Ian Louis Harris

Flags Of Convenience, Comedy Lyric, 27 March 1992

This is another comedy lyric written around the time I found out about NewsRevue but probably written for my own/friends amusement. It was around the time of the 1992 election.

                                          FLAGS OF CONVENIENCE
                                         (To the tune of “The Red Flag”)

RED

The people’s flag is deepest red,
It shrouded oft our martyred dead;
And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold,
Their heart’s blood dyed its every fold.

Then raise the scarlet standard high,
Within its shade we’ll live or die;
Tho’ cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We’ll keep the red flag flying here.

BLUE

The bosses flag is deepest blue,
It helps us tell men what to do;
And when they’re fighting in a bar,
Its azure lights the Panda Car.

Then raise the sapphire flag a while,
Within its shade we’ve made a pile;
Tho’ Unions flinch and workers sneer,
We drink fine wine, they swig warm beer.

YELLOW

The Liberals flag is yellow/gold,
The colour isn’t very bold;
And as we can’t make up our minds,
We’ve changed our name a dozen times.

Oh jaundiced banner in the skies,
Within your shade we’ll compromise;
Tho’ Tories punch and Labour pound,
We’ll occupy the centre ground.

GREEN

The Eco flag is crispest green,
We like to keep our standard clean;
And tho’ it sounds incré-dible,
Our flag’s biodegradable.

Oh verdant banner in the breeze,
Within your shade, no CFCs;
Tho’ dross decay and wastrels wear,
We’re going to save the ozone layer.
                                                                                                  27th March 1992

I also wrote an update of this lyric in the Autumn of 1994; I don’t think that it was used in NewsRevue either, but it might have been:

FLAGS OF CONVENIENCE – AUTUMN 1994 REMIX
(To the tune of “The Red Flag”)
RED
The people’s flag is deepest red,
It shrouded oft our martyred dead;
And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold,
Their heart’s blood dyed its every fold.
So raise the scarlet standard up,
In deepest pooh we’ve ended up;
Tho’ unsure what the ‘ell it’s for,
We took the cause out of clause four.
BLUE
The bosses flag is deepest blue,
It helps us tell men what to do;
And when they’re fighting in a bar,
Its azure lights the Panda Car.
So raise the sapphire flag a while,
Within its shade we’ve made a pile;
Tho’ Unions flinch and workers sneer,
We drink fine wine, they swig warm beer.
YELLOW
The Liberals flag is yellow/gold,
The colour isn’t very bold;
Tho’ we’re broad-minded on our jogs,
We’re Fascists on the Isle of Dogs;
Oh jaundiced banner in the skies,
Within your shade we’ll compromise;
Tho’ Tories punch and Labour pound,
We’ll occupy the centre ground.
GREEN
The Eco flag is crispest green,
We like to keep our standard clean;
And tho’ it sounds incré-dible,
Our flag’s biodegradable.
Oh verdant banner in the breeze,
Within your shade, no CFCs;
Tho’ dross decay and wastrels wear,
We’re going to save the ozone layer.

Below is a video of The Red Flag with the lyrics:

The Northcote Arms, Followed By Leyton Orient v Torquay United, With John White & Others, 21 March 1992

I think I only went on one occasion to join John White and his mates watching The O’s (Leyton Orient Football Club) on a Saturday afternoon.

I have uncovered a diary entry on 21 March 1992 which reads:

1.30 Northcote
Johnboy Soccer

This must be the one.

So our afternoon started in The Northcote…

…no, not THAT pub in Northcote Road near my dad’s old Clapham Junction shop – don’t be stupid…what use would that be ahead of an O’s home match?

The Northcote Arms, Leyton. I’m hoping that John and his mates will forgive me if I remember little about the pub at that time. It was a pub. It served beer. The beer was palatable, at least to the extent that I imagine that we all drank more than one pint before heading off to Brisbane Road.

