"scouse" poems
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
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
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
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
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.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
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
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
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.
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 12:45 PM UTC
Who is this person that I’m living alongside;
I don’t mean my girl; I mean myself.
Is there an alter with impeccable timing to hide;
a thought I think and feeling I’ve always felt.
She digs her hands into my armored flesh,
the areas I reassured could pass each test.
Instead of titanium she sees it’s made of mesh,
“I’m sorry that I’m not the best of best.”
We watched our house burn down
watched the last ember hit the ground.
I place missing posters of myself around town;
truth is I don’t care if I get found.
“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
On your clean white blouse;
gasoline has been doused.
I wrongly take the blame,
and they keep saying it’s my name.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?
Sometimes I feel like I’m presented as an open book,
with torn out pages and a cracked spine.
On full display but no one even stops to take a look,
missing the hidden message in each line.
We shoot the **** so incredibly breezily
but I’m reminded that I bruise very easily,
so I find a way to tap out without anyone noticing.
But it’s done just too feebly.
Burned bridges and scorched earth,
my decision to cover with AstroTurf.
Taking lives instead of giving birth,
and I’ll only strive to make it worse.
“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
“The screams and the shouts
show us what you’re about.”
The beast I try to tame,
but can hardly even maim.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?
I have this habit of never learning my lesson
and sometimes almost crashing my car.
It’d be tragic or it could be a hidden blessin’
what’s another addition of a scar?
“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse”
“We’ll turn you into scouse,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
“A pox on your house,
but not on your spouse.”
At least they aren’t that rouse.
“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
On your clean white blouse;
gasoline has been doused.
I wrongly take the blame,
and they keep saying it’s my name.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 3:47 PM UTC
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
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
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
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
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!
Dec 29, 2009
Dec 29, 2009 at 11:52 PM UTC
On the door the sign it says "Open mike" come in and listen if you like
Get a drink and take a seat come listen to others things
Songs galore, old and new. If you want get up too.
But no you *** you want to heckle and berate someone, oh your special.
So special you came straight from the gym didn't shower and you stink
Your head is topped with a mersey **** oh I'm sorry its your hair
****** this and I'll do that, hot air from a skanks mouth
Well this morning I feel really good because last night I met you
My life may never be the same in fact next week I'll come again
If you open your foul scouse mouth, I'll get up and read this out!
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
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
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
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........
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
Beauty!!! What do you think is beautiful?
To me it's my messy house,
An empty pan of scouse,
A friendly chat,
Or next doors cat,
Chasing our dog,
A little text or a call,
Something that's nothing at all,
It's drinking tea with mum,
Sitting in the sun,
In my overgrown garden,
It's family time night,
All snuggled tight,
Laughing all together,
Memories made for ever,
To remember when I'm alone,
It's hearing all my kids laughs,
Looking at old photographs,
Seeing them all smile,
And getting on for a while,
The quiet before the storm,
It's fighting for the telly,
Over ice cream and jelly,
It's all of these, literally,
Beauty is my family,
And I love the bones of them.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
From far away they come
hard men all,
mercenaries under a foreign sun
oblivious to its rays they
bare all, turning puce red
or peel, under hard hats,
cut down jeans, working boots,
tool belts, like desert rats
fighting for a new horizon
Scouse, Manc, Paddy
nicknamed and framed
by the mockery of their peers
shouting language across green lawns
not yet laid, that most definitely
won’t be heard in the select circles
that will inhabit these modern homes
castles one and all, individually the same
oh no, they won’t be welcome
lowering the neighbourhood tone,
four wheel drive and pick-up
replaced by Mercedes and BMW
Nature settles in again, to frame
like the scar around a wound
healed but never quite the same
So they move on, soldiers of fortune,
mercenaries under a foreign sun
building new structures to change our futures.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 3:52 PM UTC
She waited impatiently for dawn to break.
Darkness had swallowed up her small house.
Her golden locks wound tight like a snake.
Her longing heart throbbed with ache.
The hearth’s warmth beckoned a mouse.
She waited impatiently for dawn to break.
Chimney smoke hung over the frozen lake.
Clenched tight with fists her flowery blouse.
Her golden locks wound tight like a snake.
Thoughts of mourning she tried to shake.
Overflowing to the floor her *** of scouse.
She waited impatiently for dawn to break.
She couldn’t join the rest with a smile so fake.
