No Sudden Movements!

NO SUDDEN MOVMENTS

Almanac continuum

I’ve got no time for contemplation

What’s to think about?

The shape of the cosmos and what’s for tea?

The never ending roundabout

On the M53

Do you realise

That one day every member

Of The Flaming Lips will die

In an accident involving unsecured timber

And a crate of Shepherd’s pie

Come boy! Round up the sheep

And let’s put the truth to bed

There’s Saxon armour under the turnips

There’s a cadaver in the shed

She was once my sister in law

Her hair was Pre-Raphaelite

I stored her in the kitchen draw  

And gave the wife a fright

How many times must we watch Dion Dublin

Look at rotting sun beams

The nets need a good cleaning

Day time shows need better themes

Maybe scored by minimalist Japanese lads

Who do all those rubbish perfume ads

And wear six hundred quid jeans

The Beano and the Guinness Book Of Records

A map of East Anglia and the Norfolk Broads

Getting off the train at Ely

An orchard at the wedding

A ketwig pulls a wheelie

And ends up in the bedding

Sleep tight young love

Pass me down your North Face glove

There’s a ten pound wrap inside

And a grinder filled with cheddar

Frankie Beverley’s back in stride

And China’s getting redder

I’m so left wing I’m a Nazi

I’m so funny I’m a Tory

My arl fellar’s on his lazzys

My wife’s in Tobermory

Tartan kilts and tweed kecks

Infidel tongues and Jacobite wrecks

We’re sailing on to glory

You can’t con a con man

And you can’t kid a kidder

You can kid a con man

And you can con a kidder

Are there any other bidders

For this charming Edwardian dildo

Made from finest Congo ivory

Once used by Jill Dando

There goes Barry George

An innocent man

There goes Brymbo forge

And the ships for Pakistan

I’m from the Bucklow Hundred

Our mob has fifty feet

Two hundred eyes

And an ancient ancestral seat

At the foot of Castle Rise

Oh Mr White with your weasel face

A pound of spam and a vanity case

With a ballerina inside that pirouettes

Just like a Degas sketch

And Edgar son, you old wretch

Nip to the turfy with my bets

You can’t pay tax with pebbles these days

You can’t cash cheques at Asda

You can’t worship fires in Persia now

Or pray to Ahura Mazda

One day all cars will be made like this

One day all MPs won’t take the piss

And footballers won’t take the knee

And fans won’t twist their history

Or pray to Gods when they miss

You should’ve clocked Jean Brodie

When she was in her prime

And now she’s doing pantomime

With Mussolini’s roadie

Never watch Salo with yer nan

It’ll put her off her supper

And never trust a man with a tan

Trying to offload copper

Agamemnon knew the score

Three nil to Panathinaikos

And Rumpole thought he knew the law

Until he listened to Was Not Was

Don and Dave and Don and Phil

Dick and Dom and Jack and Jill

Daddy long legs legs on the windowsill

Nicotine on the ceiling

R. Lee Ermey knew the drill

Boston had more than a feeling

The Lincolnshire coast is cold

And flat and old

And the spuds still need picking

By swarthy gents in bubble tents

Who pay top price for chicken

Electro magnetic energy

Is stronger than gravity

If you drive your car

Into infinity

You’ll end up back where you started

And you’ll recognise yourself

And clear the top shelf

With all those darts trophies

Yer dad left you in his will

And if you melt them all down

You can pay your lecky bill

Quarks are very small

So small they’re invisible

And even the ancient Sybil

Couldn’t see them at all

If you stood them all end on end

It’d drive round the bend

Send your completed coupon

To a PO box somewhere in Derby

When Herbie went to Monte Carlo

He bumped into Chris Farlowe

And cracked funny he was out of time

But Chris didn’t find it funny at all

And neither did former brickie Timothy Spall

He played Turner as a grunting pig

And when all the True Levellers began to dig

The earth became a common treasury

But it didn’t last long

It never does

King Kong climbed up the Empire State

Ken Dodd never paid his rates

On the jam butty mines or paid his fines

For parking in disabled spaces at Knotty Ash Asda

Open 24 Hours

24 Hours from Asda

A day away from her barms

I bought  four knock off burglar alarms

Off a fellar with Prada flippys

Who also bred designer puppies

Half Jack Russell half Great Dane

Jane Russell was great in The Outlaw

But The Paleface was a bit racist

Son Of Paleface more racist still

But not as bad as Triumph Of The Will

Hitler has only got one ball

But it’s a casey and can kill a hundred Tommys

Throwing effigies of Adolf on council bommies

Penny for the Guy mister, can I mind yer car

Penny for your thoughts sister, can I burn yer bra?

There’s a man who works down the chip shop

Who swears he’s Kirsty McColl

Dirty old man

Dirty old man

They didn’t have nonces in the 70s

And they didn’t have fences at the footy

You could stand outside

And tell the score from the sounds

Ah but that’s just cheap nostalgia

Hello Mrs Jones, how’s your Bert’s neuralgia?

Bacharach and David sing

Shakatak and King

That’s what my heart yearns for now

Love and Homepride

We sail on the noon tide

It’s talent day at Pontins

And Bernie Clifton’s ostrich

Is hot stepping to the Jackson 5

Oh if Stonewall were still alive

He’d take it out and shoot it

Straight through his stupid throat

Bernie not the bird like

If you’ve ever read Fever Pitch

It’ll put you off soccer ball for life

Where’s my knife?

There’s an amnesty on

And time I handed the murder weapon in

They won’t check for prints

Oh where do I begin?

At the beginning when all was void

And the universe was created

When the death star was destroyed

In space no cunt can hear you scream

And all you can taste is shit icecream

Some people never learn

And these people are always happy

So keep the title snappy

It’ll sell well at the offy

And keep the facepaint Gothy

Pete Murphy used to live next to me

Not the div from Bauhaus obviously

No this Pete Murphy played the banjo with his feet

His dental care was incomplete

And he had a nose where his ear should be

Some called him a freak but he was OK by me

His mum was a dinner lady

With a ferocious Dublin accent

She said she’d courted Hillary

Before he made his brave ascent

Of Mountjoy prison’s walls

In a daring IRA escape

He had the starry plough

Stitched to the back of his Tricolor cape

Oh Hopkins played Bligh very well

But Mel Gibson as Christian? Fucking hell

Pitcairn tourists can still visit the plot

But there are no breadfruits any more

And the King of Tahiti is still feeling sore

Cos Georgey the German copped for the lot

And never dismiss a dog full of snot

Cos it can still smell sarcasm from a mile away

Come listen to my story of a man named Ged

A gangster from Huyton who kept his habit fed

And kept his nose clean on the threes

And passed around the sacrament

On knobbly two dog knees

Freeze!

It’s Cagney and Lacey

With Sailor and Racey

Frank Worthington collars

A fistful of dollars

And a bladder full of bitter

Bass Charrington Bowls team

Left their woods in East Cheam

There’s a bevel on the edge to make it swerve

And the Greenall Whitley lot deserve

Everything they get

For scabbing on the dockers

They stink like heavy rockers

After watching a Sabbath tribute band

With a Chinese Ozzy Osbourne

And Tommy Iommi’s a kid from Runcorn

With a stick on muzzy

Is it?

A muzzy or just bum fluff

Fuck me this steak is tough

It twatted three of the waiters

And ended up in Slater’s

Chatting up two Albino sisters

From just outside Wallasey

First time double daters

Charged with witchcraft and heresy

Something wicked this way comes

Buddy Rich is twatting his drums

Sweating like a pig on heat

And I count Waterloo as a defeat

For republicanism against the elite

If it wasn’t for those pesky Prussians

We’d have better sauce with our meat

One hundred and eighty!