The other thing we did while in the pub was to plot my admission to the ground. You see, unlike Lord’s, where I welcome guests into any part of the ground as long as they are suitably attired…

…at that time, at Brisbane Road, in theory, the members terrace was for members only. An exclusive place…

…ah, with a fine cricketing heritage. That might explain something.

There were a few of us – forgive me again I cannot remember all of the attendees that day. Me and John (obvs), Nick (central to my memory of this part of the story), Arnold I am pretty sure, plus a couple of other people.

The cunning plan was for one member of the party, once through the turnstile, to pass his membership card back out to one of the other members in our group, who would relay the pass to me and I would thus gain entry to the members area. No bar codes in those days. No electronic barrier. Just a ticket-lady and an old-fashioned turnstile.

This device was going according to plan until Nick, who was just ahead of me in the relay, dropped the pass and ended up scrambling on the ground for it in full sight of the turnstile lady.

Nick looked up, with a look of fear on his face, at which the ticket-lady said:

I’m sure I’ve told you lads before – we don’t mind you bringing the occasional friend in with you, if you want.

Nick’s look of fear turned to a look of shame as she smiled and stewarded us all through to the members terrace.

The members terrace looked little different from the other terraces and the stands, which were rather sparsely populated. There was a pocket of a few hundred Torquay fans on the other side.

I remember us all procuring a paper cup with piping hot brown liquid which, I was assured, was tea. This helped to keep us warm on a cold day for a few minutes at least. I think we might have repeated the tea-hand-and-gut-warming process a couple of times during the match.

In those days Leyton Orient was in a division known as League 3, which I believe might have been known as The Fourth Division “back in the day” and is now known as League Two. You see how a popular sport like Association Football keeps these matters simple, whereas cricket insists on complicating things.

I conducted a quick head count of the crowd and arrived at a total of 3,636. Not bad. I also very clearly remember that The Os won the match 2-0, much to the delight of John and his mates…

…OK, I remember none of those details, but I was able to look up the result…and the attendance figure.

I don’t remember what we did after the match, but I suspect that a return visit to The Northcote Arms or a different pub of similar quality might have formed part of the aftermath.

So much did I enjoy the afternoon, I surely said that I would like to join them again some time at another match. I surely meant it when I said it and writing now, some 28 years later, I still think I might like to go to a football match again at some point in the future.

John Sitton, doyen of Leyton Orient in that era although, as it happens, exiled to Slough during the season of my visit.

Really Saying Nothing, Comedy Lyric, 14 March 1992

I think this lyric and one or two others in the run up to the 1992 general election, coincided with my first visits to NewsRevue at the Canal Cafe Theatre. I’ll need to rummage my physical correspondence files for chapter and verse on that.

But I was also just sort-of writing this stuff for friends and my own amusement.

I’m pretty sure this one formed part of my early submission pack to NewsRevue but it wasn’t used.

It has some quite good ideas in it, though.

                                         REALLY SAYING NOTHING

(Sung to the tune of “Really Saying Something”)

1st BIT

I was walking down the street, ({CHORUS} Dowaddywaddy)
When a pollster came up to me; ({CHORUS} Oh yeh)
He shook me by the throat, ({CHORUS} Dowaddywaddy)
And asked me which way I would vote.
“Is it Tory or Labour; Kinnock or Major?”

I said: They’re all really saying nothing, really saying nothing,
{BOTH}   Ba ba sooky do wah, ba ba sooky do wah.

2nd BIT

I was watching my TV,({CHORUS} Dowaddywaddy)
John Major was lecturing me;({CHORUS} Oh yeh)
“Avoid Labour’s double whammy,({CHORUS} Dowaddywaddy)
And Paddy Ashdown’s handshake is clammy.
If you want hope and glory, you should vote Tory”.

But: He was really saying nothing, really saying nothing,
{BOTH} Ba ba sooky do wah, ba ba sooky do wah.

INSTRUMENTAL BIT (During the instrumental the following voiceover from Paddy Ashdown is rendered):

“We Liberals firmly believe that we are really saying something. And yet, in many ways we are really saying nothing. Vote Liberal, the only party prepared to state, quite categorically, that we aren’t really saying whether we are really saying something or not.”

