the englishman must accept his lot
he'll take their *****
he'll live their strife
untroubled by what he hasn't got
they'll take his rights
he'll think that's right
because that's what they taught him

With heavy hearts the lightened feet march up on Whitehall
take a peek,
then down below the trenches go
light up a woodbine,
'dontya know this is the show that we'll be late for', Says Scouse.
'Gor blimey mate' says cockney Joe, 'let's have a look at all them toffs'
and ups the periscope as scouse scoffs bully beef.

Thiefs of body, thiefs of friends,thiefs of time and there is a belief in some older men,
that this is a time when we remember 'them'
No words need be conveyed
no tears for what they gave
just a sober, sombre silence
like when the guns fell silent
one hundred years ago.

only a scouse inhabitant could have pointed it out (merseyside english / liverpool) to no better comparison.

i'd love to have the salt & pepper dilemma
between low alcohol sessions and
high ******* session, just did the low
alcohol sessions and laughed, after having
become equipped with marijuana "abuse"
starving / fasting, never gearing for chips
and munchies...
the streets of london look a lot different
walking about high & hungry
rather than jokey and as a jockey of an
imaginary horse...
god made sanity and soberness an ivory tower
that was not worth defending
unless for manual tasks... all other tasks
were never ready for the multipliers of human presence,
not all of us would hammer a nail
for all the scratches of a vinyl disk if all were able.
indeed the scouse lad knew it,
languages that clung to latin were left historically
naked, without diacritical marks,
instead they delved deep as to upkeep the latin
they forced the closure of grammar schools
along with coal mines...
and what they earned was not a sense of categorisation,
english slosh tongue said the 18th century
happened akin to the abhorrence of moral relativism
by socrates to make stab in the eye a ******,
to thus say bronze age was but a hundred years...
keeping latin naked as it was by the abhorred
conquered land of the romans due to its bad weather
may have made a milton or a shakespeare arable...
but because of a certain type of censoring not ever used,
what became beautiful in other european tongues
became the ugly spelling of the english tongue,
what became stress marks of "accent" for the french,
and german, romanian and polish,
there was none of that in english, instead
we became accustomed to aesthetic "marks", that
were "marks" because there were no actual examples
for a clear rubric... instead we received too many examples,
the particulars of why we wrote the and said a sharpened v
in written form v'eh off veer...
there are no unitary aesthetics marks other that words
themselves... rather than what we have in terms
of unitary diacritical marks of akin umlaut...
there's no where else to go... the Minotaur has caught
up with us and our shadow! there's no labyrinth to further
our heaving lung to cheat both silence and breath! there's isn't!
it's the end... not using diacritical marks on units
only creates aesthetics of multiplying units
where they are multiplied: riddle... mirror...
                 keep, kettle, leer, pass, throttle, amiss.

(the syllables are not perfectly connected,
therefore much of "coining the phrase"
with prefixes anti- con- un- sub-
being endeared into your vocabulary,
then again clearly, accenting and aesthetics
compare to reach a parallel,
never leave it naked i say, never leave it naked,
for fear of reprisal of that which ought
be buried still alive, and with clear
acuteness for certain letters appropriating
there is no originality in the british tongue
for origins of the a - z under virgil
who originated the letters to the plagiarism
of grecian theology with the trojans
moving from turkey to italy -
therefore you become akin to other european
nations enacting a parasitic semblance
for the simple reason of ease coupled
with the many "loop holes" of the tongue,
or you reach absolution with the missing diacritic
as reasons for the modern acronyms: l8r, o.m.g.,
b.a.e., i.r.l.... all of this crap is a byproduct.)

but to say latin is dead, you must recreate the latin
alphabet with an ethnic particularity of a modulation
that might be compared to the migration of goths /
huns / vandals... to say 'latin is dead' and keep the
latin a without a modulation to craft an ą,
is a darwinian heresy that demands counter-evolution;
there's hardly one coliseum in london, although
i admit plenty of football stadiums;
still the evolutionary need is still necessary
and consistent, because it's not the case of the three
wise monkeys seeing, hearing saying no evil...
if this phonetic geometric is to survive and the crucifix
not be a vanity shield of artists due to the wrathful lamb,
it will need to specify whether it's gaelic english,
welsh, australian, london based, come home county based,
arizona or texas draw.

Liverpool on the Irish sea
Tuebrook, Toxteth and Wavertree
Home of the beatles and full Mersey beats
and yummy scouse is no mean feats
Baby beetroot served on top
and when it rains its no mean flop
you can visit museums or travel abroad
from railway or airport to the norwegian fjord
City of culture for two thousand and eight
why not have the day here or more with your mate
book on national express or take a fast train
and sing sounds of liverpool with a merry refrain
it's the home of 3 graces who welcome you home
and all will be proved with google chrome

we sing our words as an invocation
of power for all the missing generations
left in this city of sorrow and elation
gone from the top of the world
to the depths of degredation
time and again left in cessation
never ceasing to believe in our own population
liverpool will never be part of this nation
but if you think we give a **** youre very much mistaken

Mud is good,
Its dead good mud,
It's in me blood,
But where not understood,
Us people of mud,
In the shadow of a gas tank and born on a Mersey bank, I lived on cobbled streets dark and dank,
I played on a ship that sank, and for anything else I wouldn’t thank....... you
On king street docks, girls in cheap frocks, curly locks, time tocks, the boat rocks,
The tanyard smell made life hell for all that dwell, under the bridge,
In Garston L19, it’s the scene, its clean, it’s where I’ve been, it’s not obscene or green, if you know what I mean.
Its community security sincerity and every other word that ends with erity,
But it’s fallen apart,
Don’t lose heart.
I go into town when I’m down, it clears me frown,
I don’t go in me jarmies or me dressin gown,
There’s men with round bellies, toddlers in wellies,
Posh ladies gather in their marks and spencer swagger,
There’s scouse brow teens, sunbed queens,
Hunks and punks, lonely drunks,
Suits in boots forgetting their roots and hens in *****,
Big issue sellers, statue fellas holding golf umbrellas,
Coz of all the rain,
But it’s all good, coz we come from mud,
Let’s cheer, why?
Coz I’m here,
I’m me, me names T, and me hubbys P me best friends she..... lagh,
I like coffee and toffee and Roger Mcgoughy,
I like statistics logistics eye shadow and lipsticks,
I like bags and wags and cigarette ****, but not beer,
I’m fine on wine if I take me time,
I don’t do a line, unless I’m hanging me washing on it,
I work in a bar, not far, I don’t drive a car, and I don’t say Lar or kid or lad or lid or mar,
I’m proud and loud, don’t live on a cloud, and I don’t follow the crowd,
I’m a mum to some, I’ve got a big round ***, but I’m me you see,
I’m not square, I dye me hair, I swear but you can take me anywhere,
Coz I care,
I’m good,
I’m mud; it’s in me blood,
Understood

By Christina Ford

This contains swearwords!!!!


Do you know what it’s like to be on the dole?
The giro, the social, the rock and roll,
Well I’m tellin you now, that it’s no laff,
No heat or food, round at my gaff,

I can’t pay the bills on fifty three quid,
This is how I live; I’m tellin ye kid,
No Lecky, or water, or comfy bed,
Nowhere to lay my educated head,

You’s think I’m brewsted on state benefit,
Well I’m tellin ye now, life is ****,
No jobs are goin in my town,
This whole ****** country is goin down,

I look every day for a job to do,
Over qualified under qualified, scew you,
I’d brush your path, deliver your dinner,
My options for work get thinner and thinner,

But we get the blame for the country’s debt,
And seen in your eyes as a useless get,
We are not scroungers and living like kings,
We can’t afford the simple things,

We can’t take our kids to Blackpool pier,
Or to the fair, it’s just too dear,
It’s not our fault the system let us down,
Schooling was crap, but I got a cap and gown,

So don’t look at me, like I’m ****,
I’ve bettered meself to get out of this pit,
I’m clever and proud and I stand tall,
I make something out of nothing, coz I’ve got **** all,

You won’t tread us down, yeah that’s right,
We got fire in our bellies and where ready to fight,
We’re not greedy for a fancy lifestyle.
The simple things make us smile,

So quit avin a go, at our worlds apart,
I’m scouse and proud, with a lions heart,
So live well in your mansion, apartment, or detached,
Coz were the generation that Maggie hatched,

Yeah that’s right were Maggie’s crew,
The under privileged, not like you,
Time to step up the Cameron’s and Clegg’s,
Coz you’ve sat long enough on Thatcher’s eggs.

Tina Ford

Trains at the bottom of the garden
metal dragons breathing out smoke and steam
huffing and puffing, waiting for the signal
some compact with tanks affixed
others larger, more grand
pulling colour matched tenders
sometimes bearing shields and names
beginning with 'Duchess' or 'City'
mostly black, some rusty
deep reds or greens
with contrasting lines edged in gold

Once one came in matt pink
and I wondered why it didn't gleam
like the others, perhaps pink
was a colour not to be given
it's equal due with other
less feminine shades
it had to be denied vibrancy
yet I loved the pink one best
later I learned somehow
that the colour was that
of the primer used
to inhibit the rust
and my pink engine
was just an unfinished paint job
pressed into service
prematurely to give cover
for another that was broken

I wrote down the numbers regardless
it was a ritual that one performed
though I didn't understand why
yet it was exciting
to record a new one
that hadn't passed before

Behind the business end
came carriages laden heavy
with the visitors of summer
come to fill our beaches
and our town with their loudness
their raucous laughter
with strange accents
brummie, scouse, mancunian
faces pressed against glass
expectant, excited, impatient
almost there now
anxious that this last delay
pass quickly and the half mile
remaining be completed

We would lurk beneath the bridge
like adopted troll children
it was cool there in the summer heat
darting out from behind pillars
or in my case watchfully, cautiously
edging my way forward
to place pennies on the track
or sometimes nails
then to retrieve them
flattened, thinned, squashed
once the train had passed
sometimes we'd wait hours
or so it seemed
sometimes no train would come
and we would trail home
for tea and bath and bed
leaving our offerings
to the gods of the rail
for rediscovery and inspection
the following day.

Cynthia Pauline Jones 17/10/13

So, up to Liverpool,
pretty cool,
I've got family there, and I'm trying to find my bearings.

When I was a kid I went with my Auntie to the Adelphi Hotel,
I remember it well,
so that's where I'll start, move my feet,
it's a quick walk to Bold Street.

Everyone flocks to the Albert Docks,
regenerated, updated, and has created a vibrant corner of a once-thriving port city,
which is pleasing,
the only downside is it's ****** freezing!

The nights out are decent too,
this where Liverpool really pulls through.
Matthews Street, can't be beat,
or Concert Square,
where, you head to Baa Bar for some shots and a few jars.

Then onto Nation with the rest of Liverpool's student population,
going down to Wolstenholme Square,
great memories, shame it's no longer there.

Capital of Culture, lots to explore,
the council wants to restore the city centre,
Liverpool One is second to none.

New shops to buy our Fred Perry tops,
new bars to entertain us,
new places to wear our smart Adidas trainers.
A modern shopping centre to walk through,
have they really called it Everton Two?

Girls off to the supermarket with their hair up in rollers and wearing their PJ's,
funny looks on the face of people who are new to the place.

Lads in black Lacoste trackies,
in the 1980s they came back from the continent after European success,
wearing Fila and Ellesse,
it was called casual,
the style went national.

A city of myths legends,
some more tongue in cheek but still unique.

A sock robber from Kirkby,
is it the original Cavern Club? Well, to a degree.
What about Carragher's tattoo?
He's blue born and bred,
is Paul McCartney actually dead?

I know it's a clichè, but I must say,
it isn't a mere rumour,
there is undoubtedly a Scouse sense of humour,
wordplay and the inflexion on the things they say.
A witty city that's for sure, come and visit,
you'll have everything you need and more.

Black widow, waiting for a strike,
Crouching small, behind your mike.
You love to see contestants cringing,
This is a quiz; it’s not a lynching.

Face ******* up behind her glasses.
I’ve seen better bums on lasses.
Centre spot on stage she poses,
A jagged thorn on jet-black roses.

She’d like us to believe, I think.
She’d never be the weakest link.
Superior look upon her face,
Shame about the old boat race.

What’s this I see? You have a degree?
Still, you’ll never be as good as me.
Who chose that dress? Don’t like the shirt!
She loves to dig and throw the dirt.

Oh! And you belong to Mensa.
I’ve never met anyone who’s denser.
This is a quiz, I hope you know?
You’re the weakest link; you’ll have to go.

She earns more money than the Queen.
She’ll never be an old has been.
Was she born or just invented?
Let’s hope the moulds been lost or dented.

Where do you come from? No don’t know it.
Still you’re common and you show it.
I’m from Liverpool; I’m a Scouse,
You ought to see my big fine house.

It’s easy when you have the answers; see!
Too believe you are much cleverer than we.
But you’re not that clever, Ann we think.
Oh and one more thing, I Hate That Wink!

The storm is coming, Mr Cameron dear,
you better prepare for your officers fear,
96 ride that blackened cloud,
they shout for justice clear and loud,

For 23 years its been kept at bay,
the truth is out, the angels pray,
they pray that the law, will carry their cross,
For the souls they took, the souls we lost,

Shame on them that did us wrong,
and those who believed all along,
the lies, the lies, they told and spun,
in that vile newspaper the s*n,

Our fight nearly won,
but its only begun,
our lost ones beside us,
they gather and applaud us,

Coz were scouse no one believed,
this made blood boil and tempers seethe,
but with dignity.... and love we meant ,
we fought against the goverment,

It's a long fight for justice,
with all whats against us,
that cloud with a silver lining,
has arrived with perfect timing,

our liver birds bow and say,
come take them shankley, lead the way,
and walk in peace, hand in hand,
and go to rest in the promised land,

the outcome being in our sight,
our hearts rejoice and feed our fight,
battered and tired we stand together,
we wont walk alone, no way, NEVER........