Nice one, top one, get on one matey

No thanks lad it’s time to plant me leeks

And study finches with oddly shaped beaks

And crows laugh at humans

Because they haven’t got wings

Crow black black crow black town

Bob Zimmerman was framed

For the murder of Woody Guthrie

Found innocent by a jury

Of nine good men and three baddies

Who hated electric and mocked the traddys

This machine kills fishes

It’s a fifty foot fibre glass carp pole

Tunnel system that undermines the foundations

Of the new estate for new time buyers and old school liars

Own your own home it’s a solid investment

But look at all those rotting roof tops

Negative equity Tory dupes

Don’t tell Sid his shares are worthless

A land of milk and honey nut loops

Let’s troop the colours and God save the queen

Have a whip round for her water bill

And call the doleys obscene

Rag time bag slime

Bilk has done his accas

And Bez can’t sing or play the flute

But he’s boss on the maracas

Kopites are gobshites

The Road End’s full of slashers

Winner winner

Chlorinated dinner

Corn fed ritually bled

Everyone’s a sinner baby

Snowflakes can’t take a joke

The gammons object to ridicule

So answer a fool according to his folly

Lest he be wise in his own conceit

Good golly miss Molly

Bloom’s soliloquy  

Goes out to everybody

Except Nora Barnacle

She stuck to James for life

Oh faithful wife

Oh hideous snob

Cop the gob on him

Half an hour at the gym

Juiced up on gear and gossiping

About ths grass and that grass

Pampas is a grass 

And grows well in the Argentine

Where the gauchos sip red wine

With Walter Becker and Desmond Decker

A message to you Rudy

A boat trip on the Little Roo Dee

With John Barnes his wife and kids

Trying too hard not to be recognised

He invented the bouncing bomb  

Three uncles died at the Somme

It’s a long way to Tipperary

But it’s further to Osaka

And there’s no fairground at Talacre

But the café’s run by Herbert Lom

Tom Tom the piper’s son

Stole a tart and away he run

What are word’s worth?

When at once I came across

A host of golden retrievers

And devout believers

In the forthcoming end of days

And tragic Norwegian plays

Are always short on laughs

Don’t say math it’s maths

So measure me the circumference of sin

And the radius of the Hell within

All men that count themselves as such

Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid

Jumped off the cliff

Did they die or did they swim

To tell their tale at some dusty saloon

And the kid with the mouse balloon

Is taking the mick

Clwyd ices often licked, never beaten

Towyn scallys with Kinder egg skag

What a world we live in

Put the city boys on the train to the Gulag

With Adrian Chiles and Micky Quinn

I’m a self-styled stylist to the stars

I’m a ten bob Bukowski grafting rhymes

In sleazy back street bars

Inside my Primark bag I’ve got

An A to Z of the city of Turku

A morse code translation of the bible

Ten bottles of Esso Blue

Beefheart’s squid rings

Alan Lomax’s hillbilly recipe cards

I life size replica of Harlech castle

An old cassette of The Best of Alan Beswick’s Red Rose radio show

A signed copy of Fly Fishing by JR Hartley

An Inuit phrasebook open at ‘it’s a bit parky’

A tin of dolphin chunks stating they’re tuna friendly

And a hand written letter from Nigel Blackwell, lead singer of Half Man Half Biscuit saying

‘leave this sort of thing to the big boys, son!”   