3rd BIT

I then went to my town hall,     ({CHORUS}Dowaddywaddy)
Where Kinnock was giving his all; ({CHORUS}Oh yeh)
“John Major is a creep,     ({CHORUS}Dowaddywaddy)
And Liberals prefer it with sheep.
You will live longer later, linking with Labour”.

Cripes: He was really saying nothing, really saying nothing,
{BOTH} Ba ba sooky do wah, ba ba sooky do wah.

{CHORUS}We’re all really saying nothing, really saying nothing,
{BOTH} Ba ba sooky do wah, ba ba sooky do wah.
                                                                                                      14 March 1992

Below is a video of the Velvelettes singing Really Saying Something:

Here is a link to the lyrics of He Was Really Saying Something.

Or, in case you think that song HAS to be Bananarama & The Fun Boy Three:

“Clubbing” Up West, 13 March 1992, The Night Of The Iguana by Tennessee Williams, Lyttelton Theatre, 14 March 1992

Excellent

I wrote in my log and I remember this production as such too. In 1992 I was still going to this sort of production with Bobbie as long as she was available, which most often she was, despite her protests that mebooking stuff so far ahead meant she couldn’t/wouldn’t guarantee her availability.

Bobbie was there for this one.

I’m pretty sure I had seen Bobbie the night before as well. The diary simply says “clubbing” which, as I recall it, meant a West End evening with Bobbie and several of her law reporter friends.

I remember the evening of Friday 13 March 1992 clearly, because I almost lost my life earlier that day on the M11, driving out to see Schering, when a lorry shed its load of timber on the two-lane motorway ahead of me and I had nowhere to go (other than into a central reservation barrier to the right or into the vehicles to my left) so I slowed down as much as I could through the timber and then vehicularly limped to the hard shoulder to have my broken car and shaken me rescued.

I must have bored everyone shitless with my Friday 13th story that previous evening and for sure the events of the day and evening of 13th were small beer compared with the drama that unfolded at The Lyttelton on the Saturday Night.

Here is the Theatricalia entry for this production.

I’ve always been partial to a bit of Tennessee Williams and this play/production is a good example of why Williams is worth watching.

There’s a good synopsis of the play on Wikipedia – here.

Frances Barber as Maxine, Alfred Molina as The Reverend Shannon, Eileen Atkins as Hannah…top cast. Richard Eyre in the director’s chair.

Richard Burton, Ava Gardner & Deborah Kerr starred in the Hollywood film version – films are different, but here is a clip:

Returning to the 1992 production, here is Kate Kellaway’s preview piece from the Observer:

Kate Kellaway Preview Iguana Sun, Feb 2, 1992 – 59 · The Observer (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com

Below is Michael Coveney’s Observer review:

Michael Coveney on Iguana Sun, Feb 9, 1992 – 60 · The Observer (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com

Below is Michael Billington’s Guardian review:

Billington on Iguana Sat, Feb 8, 1992 – 21 · The Guardian (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com

It really was a cracking night of theatre.

The Ultimate Love Song, Whoops Vicar, NewsRevue, Ben Murphy…, 29 February 1992

I think a basic version of this song might have sat on my jotter for years before I typed it up and tried to do something with it, but I copyrighted it 29 February 1992.

That makes the lyric proper 25 years old this week (at the time of writing), unless you are really pedantic about dates, in which case it is six-and-a-quarter. I was reminded of it, coincidentally, during its anniversary week – click here for that story.

Anyway, I think this one first saw the light of day in the hands of Brian Jordan, who found it in the NewsRevue reject pile (probably thanks to John Random) and took it to Edinburgh in 1992 in his show, “Whoops, Vicar, Is That Your Dick?” So I can for ever boast that my material made its Edinburgh debut in a show by that glorious name.

Subsequently (and/or perhaps simultaneously), the song did NewsRevue runs and was also picked up by west country comedy-singer Ben Murphy for recording – click here or below to hear.

Definitely one of my bigger hits. I can even thrash it out on my baritone uke, key change ‘n’all.

Click here or below for a link to the tune and lyrics: Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love For You by Glenn Medeiros.

THE ULTIMATE LOVE SONG

(To the tune of “Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love for You”)

VERSE 1

Every little thing she does is magic, you will never walk alone, the winner takes it all;

I can’t give you anything but my love, together we are beautiful, it’s not unusual.

You to me are everything, I’d like to teach the world to sing;

Only you, love me do,

You don’t have to say you love me.

CHORUS 1

Nothing’s gonna change the way I sound,

Just take another song and swop the words round;

One thing you can be sure of,

This is a sound you’ll hear some more of.

Nothing’s gonna change the way I croon,

There isn’t too much scope with only one tune;

You can wait your whole life through

But nothing’s gonna change the songs I do.

VERSE 2

You’re the first, the last my everything, with you I am born again, more than I can say;

You won’t find another fool like me dear, I can’t give you anything, one day I’ll fly away.

When will I see you again? you know that you have got a friend;

She’s not there, I’ll be there,

I don’t want to talk about it.

CHORUS 2

Nothing’s gonna change the songs I sing,

Just churn another out and hear the tills ring;

How come I’ve made my fortune,

When I have only written one tune.

Nothing’s gonna change the way I chant,

I sorta tried it once but found that I can’t;

This style’s the one for me,

The only thing I change is key (rising to higher key, slightly beyond ability of crooner)

Nothing’s gonna change my serenade,

Despite the fact it sounds as if I’ve been spayed;

I’ve made a pile this way,

So I’m afraid this song is here to stay.

Rantin’ Robin, Comedy Lyric, 29 February 1992

Another very early attempt at a comedy lyric that didn’t go anywhere other than a few living rooms around W2 & W11.

Actually I had more time for Robin Cook as a politician than I had/have for most, although you wouldn’t tell from this lyric. In fact, I recall Paul Magrath saying that it sounded like a skit at a Federation of Conservative Students conference – a comment which made me so dislike the lyric, it hasn’t seen the light of day since…

…until Ogblog.

RANTIN’ ROBIN
(To the tune of “Rockin’ Robin” for soloist with a Chorus in italics)

Tweedleedeedleedum, tweedleedeedleedum,
Tweedleedeedleedee, tweedleedeedleedee,
Terribly tedious speech, terribly tedious speech, speech, speech, speech speech.

He rants in the commons all day long, all the labour benches are singing his song;
They say that he’s a thinker of great quality, but no-one understands his health policy.
Rantin’ Robin (speech, tedious speech), Rantin’ Robin (speech, tedious speech),
Poor old Rantin’ Robin Cook he really don’t look healthy to me.

He wants central planning called top down, from country down to region and the district and the town;
To operate this programme Robin must install, a thousand extra bureaucrats in Whitehall.
Rantin’ Robin (speech, tedious speech), Rantin’ Robin (speech, tedious speech),
Come on Rantin’ Robin Cook we’ve surely got enough bureaucracy.

Up and down the country Rantin’ Robin takes the stand,
Explaining to the people why their taxes must expand;
He acts as if he knows it all but bless my soul,
He doesn’t know his elbow from his vitriol.

He rants in the commons every day, to try to get health workers well deserved extra pay;
He gets up people’s noses ‘cos he sounds like squeaking glass, he thinks the sun shines out of his working class.
Rantin’ Robin (speech, tedious speech), Rantin’ Robin (speech, tedious speech),
If only Rantin’ Robin Cook could get his points across effectively.

He wants the Health Service to spend more, to try to bring down waiting lists and better serve the poor;
If Robin were to speak more softly and to have a shave, he’d look and sound the same as Willie Waldergrave.
Rantin’ Robin (speech, tedious speech), Rantin’ Robin (speech, tedious speech),
Rantin’ Robin and the Tories don’t seem all that different to me.

