,
Corn-cob or briar.
A chap original of thought,
With cheery point of view,
Who has of gumption quite a lot,
And streaks of humour too.
He need not be a whiskered sage,
With wisdom over-ripe:
Just give me in the old of age
A pal who smokes a pipe.
A cigarette may make for wit,
Although I like it not;
A good cigar, I must admit,
Gives dignity to thought.
But as my glass of grog I sip
I never, never gripe
If I have for companionship
A guy who smokes a pipe.
poem by Robert William Service
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February Stars
I'm hanging on
Here until I'm gone
I'm right where I belong
Just hanging on
Even though
I watched you come and go
How was I to know
You'd steal the show?
One day I'll have enough to gamble
I'll wait to hear your final call
And bet it all
I'm hanging on
Here until I'm gone
I'm right where I belong
Just hanging on
Even though
I pass this time alone
Somewhere so unknown
It heals the soul
You ask for walls
I'll build them higher
We'll lie in shadows of them all
I'd stand but they're much too tall
And I fall
CHORUS
February stars
Floating in the dark
Temporary scars
February stars
REPEAT CHORUS (2X)
song performed by by Foo Fighters from The Colour And The Shape
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like your heart dropped acid
And you know you're half broken; feels like your jutting ribs are cutting into you more every day. I don't have to watch your envy kick your pride in the balls. I don't have to listen as your enigma prevails in an argument with facts. A mind cast to the gallows, a Holocaust for your very own heart. You can roll those sunken eyes all you want, dearie.
Subtle at first. One smoke, two smoke, three smoke, four... And, karmic, no one ever questioned you about it as you had hoped, even though you had an answer for every cigarette. Overdoses and guns were too shocking; slitting wrists too much like a teenage girl. (Sometimes, I wonder if you forgot that's what you were.) Out-and-out suicide was wrong, you said, but it lost its sting if you strung it out over decades. All our old friends, the ones you started hanging out with again, the ones who quit smoking, they'll roll cigarettes for you. They love to roll cigarettes, and roll their earrings, and argue about anarchy. And you love them, and you love the cigarettes, the music, the sweat and patchouli, the panhandling, how their...your...minds always beat in straight time.
But you fell measures behind, and the music, the freight-hopping, the cigarettes, they mean nothing to you now. Everyone knows your beauty scars aren't from brambles or kittens, and that's the way you like it. You can only use that bleach as an excuse for hair caught in the drain for so long.
I'm listening to you recount your inner-battles, with all the vehemence of a wall flower, and I finally understand.
You just want to be beautifully fucked up. Or pretty, like your heart dropped acid.
poem by Claire Stuart
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Teeth
English Teeth, English Teeth!
Shining in the sun
A part of British heritage
Aye, each and every one.
English Teeth, Happy Teeth!
Always having fun
Clamping down on bits of fish
And sausages half done.
English Teeth! HEROES' Teeth!
Hear them click! and clack!
Let's sing a song of praise to them -
Three Cheers for the Brown Grey and Black.
poem by Spike Milligan
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Steal Away
Is just that ghetto ghetto
Ghetto ghetto
Is just that ghetto ghetto
Ghetto ghetto
We still ghetto ghetto
Ghetto ghetto
I've been thinkin lately baby
Maybe we should layin tonight
I would ?? paper was crazy
Music if is wrong I feel this right
Maybe we can make sweet love
Cause I know we feel so good
And more of two we escape this pressure
You know what? We should
Steal away
song performed by by Mary J Blige from No More Drama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suicidal
Tortured are their portraits,
Hanging.
A few undusted for many years.
And depicting scenes,
Of a life fantasized as serene and innocent.
Free of mystery and mystique.
Tortured are their portraits,
Tilted as if purposedly.
Tilted as if the feelings of being jilted,
By false portrayals stay as they are as reminders.
None seem to be hung centered.
As if set by one in a stupor.
Or hungover from too much reality.
With framed portraits depicting tortured scenes,
Of a crisp and pristined life...
On canvas and documented for authenticity.
But can not be quite lived right to such perfection.
And...
Suicidal,
For those making attempts to do it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Evita
The dolls are dancing for you oh my sweet Evita!
But there is polo in your blood;
So come around and let us have fun on this game,
And like the muse of your love in the garden of peace.