You can’t reason with a Mormon

You can’t talk turkey to a goose

And if you get caught kiting

You won’t escape the noose

Of all the crimes from Ay to Zee

Don’t fuck with hard currency

As Mr Biggs found out the hard way

There’s no gang more ruthless than HMRC

Death and taxis

Davy Liver sang the Delta Blues

And Dixie Dean relaxes

In comfy calf skin shoes

Purchased from a Sunday paper offer

Next to ads for Medi Cruises

See Sicily and Sardinia

And wake up full of bruises

There’s a cut throat crew on board

High on rum and ketamine

So if your bunk gets ransacked

Look out for stolen vaseline

Toy Town lockdown

Big Ears won’t get the jab

Noddy’s seaside joyride

Ends up on a slab

Corinthians 3

Ephesians 4

St Paul was shit at marking

But he always knew the score

His tackling was cynical

His finishing was clinical

His celebrations were top drawer

He looked through a glass darkly

Then threw it on the door

Chas Smash knew the dance

Sixty skinheads on the floor

Seig Heiling to The Specials

Here comes the Hooded Claw

Death plays chess with Muttley

Geoff Hinsleff plays himself

Oh he’s no Ralphy Richardson

And never reads The Guardian

To his credit

As Kevin Webster’s arl fellar

He was more than competent

Although he had a different accent

They’re all northerners up there

Network tepee

Weird Device

Internet speed freak

Ethernet slice

Farewell to Clancy Eccles

They buried him on Winter Hill

And The Higher Edgar Broughton Band

Can hear his wild screams still

Cards on the table now

Who killed Jesse James?