Her soldier was somewhere from here to Laos.
Her golden locks wound tight like a snake.
His absence pierced her heart like a stake.
Driven to the bottle like a louse.
She waited impatiently for dawn to break.
Her golden locks wound tight like a snake.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 1:22 AM UTC
On the door the sign it says "Open mic" come in and listen if you like.
Get a drink and take a seat come listen to others things.
Songs galore, old and new.
If you want get up too.
But no you *** you want to heckle and berate someone, oh your special.
So special you came straight from the gym, didn't shower and you stink
Your head is topped with a mersey **** oh I'm sorry it's your hair.
****** this and I'll do that, hot air from a skanks mouth
Well this morning I feel really good because last night I met you.
My life may never be the same in fact next week I'll come again.
If you open your foul scouse mouth, I'll get up and read this out!
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 6:45 PM UTC
well, **** me, it's like being awake
for about a week... minding a *******
ONION!
dos' doss
a'tt even qualify?!
the fuck's the rest?
a **** all peel?
come 'oney, 'ome sanctimony?
your crew?!
'ucking scouse: your m'ah-f'ah
a bitch-schoot...
your mam'aha complete ****
so y'eer mam'ah a ****
good to
know...
no i know what
to **** in public!
fucking wanker industry 'abric!
you don't get
away with slav
playing
out the **** blondine boy!
yo, *******
rat racing ********
riddle a ********
attempt at a 'ackney pristine!
piece of doit!
ever e'ten
raw onions in liver'poi
and not at eton *******
whimp-e-mister?!
m'ah
nye-i-ever...
maroccon delight!
god to love the arab incubators!
little people do
such marvels!
clean windows...
take out of garbage... talk ****
a society like
a ******* mirage!
and am i the one to fear death?
can't see it coming,
meaning:
can it come much sooner?!
white boy a shrimp feeding
factory...
sometimes the odd
toiling shed, and tool...
you ever manage to see
a cow being towed into
A SLAUGHTERHOUSE?!
no?
you haven't exactly been
born... have you?
you know what's funny...
gypsy prostitutes...
they're not sure whether to
associate with romanians
or bulgarians...
can't tell the difference...
but i have one clue
incission: blyat' suka!
pizdetz!
these women are certainly not
either romanian, nor bulgarian...
but they know
one word equivalent of using
bulgar...
jebać pizde!
in cyrillic...
becauase arabic tongue
translates back into an orthodox of
the fathom of body?
nice to know...
that a bowtie isn't tied
according to such grimace of:
expectancy...
or anticipating
a welcome drought...
to later attire donning a tuxedo...
but that is but a half,
and hardly a future...
and what truth is,
history regurgitates as
nought... with the nought
being a tomorrow...
and the subsequence
of history,
being a far removed yesterday...
and yesterday,
being a history,
with a tomorrow
that simply can't exist!
as neither did dinosaurs...
with crocodiles...
but then:
again...
who among arab minds this
to be more concerning,
than the perfect eyebrows of
an arab woman driving
a car....
and whatever buzzfeed
ushers out from its *******
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 10:43 PM UTC
The aggressors can't be named if the service is forever
The version of your story is just lip-servicing
Equating the flexing flight of the mind, reeling in your doubts
The ebony and ivory of the piano man speakers, ringing the terse team of bandleaders in the sociable house
Gustave Flaubert lemme leave like the wind, inert in the auberge
Submerged condo, semaphoring in this serious veritable wine
The train of the trident offal rises to the shore, the smoldering
The effect of the fact of the scientific fact
The temerity of the fruitcake turned out to be an eggbox
Short of the 3 rotten eggs, I broke the rest of my cracks in the yonder China's
China's is churning out the Russian socialist revolution
Keeping all your eggs in another basket for you, trade unionizing
Unionizing, the humble job of the little free and the trees and the dated deeds
I'm sure your history correct, and the ***** statues look nice to your buildings
Monumental tragedy, the system of the ideological home of the Lord
The tocsin of a couple of sins, in the alarm-clock dream
The nun summed up my sins in one
Sell out of the sucre of the embarrassing crowd of faux pas behavior
The demeanor of the surreptitious invaders, guilt-ridden
The trill and striding ruse, that can criminally break principles
The women represent the principle of hating God
Men represent revelry in his love
An earring of six figures puts them in the same dour story
Let's not get sour about the salty crisps, scouse accent out of the south
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC