It takes all kinds of powders
To keep my powder-keg dry
All kinds of powders
To stop it from exploding in your eye
The keg fuse is burning
And the powder is dry
Livin in the city
It’s hard, but I’ll give it a try
You get your powder from the soup kitchen
Anything that gets you by
Make it through another evening
Cold turkey in a pie
Not every kinda powder
Will help you through the night
Stick in with the program
And keep yr powder dry
Coral island, your lagoon comes in handy
Coral island, your modus operandi is to
Turn my hopes and dreams
Into a hill of beans
Something worthwhile
Once in a while
Coral Island, dolce vita in the sea
Ocean waves lick your shores
Now they’re licking me
Wishes and cares
Melt into a bushel of dreams
For me I got coral in my site
And that’s alrite
Seems coral island is no pie in the sky
It’s the real thing, its the taste of summer
And you know that’s no lie
No sycamores here, but I’m sick of those
Who’d call a rose a sycamore
When you can call it arose
Coral Island, palm trees reach for the sky
If a coconut hits you you’d certainly die
Coconut pie is no pie in the sky
Kickin’ the sand there’s mud in your eye
Dunedin’s moved on like a gypsy caravan
Now Cristchurch has made it look good
You have roads and shops and the Octagon
You lucky bastards
Dunedin, taking off after crashing
Sniggering as you send off your black jerseys to your poor cousins up North
While you secretly buy up Farmers and Ballantynes stock from a rogue vendor by the name of Woodstock
When the gypsy fair came to town
“I always wanted that frock and highfalutin cummerbund , m’lady”
Now watch as I strut down George Street, lookin and feelin like the laird of the land.
Dunedin 2013 – crashed while taking coffee
With other like minded survivors
Only now
They’re a little
More dapper
I got some newfangled pastry, puffy as a ball
with some prime granny smiths on top of it all
an then some chillin blueberries heated warm to the cool
an some hokey pokey icecream to sweat off the pool
(about an hour ago · Like · 1 · Peter Morgan)
hokey pokey (37 minutes ago · Like – Steve McCabe)
more booty than you’d get in the pokey, even wit more blueberry than
haile salassie an the flakey crumb diggers
hum round like flies making dem big eyes while other niggas
die in da gunfights in da city of compton,
sure as snoop is westside
the reason they died is not a reason for pride
(21 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)
delicious icecream hokey pokey its apt
its a whole lotta white with some chunks of black
well more like colored kids swirlin around
in this tipsy top world of hip hop sound… sound…sound
(17 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)
you know you’re soakin in it, cool it, you’re still in charge
until the new boss takes over, name of marge
(15 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)
deeshwashing liquid, i would never have guessed
piss of you old hag i came here for the test!
(13 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)
i wanna see if my belly is sprouting a sprog
if so i’ll protect it from dingo and dog
and any other mongrel who might come along
trying to ply it it with bottle, needle or bong
(10 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)
put your hand in the hand of the man who crossed
the keystone cops when they were keystone-nots
the city of brotherly love has come a long way
since general patton passed thru this way
(6 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)
city of sails is a city of snails
snail bait and switch is what i need
Stop your sobbing, I know you’re bleeding on the inside
I don’t want to hurt you
And I won’t desert you
I believe in you
I’m bleeding on the inside too
Ain’t misbehaving,
saving my love for you
Still I pine, name and town, name and town
If you wish to opine
Bleeding on the inside
But the wounds are divine
Divine but not holy
Heaven above the irony
Stigmata is more painful than suicide
When you bleed most on the inside
I have to ask you a favour-
You filled my lav, we fell in love
That was little or no labour
You know how you were saying you wanted a baby?
Well I’ve been thinking and I think you are crazy
Put that thought in a guitar shaped box and seal it with a kiss from me
I never got my credits from the school of hard knocks because some big boys stole em from me
Gaucho man, head honcho man
What makes you better than me?
Nothing I see apart from pure greed
As far as the eye can see
I put that thought in a guitar shaped box
But I never got down to burying it
The cattle in the manger grazed all around it
Like a sketch from a book by James Herriot
(chorus)
Gaucho! Gaucho!
Book by James Herriot!
Oucho! Groucho!
No no no you sorry iriot!
Whose rind is it, nobody’s fault
The wrong and rinding woad
Keep your destiny in the front of your head
Boy you gotta carry that load
Cackling, kow-tow-ing, fizzling to the masses
hark your haunting cry “More-Pork! More-Pork!”
Echoing about the barn like a whooping slow barn owl
Only faster and binder, More – Pork!
Made a tidy sum when they thought you were extinct
Tears flowed when you hit the drink
Punch-drunk above your weight and you’re fat as the fatted calf
Fat as a pancake – padded with sand-weights, all the measures overflow by half
Moepork! Morepork! owls could give a hoot!
Wiseguy! thats my guy – don’t you press yourself against his zoot suit!
lamb is to virgin as virgin is to shepherd -
olive oil is as plain to see as spots to a leopard
A lamb on the lam has a long way to run
i rest my case, you know that you’re the only one
alive and kicking like a deathly mule standing
firing just on one cylinder like a tooth–guard that needs filling
lamb is to virgin as virgin ios to shepherd -
olive oil is as plain to see as spots to a leopard
39 minutes ago · Like
a lamb on the lam has a long way to run
i rest my case, you know that you’re the only one
alive and kicking like a deathly mule standing
firing just on one cylinder like a tooth–guard that needs filling
the last mule standing is as sterile as the first
pointedly pointing our what is not the last may well be the first
spitting tacks, disputing facts like theres no tomorrow
hurry up and finish that last cup of sorrow
Specious allies fist each other in the final hunger games
Let me know whatever happened to dear Leeanne Rhymes
Buster was her flatmate if I recall
I read all about it in the sun, in the Sun filled up with my bladder gall
cab driver, cab calloway on the seizure medication
can you please drop me off at Waterloo station
remember theres a womble the one each for each of us
each one carrying a fetid hankyloload full of pus
to throw in each of our eyes, one at a time,
even whilst Rome burns, feels like acid on Leeanne Rhymes
Buster sticking to the side of your lip like day-old gum glue on the chubby flimsy skin packet
a womble couldn’t find more crap on wimbledon common with a tennis racket
Rob Lamb as a Lamb on the lam I can only say .. run..now…
Barney Rubble is dead, a fiery womble pecks at his seams
he lives in his dreams
how many lonely people ponder what it all means
out the back near the jar by the door with the sewing machine
Legally binding that contract is made of paper
50 or so breweries steam their goods on the coast route
purple haze frankly covers almost the whole district.
Gloating like a feedback loop, giving them back a favour like a sailor’s wheel
Grumpy as a witches brew punching above its weight in the grim reapers wrecking crew
stellar as a lamb on the lam with with a square case full of stolen ham
licking the fat like a cat with the cream only spilling out seed onto the feed-trainer’s all round muffler cover
made out of a tin can and feeding the plumb bird like its ready to roost,
roosting with its bird-egg like guns on the roof
firing on all one cylinders like a pointing finger ambling fatewise
creaming off the best for last simply for hoops
green around the gills red as a beet
blue as blue can be
pink as a newborn cows teat
high as a kite blue as a nun
steaming like a freshly laid
pile of cow dung
its down pat like a steaming cowpat baking in the field
streaking across the field like you wouldn’t believe
streaky bacon passed through the sieve of disbelief
with a string of pearls which signifies loss to the family
on the lam
like general Steven Segal Hamm
Hammer horror every evening with the baseball bat
Nothing abates base battery like a a hen and chicken factory
Libelous licenciousness, leave it back in the liquor cabinet
Chasing it like a chasseur chaser leaving on a jet plane
sweeter than a plate of treats oj blueberry sunday
i found my thrill there, i think you may too
lets go watch the submarine racers and get stranded at the dive-in, what a to-do
That paper’s not worth the paper its written on
spilling out the back passage like Mitt romneys baby cat with mittens oN
she should be wearing kid gloves to protect that beauty
welcome to my nightmare take this ticket to your call of duty
its a fecal matter to be disposed of with care, oh yeah
like it or lump it it seedy and its always there
foaming or steaming, watery or bumpy
love it or leave it you can never save it for later
its done and dusted once it hits the drop-zone
the last mule standing is as sterile as the first
pointedly pointing our what is not the last may well be the first
spitting tacks, disputing facts like theres no tomorrow
hurry up and finish that last cup of sorrow
Specious allies fist each other in the final hunger games
Let me know whatever happened to dear Leeanne Rhymes
Buster was her flatmate if I recall
I read all about it in the sun, in the Sun filled up with my bladder gall
cab driver, cab calloway on the seizure medication
can you please drop me off at Waterloo station
remember theres a womble the one each for each of us
each one carrying a fetid hankyloload full of pus
to throw in each of our eyes, one at a time,
even whilst Rome burns, feels like acid on Leeanne Rhymes
Buster sticking to the side of your lip like day-old gum glue on the chubby flimsy skin packet
a womble couuldn’t find more crap on wimbledon common with a tennis racket
Barney Rubble is dead, a fiery womble pecks at his seams
he lives in his dreams
how many lonely people ponder what it all means
out the back near the jar by the door with the sewing machine
Legally binding that contract is made of paper
on the lam
Droopy drawers need some wiping once yer done
always whats with the heads-up on the green detail,
sensing weights like the setting sun
feeding the snail shell and all grunting like a pig on the lam with a side of lamb
to kill a mockingbird is no easy feat,
if you had big feet you could stomp on it from a great height
in the plain day of light, if you held your hand out maybe one would alight,
I doubt it though I don’t think you could stop it swirling in flight
spinning like a dervish-top, round and round like a mixer/blender
to slender to be a gender-bender
a huff aand a puff and the whole house of cards comes tumbling down
like a sandcastle built on feet of clay
its cold and windy outside who’ll your iglesias be bringing down when he comes into town
feelings like a feeling blistering through the windows of your mind
stealing stolen kisses like they were on open display
in the glassy cabinet they were placed in when you first stole them
a feeble paper bag full of coughed up sick blood and mucus
like a wind sock of creamning soda and i quote the accusers
a paper bag of old glory, welting with the stench of older glory
steaming like a milksop, thats the story morning glory
its still the same old story a case of do or die
indifference is always at the hem of your sleeve
spinning like a dervish-top
who are you going to believe?
Nothing better than a moo moo milk cow
To make you curtsey and Mau mau kowtow
Hot pepperoni from the broken-in hausfrau
One day she’s broken she’s a genuine hoosgau
Moo moo milk cow, do you have any cream
Did you send it all to London for the chai chai queen
She’s the biggest chump around, she’s an orb-wielding despot
She can bore you to death without any respite
Private Dick – now you’re back from war
I really hope you found what you were looking for
Under the rug – in the fog of war
Your dog tags gleaming like a mirror on the wall
The white feather you sent to that stay-at-home dad
and the one to his daughter his wife and his lad
Made a nice quilt, which stays folded in peace
While you you march march march to defeat-feat-feat!
Hup Two Three Four marching ants go through the door
Hup Six Seven Eight all good ants go though the gate
Private Dick! Private Parts! Show your Privates in the park!
Private Room! Private Dancer! Keep your Privates free of cancer!