He publishes his documents with launches to excess,
Perhaps he’d better spend his time inside the NHS;
He says he favours medicine in the home,
But will the doctors listen to a garden gnome?

He rants in the commons all day long, he’s never been in power so he may be right or wrong;
The Nation’s health may rest on his ability, so I’ll be joining BUPA or with PPP.
Rantin’ Robin (speech, tedious speech), Rantin’ Robin (speech, tedious speech),
Maybe Rantin’ Robin Cook should after all have stuck with industry.

Tweedleedeedleedum, tweedleedeedleedum,
Tweedleedeedleedee, tweedleedeedleedee,
Terribly tedious speech, terribly tedious speech, speech, speech, speech speech.

29 February 1992

Below is The Jackson Five singing Rockin’ Robin:

Click here for a link to the lyrics of Rockin’ Robin

Mrs T, Attempted Spitting Image Lyric, Eventually NewsRevue Lyric, 10 February 1992

One of my earlier attempts, this.

Originally submitted to Spitting Image, 9 or 10 February 1992, I subsequently submitted it to NewsRevue.

Anything that worked to “I Will Survive” was automatically on John Random’s prohibited list, I later discovered, but I did eventually get a version of the song into NewsRevue, perhaps as late as October 1993 but I think probably before that too.

You can’t keep a good lyric down, John; this one is, in my view, quite a good lyric.

The following version is e-dated April 1992, so the original Spitting Image one might be lost for all time, but I doubt if I really changed it between February and April – just a tiny tweak I suspect, otherwise I’d have saved it as a revised version:

MRS T

(sung by Maggie Thatcher to the tune of “I Will Survive”)

VERSE 1

At first I was afraid; (yes, even Mrs T),

Was scared of living out my life without publicity;

But then I spent so many nights just watching “Grey Man” droning on,

And I grew strong; and I learned how to get back on.

So now I’m back, from outta space,

To find that people know my voice and they still recognise my face.

I should have sacked the bleeding lot, I should have left the EEC,

If I had known for just one second that they’d end up sacking me.

CHORUS 1

Oh yes it’s me,

I’m on TV,

Even though it’s only Channel 4,

Or sometimes BSkyB,

But I’ve got interviews to give,

So while I still can breath and live,

I’m on TV,

I’m on TV.

VERSE 2

I tried to warn you, John, about the EMU,

But now I fail to understand what people see in you;

Cos then you took me to one side and whispered softly in my ear,

That it was better for the party if I quietly disappear.

So I went back, across the sea,

Where I had organised a Brussels photo-opportunity.

Yes I went straight up to the top, because I’m never one to tarry,

And I tried to head-butt Jacques Delors and kneecap Ray McSharry.

CHORUS 2

So no more blues,

I’m in the news,

Even though it’s just page seven,

Of the Finchley Evening News,

But I have speeches left to make,

And there are photographs to take,

I’m in the news,

I’m in the news.

Here is Gloria Gaynor singing I Will Survive:

…and here is a link to the lyric to the Gloria song.

For any completists out there who are still reading, here is the October 1993 version which was adapted for some hoo-ha around Mrs T’s memoirs or something:

MRS T – AUTUMN 1993

(sung by Maggie Thatcher to the tune of “I Will Survive”)

VERSE 1

At first I was afraid; (yes, even Mrs T),

Was scared of living out my life without publicity;

But then I spent so many nights just watching “Grey Man” droning on,

That I grew strong; and I learned how to get back on.

So now I’m back, and out in print,

My memoirs will be a best seller so I’m going to make a mint.

They detail how I discharged Howe, because he backed the EEC,

I’ve been voracious for revenge since those dumb bastards ousted me.

CHORUS 1

Oh yes it’s me, literally,

You know my book has been reviewed on Channel 4 and BSkyB;

And I have memoirs left to write,

That dump John Major in the shite,

I will revive, I will reprise.

VERSE 2

I tried to warn the public that John Major’s thick,

And that those arseholes Clarke and Lawson used to make me sick;

But then the Tory party magnets whispered softly in my ear,

That it was better for the party if I quietly disappear.