Your muse is like the Buckingham Palace,
But diamonds are not everything in this life;
And you can't expose what you are now doing in the public,
Because the dolls are now dancing for you! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Buckingham Green
A child without an eye
Made her mother cry
Why ask why
She kept her child clean
On buckingham green
The children saw the eye
As a sign from god
Descending from the sky
It was alright to dream
Of buckingham green
Summon the queen
Spoke the child of eye
Its time to fly
Turning fire to steam
On buckingham green
[repeat first verse]
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shot Heard 'Round The World
A child without an eye
Made her mother cry
Why ask why
She kept her child clean
On Buckingham Green
The children saw the eye
As a sign from God
Descending from the sky
It was alright to dream
Of Buckingham Green
Summon the queen
Spoke the child of eye
It's time to fly
Turning fire to steam
On Buckingham Green
[repeat first verse]
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Queen For A Day
Queen for a day, queen for a night
Dressed head to toe, so youd never know its me, its me
Ribbons and lace, shoes made of glass
Rouge on my face, off to the dance
To dance
To dance and dance and dance and dance
Queen for a day, queen for a day
Queen for a day, queen for a night
Just time to find the man who could be so right
Queen for a day, ribbons and lace
Shoes made of glass, rouge on my face
To dance and dance and dance and dance
And dance the night away
Gonna dance the night away
Gonna be a queen for a day
Wanna dance the night away
What Id give to be a queen for a day
Gonna dance and dance and dance
Gonna dance and dance and dance
Queen for a day, queen for a day
Queen for a day, queen for a day
Queen for a day, queen for a night
Just time to find the man who could be
So right, so right
Queen for a day, queen for a night
Ribbons and lace suit me just fine
So fine, so fine
I shall be queen for a day
I shall be queen for a day
Can you make me a queen for a day
Queen for a day
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smoke The Sky
Smoke my hoochie
You say that Im the devil
Reali-thc
Marco polo hailed it heaven
Socrates inhaled it too
Mr. president tell the truth
Youre the great exaggerators
Since 1932
Telling evils of the reefer
But all thru time weve
Smoked the sky, smoke the sky
Home grown version
Compliments the senses
Opens up the mind
Jfk sold us freedom
Or was it just a business toke
63 went up in smoke
He was the great seducer
Crawling from our tvs
Breathed into our future
And before he died he
Smoked the sky, smoke the sky
When its time well smoke the sky
Bc hailed it heaven
I inhaled it too
Reali-thc
When its time well
Smoke the sky
Smoke the sky
When its time well smoke the sky
When its time well smoke the
When its time well toke the sky
When its time well smoke the sky
song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Big Ball's In Cowtown (feat. Asleep At The Wheel)
George Straight & Ricky Skaggs & Asleep At The Wheel
(Big balls in cowtown, yeah.)
(Come on fiddle.. yeah... sure)
Working on the railroad, sleeping on the ground,
Eating saltine crackers, ten cents a pound.(ha)
Chorus:
Big balls in cowtown - well all go down.
Big balls in cowtown - well dance around.
(Ehhhh, come here ma, the hogs done got me).
--- Instrumental ---
(yea...) (mind if I sing one George)
Ill go to cowtown, Ill dance around.
Board up your windows - big balls in town.
Chorus:
Big balls in cowtown - well all go down.
Big balls in cowtown - well dance around.
--- Instrumental ---
Put on your new shoes, put on you gown.
Shake off them sad blues - big balls in town.
Chorus:
Big balls in cowtown - well all go down.
Big balls in cowtown - well dance around.
(Come on Ricky, fiddle now.)
--- Instrumental ---
Everybodys smiling, you cant find a frown. (ha)
Girls are all happy cause big balls in town. (that's right)
Chorus:
Big balls in cowtown - well all go down.
Big balls in cowtown - (yeah...a)
Big balls in town... (Haa...)
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Smoke My Pipe
I can't extend to every friend
In need a helping hand--
No matter though I wish it so,
'Tis not as Fortune planned;
But haply may I fancy they
Are men of different stripe
Than others think who hint and wink,--
And so--I smoke my pipe!
A golden coal to crown the bowl--
My pipe and I alone,--
I sit and muse with idler views
Perchance than I should own:--
It might be worse to own the purse
Whose glutted bowels gripe
In little qualms of stinted alms;
And so I smoke my pipe.
And if inclined to moor my mind
And cast the anchor Hope,
A puff of breath will put to death
The morbid misanthrope
That lurks inside--as errors hide
In standing forms of type
To mar at birth some line of worth;
And so I smoke my pipe.
The subtle stings misfortune flings
Can give me little pain
When my narcotic spell has wrought
This quiet in my brain:
When I can waste the past in taste
So luscious and so ripe
That like an elf I hug myself;
And so I smoke my pipe.
And wrapped in shrouds of drifting clouds,
I watch the phantom's flight,
Till alien eyes from Paradise
Smile on me as I write:
And I forgive the wrongs that live,
As lightly as I wipe
Away the tear that rises here;
And so I smoke my pipe.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Three Foxes
Once upon a time there were three little foxes
Who didn’t wear stockings, and they didn’t wear sockses,
But they all had handkerchiefs to blow their noses,
And they kept their handkerchiefs in cardboard boxes.
And they lived in forest in three little houses,
And they didn’t wear coats, and they didn’t wear trousies.
They ran through the woods on their little bare tootsies,
And they played “Touch Last” with a family of mouses.
They didn’t go shopping in the High Street shopses,
But caught what they wanted in the woods and copses.
They all went fishing, and they caught three wormses,
They went out hunting, and they caught three wopses.
They wen to a Fair, and they all won prizes —
Tree plum-puddingses and three mince-pieses.
They rode on elephants and swang on swingses,
And hit three coco-nuts at coco-nut shieses.
That’s all I know of three little foxes
Who kept their handkerchiefs in three little boxes.
They lived in the forest in three little houses,
But they didn’t wear coats and they didn’t wear trousies,
And they didn’t wear stockings and they didn’t wear sockses.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Smoke Two Joints
(she was living in a single room with three other individuals.
One of them was a male and the other two, well, the other two were females.
God only know what they were up to in there.
And furthermore susan, I wouldnt be the least bit surprised to learn that all four of them
Habitually smoke marijuana cigarettes... reefers)
I smoke two joints in the morning.
I smoke two joints at night.
I smoke two joints in the afternoon, it makes me feel alright
I smoke two joints in time of peace, and two in time of war
I smoke two joints before I smoke two joints,
And then I smoke two more
Smoked cigarettes til the day she died
Toke a big spliff of some good sensimillia
Smoked cigarettes til the day she died
Toke a big spliff of some good sensamill...
Easy-e were ya ever caught slippin? hell no!
Daddy he once told me son you be hard workin man
And momma she once told me son you do the best you can
But, then one day I met a man who came to me and said
Hard work good, and hard work fine but first take care of head
(guitar solo)
Whoa, rock me tonight,
Whoa-oh, jah sake,
Whoa-ohh
song performed by by Sublime
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandad Played The Banjo
When my grandadpassed away-He left his old banjo to me-He played it unti hiis death-At the age of eighty-three-One of my fondest memories-Was hearing my grandad play-Old-time songs on his banjo-At the end of a summer day-Often on a balmy evening-Grandad brought his banjo to play-Daddy joined in with his guitar-And we passed the time away-We gathered on the back porch-Sometimes neighbors would stop by-Often there was some singing-Of pretty songs by our granny Di.
poem by Joy Thacker
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yes, what if God does not speak english at all?
you were not born yesterday
and probably heard it before
that if your God does not speak english
then he must not be God
of course, something arrogant
hangs in the air
of this effortless superiority that
'englishers'
'english-plongplangs'
clai m, which, of course, we
always oppose and dub
as prettry dumb silly
but anyhow, yes, we are asked again
what if?
what if, this God, does not really speak English?
well, of course, he is still God
and he must not have considered the english language
that important
and i agree, even if i speak it,
i still have this language
of my soul,
albeit, in english, for you,
who does not speak my own language,
yes, of course, for you to perhaps
understand,
but i like it though, this thought
that God does not speak
the english language, lest, he may sound
so englishly, oh well,
arrogant.....
dear God
do you really...not speak english?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fantasy Has Been Like Rolling Dice
Fantasy hastens its wings over long hours of play,
Whenever you roll dice probably spells disaster.
Fantasy occupies the soul from a new position;
A solid hope has spun a discord, a funny spell,
One of thatched houses inside which are witches
Only sold as themselves by the well-adventurers
Who delve into the Marco Polo exploration of a life-time.
I want them to win, and Dungeon Masters speak ill of those who are higher.
poem by Naveed Akram
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