Because everyone blames Robert Ford

You live and die by the sword

They’re all back stabbing bastards

Every single one of them

From Rotherhithe to Rutherglen

Seasick Steve’s in his speedos

Raising money for donkeys in distress

Carrots don’t grow themselves

Eddie Izzard’s in his finest dress

Transphobic tram drivers

Need diversity training

Council parkland skivers

Brew up each time it’s raining

Well I’m living like a hermit

And I’m walking like a crab

I’m parking with a permit

And yet my life is drab

If only I could prophesise

And see my own demise

I’d finally be happy

And hang out with the guys

Cheers guys

Here’s yer weather guys

Surprise surprise

Cloudy with rain again and again

If we only lived in Cali

With three provo escapees

Sean Rice, Mick Hayes and Bob O’Malley

I’d like to drive the west coast

From Frisco up to Seattle

On a souped up chicken chaser

And shout obscenities to cattle

The Foo Fighters are the new Chilli Peppers

Music for people who don’t like music

On the island of Spinalonga they banished all the lepers

Maybe all the longhaired whoppers with tatts could go there

Moan that they’ve had it tough and so depressed

Their latent sexuality so long suppressed

They slice their arms with fish knives

Carve 4 Real into their melons

Walk around Lidl in St Helens

Buying plastic Buddhas

For their frankly pitiful torture gardens   

No Torquemada’s they

No one expects the Spanish Inquisition

And no one expects a referee’s decision

Without referring first to VAR

Technology soon becomes obsolete

A million rusting satellites

Pointing skywards at Murdoch’s ghost

And people forget that it was Micky Most

Who produced those great Hot Chocolate tunes

Put Your Love In Me is one example

Way ahead of the game

I’ll put it in a sample

And make it sound real lame

Harry’s Game

Don’t Bring Harry

Hurry Up Harry

We’re going down the pub

It’s a link to our shared history

The Rover’s Return and sentimentality

For a golden era that never was

The lies we tell ourselves

Fundamental British Values

Tolerance and fair play

There is a green hill far away

Without a city wall

And when the scousers come to play

We’ll do our jungle call

Tap out that morse code with coins on metal railings

A G

A G R

A G R O

A G G R O

Then flee in terror when they take up our challenge

Harry The Dog

Bobby The Wolf

Mad Pat

And Winkle

F Troop and The Treatment

Grisly Glasgow tenements

The Tartan Army on the crossbars

A day of shame, a day of joy

Don’t be coy now I won’t carp

If you tell me I’m not your stereotype

Piss poor pen pals from St Petersburg

Who don’t like it being called Stalingrad

Or was that Volvograd and Leningrad

Glad to see the Evil Empire is now a gangsters paradise

Nice to beat you to beat you nice

Here, fancy a slice of the new World Order Pie

Here’s a football club, a newspaper and a meeting with the queen

Just sign on the dotted line here and here and here

We can wash your stolen trillions clean

Welcome to the first world

Democracy and hypocrisy

White man speaks with forked tongue

And the Black Foot still clung

To the Gods of the rivers

Give me my land back Indian givers

Buffalo could never get this low

Follow the money

Follow the herds

Swallow the honey

Pick up the turds

Spread that stuff across the fields

See what things from cowshit yields

The Incas knew cosmology but didn’t know of wheels

And the Aztecs never heard of King of Spain’s appeals

Oh this land is our land

But no hand can claim

For soil and the mountains

Blood red fountains

The Pope’s OK for cheese

The herald with crossed keys

The mystery of alchemy

Is no cure for disease

A plague on both your houses

No 33 and number 66

Take their first born for their sin

As for numbers 34 and 67

Pass over them for good people dwell within  

Whenever the Arkansas Chuckabuck won the wacky races

All the rednecks celebrated in Little Rock like it’s 1899

When Pavolv’s dog met Schrodinger’s cat

They had a scrap in two different places

And when Rod went solo from the Faces

All the mice lapped it up

And the northern tribe of the Sami

Drank reindeer milk infused with magic mushies

And the mystery of the Santa’s flying sledge was solved

And the earth and the heavens all revolve

On an invisible axis that rotates in every atom too

A-choo a-choo

Bless you father for you have sinned against mankind

Little boys all those little boys you mutilated

Oh what price is forgiveness and the world was blind

To those weak and evil men you initiated

Into the falsehood of the priesthood

Beyond good and evil and beyond Nietzsche and Freud

Every game’s a potential banana skin slip on the ice

You only live twice

And 007 was a secret code used by John Donne and his snitches

To uncover papist plots and to drown witches

Bubble bubble toil and trouble

All my little chickens dead?

Let them eat cake

Off with his head!

The Queen Of Hearts is a Jack of all trades

The wallpaper’s always the fucking same

When the police perform dawn raids

On ten bob gangsters in two up two downs

Dressed in Under Armour dressing gowns

Just give me no comment and maybe get a six

Smuggle in some gear for the little fella’s fix

Calvinist screws share the Lord’s good news

But the jihadi lads don’t wanna hear it

So they will be re-programmed in our democratic ways

It’s not like the Ludovico Technique

No the world’s never that bleak

The Islamists just need to act like good little muslims

Sing God Save The Queen and accept that the meek

Shall inherit fuck all

Call The Abortionist!

We can’t afford another mouth to feed

And therefore we here are all agreed

The Foundling Hospital shall be turned into luxury flats

It’s not a form of colonisation only progress

And a blatant lie’s as good as a book full of stats

As Huckleberry Finn knew

And when Huckleberry Hound was a postman

He was scared of the dog even though he’s a dog himself

They really should think these things through

Before putting pen to paper

See ya later Wally Gator

In a while Crocodile Shoes

Who knew Geordies could sing the blues

When Dorothy pulled back the curtain

On the Wizard of Oz

She just saw an old man pulling levers

Just like all the devout believers

In the magic realm of capitalist myths

Smoke and mirrors

Pin stripe suits and Keith Richard riffs

They can’t get no sat-is-faction

What a fatal attraction the bunny boiler was

And all because the lady didn’t like Milk Tray

I say I say I say

What do you call a stand up comedian with no legs?

There’s no punchline coming so don’t wait too long

We all look for a place to belong

And no one can sing the same song

That you’ve sung

If I only had an iron lung

I could deep sea dive with the whales

Separate the babies from the males

In case they accidentally kill em

Not out of spite they’re just clumsy beasts

Call me Ishmael or call me Al

Paul Simon’s a very small man with a massive ego

If you go to Tesco you buy him made of Lego

And Art Garfunkel’s a monkey’s uncle

You can tell by the hair on his back

If you really must smoke rock of crack

Please do so responsibly

When the fun stops, stop!

We formed a secret conclave

Re-enacted the siege of Peking

By the Mongol hordes

With playdough swords

And Genghis Khan had a plan

To conquer as far as Widnes

Let’s end this bit here