So I went home and wrote my book,

And now those jerks who tried to gag me are deep in the shtook,

You see my memoirs have a knack of making everyone look silly,

And they ought to circulate more quickly than Dave Mellor’s willy.

CHORUS 2

So no more blues, my book’s reviewed,

Even tho’ it’s one of seven in the Finchley Evening News;

But I’ve more paragraphs to draft,

Cos half my cabinet was daft,

I will surmise, I will surprise, hey, hey.

(People in white coats lead her away, saying “there there” and “just slip your arms into this nice little jacket”)

50 Ways To Shop Your Lover, Unused Lyric, 9 February 1992

This nasty lyric turns 25 today (the day I’m writing this Ogblog piece) so I thought its anniversary needs marking.

I had been engaging in correspondence with Spitting Image for some weeks before writing this lyric. At this juncture they were encouraging me to write slightly less topical songs as the Spitting Image songs tended to be topical-ish rather than up to the minute topical.

Indeed Bill Dare, Giles Pilbrow and others at Spitting Image were most encouraging and (in the end) recommended me to NewsRevue, where the rest was history.

I guess I was still on the very low foothills of my comedy writing craft in February 1992. Unsurprisingly, neither Spitting Image nor NewsRevue used it. Frankly, I cannot imagine this lyric being used by anyone professionally, unless it was a particular fit for a spoof musical. It has one or two quite clever lines but certainly lacks laughs.

The lyric is based on 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover by Paul Simon – click here or below for a link to a YouTube, where someone has also helpfully added the Simon lyrics.

An infinitely better spoof than mine on this Paul Simon song is Carol Brown by Flight of the Conchords; “there must be fifty ways that lovers have left me…” – click here or below for that wonderful comedy song and video.

And finally, my modest lyrics from early February 1992:

50 WAYS TO SHOP YOUR LOVER

(sung to the tune of “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover”)

VERSE 1

“The problem is all inside your head”, she said, “It’s fair,

“To want to get even at the end of an affair;

“I’d like to help you in your struggle to get square,

“There must be 50 ways to shop your lover”.

She said, “excuse me, but this point I must impress,

“With famous lovers you can always find redress;

“Pick up the telephone and notify the press,

“There must be 50 ways to shop your lover”.

50 ways to shop your lover.

CHORUS 1

Just call Private Eye, Guy, spill out the works, Dirk;

Unbutton your lip, Chip, I know it sounds kitsch.

Give out the scoops, troops, make sure they’re the hot poops;

Blow out the gaff, Taff, and ruin that bitch.

Just spill all the beans, Jean, go shoot the breeze, Denise;

Give out all the dirt, Flirt, the bastard won’t sleep.

Sing like a canary, Mary, say he’s really a fairy;

Sell a bum steer, dear, just nail that creep.

VERSE 2

She said, “you shouldn’t view loves ending as defeat,

“The story is valuable, you’ve landed on both feet”;

I said, “I appreciate that, but would you still repeat,

“About the 50 ways……….”

She said, “this conversation has really turned me on,

“Why don’t we sleep on it and talk some more at dawn?”

And then she kissed me, and I realised, her tape machine was on,

There must be 50 ways to shop your lover.

50 ways to shop your lover.

CHORUS TWO

Put a tap on the phone, Joan; record every date, Kate;

Make sure you’re both seen, Jean; and hardmouth that worm.

Bug the latrine, Katrine; that’s bound not to be clean;

Make sure you’ve got dabs, Babs; and make the slime squirm.

Just burgle the flat, Matt, Keep a line up your sleeve, Steve;

Break into the safe, Ralph, And lift all the muck.

Put a mike in your crutch, Dutch, you don’t need to record much;

Then sell on the dirt, Kirt, you’ll make mega bucks.

copyright © Ian Harris 1992

Eugène Terre’Blanche, NewsRevue Lyric, 7 February 1992

Today (1 January 2017) I received a text from John White which says:

…started singing Eugene Terre Blanche to the tune of Sweet Gene Vincent in the shower this morning. One of yours – can you Ogblog it when you get a chance as it’s now an ear worm!

Well, John, what are friends for?

I want to elaborate on this one at some stage as it’s one of my faves and there are some tales to tell. But Janie and I are off to the pictures now, so you’ll have to make do with the bare minimum for now, in order to de-worm your ear.

The version below was written before I discovered NewsRevue – I’ll write more about this lyric’s journey through NewsRevue later. The extraordinary thing, to me, is that the version below will be 25 years old in a few weeks time.

Click here or below for the Ian Dury and the Blockheads version

EUGENE TERRE’BLANCHE

(to the tune of “Sweet Gene Vincent”)

INTRO BIT (Optional)

I like to get out of Cape Town sometimes and drive round the Karoo,

I like to watch youngsters run like Zola Budd and bowl like Garth Le Roux,

I like to watch the springboks rutting, I like to eat them barbecued.

Eugene Terre’Blanche, Neo-Nazi baas, Eugene Terre’Blanche.

Who, who, who’s that baas?

1st MAIN BIT (Compulsory)

White face-black shirt, whites rich-blacks poor, Afrikaner-Hottentot, white’s right-black’s not:-

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

There’s one in every town;

I’m fond of dressing up like the Ku Klux Klan,

In a pointed hat and gown.

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

I am a crashing Boer;

Before we cede power to the ANC,

We’ll fight a civil war.

Well, the Nationalist Party is much too soft,

I think they’re Botha jerk,

But I’d still sooner have to take my Pik,

Than F.W. de Klerk.

2nd MAIN BIT (Still compulsory)

White Meneer-black Kaffir, whites vote-blacks don’t, Afrikaner-Bantu, hate blacks and Jews:-

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

They say that I’m like Himmler;

I haven’t yet caused as much violence as him,

But our accents sound quite similar.

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

I’m the baas laager lout;

We’re gonna cause trouble in the RSA,

Until we get thrown out.

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

I’m just a big fat git;

I’d like to end this song on a profound note,

But I’m afraid that’s it.

7 February 1992

On The Line, Comedy Lyric To The Tune Of Clementine, 1 February 1992

This is one of my very early comedy lyrics, pre NewsRevue, written just for my own amusement and that of my friends.

Charles Haughey was a scandal-prone Irish Taoiseach for many years, who finally came a cropper in a phone-tapping scandal pretty much described in this lyric.

What the lyric lacks in laugh-out-loud humour, it more than makes up for as an historically accurate verse-poem.

ON THE LINE
(To the tune of “Clementine”)

VERSE ONE

In a Dublin TV Studio,
There was whiskey, there was wine;
Guest of honour in the corner,
Peter Brook, he lay supine.

When the time came for the programme,
In a chair he did recline;
But he knew not what he’s doing,
So he sang of Clementine.

Oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’ Clementine;
This will outrage Ian Paisley,
Oh my darlin’ Clementine.

VERSE TWO

When old Brook got back to London,
He attempted to resign;
But his offer was rejected,
Cos John Major lacked the spine.

But in Dublin in the Dail,
Politics is less benign;
Charlie Haughey was in trouble,
Cos he knew of a bugged line.

Sean Doherty, Sean Doherty, Sean Doherty tapped the line;
But Charles Haughey knew about it,
So its his job on the line.

VERSE THREE

Ten long years had departed,
Since the blame he did decline;
And tho’ no-one had believed him,
Charlie thought he now was fine.

But now Sean has blown the whistle,
It is known that Charlie’s lyin;
So now even old Houdini,
Got tied up with his own line.

Charlie Haughey, Charlie Haughey, Charlie Haughey did resign,
But still Conor Cruise O’Brian,
Carries garlic all the time.

1 February 1992

Below is a video of Freddy Quinn singing Oh My Darling Clementine:

Click here for the lyrics of Oh My Darling Clementine.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: