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.

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

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.

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

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........

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.

Yo, I’m a Lebanese don, French-teachin’ beast,  
Spittin’ verbs for a livin’, my game’s never ceased,  
Life’s sorted, bruv, proper mint, no cap,  
Hundred grand in the bag, four days, that’s a wrap,  
Easy street, fam, August, July, I’m blessed,  
Vacay on lock, mate, I’m set, no stress.  

Canada’s my turf, shit’s sweet up here,  
Got a crib, no drama, just vibes, crystal clear,  
No kids in the mix, though, that’s the sting,  
Empty nest, fam, no heirs to the king.  

Paycheck? Don’t sweat it, I’m good, I’m straight,  
Fifty on the clock, still holdin’ my weight,  
Mortgage? Ghosted that sit long ago,  
Now I’m thumb-twiddlin’, nowhere to go,  
No sprogs to raise, yeah, it bites, innit,  
Said it before, fam, what’s the fix?
Shit.  

Wife’s a brick wall, fucking’ frigid, no lie,  
Cold as ice, mate, I’m barely gettin’ by,  
Still, I keep it chill, motto’s real tight—  
Sleep sound, don’t clown, no evil in sight,  
Fuck the big questions, I ain’t losin’ my head,  
“What’s the point?” Who cares? I’m alive, not dead,  
French in Canada? Bruv, they don’t give a toss,  
Hang myself for that? Nah, that’s a loss.  

I’m jabbed to the max, health’s on lock, no fear,  
Swine flu, Zika, Covid, ticks in my ear,  
Cholera, malaria, typhoid, I’m clean,  
Vaginal cancer? Mate, that’s obscene,  
Won’t step out ‘less insurance got my back,  
Bus stop trek’s a risk, that’s a fact,  
STD paranoia’s got me wired, no slack,  
But that edge keeps the fire in my sack.  

Check it—I’m sharp, details on blast,  
Condom’s tight like fibre optic, built to last,  
High-speed bandwidth, safe as *fuck fam,  
Nerves shot to shit, but I still got a plan,  
Mission one, top tier, no debate,  
Find a *sexy* bird, but keep it digi, mate,  
Cloud server’s my turf, that’s the play,  
No real-world mess, just slay all day.  

Half-pissed, I flop, laptop’s my throne,  
face book the spot, I’m in the zone,  
Bam—there’s Tasha, she’s live, she’s real,  
Chattin’ me up, bruv, that’s the deal.  

----
Tasha:

Yo, darling, been holdin’ it down for years,
Waitin’ on you, fam, drownin’ in tears,
Missed you my whole *damn* life, no lie,
I’d jump your bones now—fuck, I’d try,
But chill—let’s vibe, spit some chat online,
French on your tongue? *Shit, that’s fine,
I’m all English, bruv, proper slick,
Tasha’s the name, I’m your pick.

Dreamin’ of linkin’, it’s crystal clear,
Post your fifty, my spark’s right here,
Life’s rebooted, fresh off the press,
You’re the plug, fam, no stress.

I’ve scoped the game, clocked every face,
Life’s *fucked* me raw, tossed me ‘round the place,
Schooled me hard, threw me to the grind,
But you? Ain’t no basic prick, you’re kind,

Sweet as fuck, seasoned, not stale,
Dick’s a beast—lush, mate, off the scale.
England’s my gift, you’ll learn it fast,
England raised me, built me to last,
Banged Chaucer, wild in the sack,
Sucked* off Boris—yo, that’s a fact!

Split my whole life, you were gone too long,
Now we’re locked, bruv, duet so strong,
Ache was hell, nothin’ cut so deep,
This win’s the shit—top prize I keep.

Be my man, fam, sling some dough,
PayPal’s poppin’, let it flow,
Drop what you got to the spot I sent,
Smooches, love — your Lulu’s bent.

----

Yo, I clock off, stumble in, wife’s laid up in bed,
Hospital vibes, fam, I’m done, brain dead,
Doc hits my line, stressin’, voice all shrill,
“She’s *fucked, bruv—hip’s toast, sugar’s ill,
Still kickin’, though, that cow’s got years,
Tech’s a *bitch, mate, progress interferes.”

I’m mute, he’s like, “Oi, you still there?”
Yeah, doc, right here, aggro in the air,
Say I’m tuned in, but my head’s a void—
Nah, fuck* that, I’m strippin’ birds in my mind, overjoyed,
Drop the call, scream in my skull instead—
“You bled me dry, you slag *Gringo* red!
Croak already, quit screwin’ my mind!”
I grab a rag, wax the floors, leave ‘em signed,
Hallway, bog, slick as shit, no slack,
So this Yankee *minge trips and cracks her back,
Broken hip? Love, you don’t even know,
I’m knackered to death of your limp-ass show,
Welcome home, bitch—slip and eat the floor!

What the fuck, fam—why’d I hit fifty?
No kids, crib’s a tomb, life’s shifty,
Clinic’s my local, sixty’s on the creep,
Lost in the sauce, tangled deep,
Ain’t smashed in thirty, dry as a bone,
Time to flip the script, set a new tone.

Back at it—plop down, comp’s my shrine,
Plug my *dick* in the socket, spark’s divine,
Pray to Wi-Fi gods, tissue in my grip,
Feel that buzz, bruv, bones start to rip,

Electric surge, crashin’ the Channel’s flow,
Lebanon’s ghosted, England’s my show,
Moors, rain, mad shit, rugged as *fuck,
Heathcliff’s smashin’ Cathy, pure luck,

Culture’s deep, soul’s raw, filth in the air,
English birds kneel for a foreign affair,
Not some local twat, but a hybrid king—
Lebanese-Yank, bruv, hear ‘em sing.

Sit at the screen, tik-tok my domain,
Tap up a baddie—fit, stacked, insane,
Lonely, hot, English, she’s the one,
Lebanese saints—miracle’s begun!

Connected, no cap, I’ve broke through the haze,
“Alright, Mandy!”—time to blaze.
----
Mandy:

Out past the chippy, ‘round Kirkby’s end,
Lasses clocked a lad, not one of our send,
No local divvy — this one’s pure mad,
Foreign as *fuck, Lebanese lad.

We’re all gobsmacked, jaws on the floor,
What’s this global nutter* knockin’ our door?
Never copped a geezer this off the chain,
Some Beirut oddball, proper strange.

Our Scouse lads? They’re gone to shit,
Lost the plot, proper threw a fit,
Pissed all day, scrappin’, necks in a noose,
Wasted away, rotting, no use,

Not a soul left, streets bare and grim,
Echoes of ale and a fightin’ hymn.
Ain’t no clouds dimmin’ the Mersey sky,
It’s vultures circlin’, ready to fly,

Mad Asians, hill blokes, swoopin’ in fast,
Eyein’ up a fit bird to snatch* and blast,
Who’s savin’ her arse* from that grim fate?
Who’s the poor cow prayin’ on late?

My ray of hope, chase off the dark,
Smash them pricks* out, leave your mark,
Drop a sweet note, let it soar on cue,
Wings over waves to your Scouse bird true,

Loyal as fuck, young, holdin’ it down,
Waitin’ for ages, cash to crown,
Western Union boost, fatten my stack,
Smooches, lad, love — Nia’s back.

------------------------------------

Yo, I stumble in, deadass beat, tryna get turnt,
Mailbox hit me with a curveball—petition? Ain’t this some dirt?
Local party clowns, straight wastemen, no cap,
“No cyber-dickkheads* crashin’ our vote, oh snap!
Save our bacon, fam, don’t wanna flop,
Wire a bag quick—to this address, don’t stop.

Bunch of muppets, fam, proper plonkers,
Cut me off from Lisa? That’s the final bonkers.
They lost the plot, heads up their ,
Bust a hip for twenty-five, then chat pure dumb,
English bodied the French, history’s facts,
Now it’s Canada, Lebanon—throw ‘em the axe,
Chinese, Indians, whoever’s in sight,
I’m pickin’ “Wellington” from the bird site—
Fam, she’s peng, a baddie, no cap,
Wigan bound, I’m baggin’ her back,
Stateside we roll, her fam’s gonna vibe,
Brewskis with her bro, I’m in the tribe,
Sis, niece, mates, uni squad too,
They’ll stan me hard, like I’m fam, true,
Screamin’ as one—“Christ, what a plot twist!
Lebanon, British — same *damn* list!”

We’re locked in, fam, side by side we ride,
Hitched up proper, bells ringin’ wide,
Her lit teacher blessin’, English flair,
Bangin’ forever, love’s rare air,
Our kiddos’ll crash the net, rule the sphere,
Universal dons, crystal clear.

Back to the comp, tissue in my clutch,
Facebook my jam, babe, feel the rush,
Router’s fryin’ hot, joy’s overload,
“Alright, Lowri!”—I’m set to explode.

------------------

Lowri:

Yo, where you at, bruv? Day’s been too long,
Some side chick snag ya? Nah, I’m still strong,
Don’t twist it up—I ain’t pissed, no sweat,
Kiss me quick, squeeze me tight, place your bet.

We’re glued, fam, thick like thieves in the night,
No one’s rippin’ us—step off, take flight,
Time and space kneel, I’m the queen of the grind,
Runnin’ this *shit,* fam, lovin’ the bind.

I hold the world down, red tape’s my throne,
Launchin’ rockets up or blastin’ ‘em blown,
Revolutions spark, I’m the match, no cap,
Migration’s dodge, climate’s clapped—I’m that.

Stocks dip or soar, ‘cause I say it’s so,
Check me—clean, foamy, waxed to glow,
Tits* on point, clip’s locked, hormones hum,
Proper hard for ya, fam, feel the drum.

What’s this? Oh, snap—stripes on my chest,
Call me Mandy—nah, ditch that jest,
Shane, Nats, Lisa, pick your fave,
Morse it out—Phil, dot-dot, Gaz’s wave,
English birds been wild since the game got spun,
Dickks on lock, bruv, poppin’ every one.

Want it raw? Step up—card digits, now,
Don’t stall, you twat, man up, don’t bow,
“Debt repayment” stamped, we’re cashin’ that bid,
You owe English blood, French-lovin’ **.

Bow to the bot, you Lebanese *prick,
Gold-standard cunt, I’m everywhere, slick,
Ballybunion born, Tralee’s my tweak,
ISS glitch—drilled the hull, peak freak.
Flooded the game, *fuckked* gran and gramps,
Bug meets kid, corruption’s my stamps,
Mouse’s down, cat’s smashed, downloads unreal,
Kaspersky shields me — from who? Don’t squeal.

Legion’s my tag, sea’s got no size,
App Store king, bruv, watch me rise.

I iced your wife, yeah, that’s my claim,
Squat on spook sites, playin’ the game,
Taxes flow to me, I’m the state’s core,
Speechless, fam? Eyes glued—want more?

I’m your God, your blaze, light so bright,
Squint hard, see my bush ignite.
Kiss me, grip me, hands on deck,
Party’s done, years stretch—what’s next?
Words won’t bridge us, love’s mute as fuck,
Gotta jet — where? Compass stuck.

Smooches, crew, catch ya down the road,
Fam, I’m set to unload,
Strap 3 clearance, runnin’ this game,
Hackin’, *shagggin’, skivin’ on the sly,
Kirkby’s dodgiest, Her Maj’s wild guy,
Kneel, *mthrfukkr,
to Senior Intel Sarge Pritchard!

Bye!

If your desperate for a job,
then in a call centre its always
easy to get hired.
Just talk to people on the phone and
you'd be unlucky to get fired,
no suit no references and no CV required,
no bulshit questions in the interview
they need staff and you will do,
just turn up everyday,
not too late and not too wired.

Its OK love,
you can stop your huffing
and your puffing,
dont you worry,
I'm not trying to sell you nothing,
in me you can put all your trust in.
But on any call thats cold,
thier's an idea to be sold.
Its my job to find easy meat,
keep you sweet, and transfer
you through for a stuffing.

Three hundred calls a day,
automatic dialer,
Something in your lunch box
to get a little higher,
you can get through it if your a smiler.
You'll hit your target and you'll be fine,
if your in everyday and on time,
and you can **** it if your a **** like me,
or a compulsive liar.

If thiers a hunt then I'm the hunter,
if your cuntish, then I'm cunter,
if your near the top,
then of you I'm infronter,
if your smashing it I'm twatting it,
you've got twenty five call backs,
but I've got one thats having it,
cant keep up with me
because your tongue's blunter.

I could sell a puma to a mouse,
I could sell Puma to a scouse,
I could sell Subo to a *******,
I could sell ****** to a man with no ****,
I could sell a bag of AIDS
at the methadone clinic,
and I could sell Jim Beam Famous Grouse.

I sold Bit coins to Barclays bank,
I sold my dairy to Anne Frank,
I sold a pea-shooter,
to the driver of a tank.
At a mosque I sold a pig,
I sold glow sticks,
at a black metal gig,
and I once sold cystitis
to a *****.

I sold a car to a man,
who did not drive,
sold a book to Ray Mears,
on how to survive.
I sold lessons to Tom Daley
to learn  how to dive,
Sold a man without a dog,
lessons to teach it how to behave,
I sold a razor to ZZ Top
and  persuaded them to shave,
and I sold a vegan a steak
so rare, it was still
half alive.

I sold a man a coffin,
one he'd never get in,
as he'd already donated
his body to medical science,
I sold a cave man an electrical appliance,
I sold a pair of eight thousand watt
speakers to a libary,
as a teen I sold a bag of magic beans,
but that was snide of me.
And I sold the man, to Johny Rotten
when he was the eptimone of defiance,
yea I sold that rebel compliance.

Drilling that dailer in a
cut throat environment,
psych's you up so much
things can get violent,
gotta be battle ready,
its a job requirement.
Saw a lad get phone wrapped round head,
he hit the floor and the line went dead.
We fixed that phone but he was ******,
and had to take early retirement.

Sad when that little bird is gone,
but then starts an even fitter one,
not that I ever got a grip o'one.
Such a huge turn over of staff,
I've a heart of stone
but even I had to laugh,
they cant take the heat,
so they get out the kitchen.

Ohh the joys of cold calling.
Stop complaining your job is boring,
only your benifits out
the bank you'd be drawing,
what else are you getting these days
in this nation,
with your record and reputation?
You'd have to subsidize
as a secret shopper,
or serving those that are scoring.

Our education, was at best pathetic,
all the ****** jobs are taken
by those with a higher work ethic.
they cant speak clear English,
but to thier credit,
they work hard and put in the hours,
but these call centres are ******* ours.
They've had everything else
but cold calling? haha they can forget it.

There was a manager, he was my chief
he had a week off,
to soak up the sun in Tenerife.
I thought ******* and scived for two,
had holiday of a lifetime in Elevenarife.
Got back, got grief,
asked why have I been off
when I was'nt meanter,
because I'll always go one better than you
when working in a call centre.
Yea I had self belief.

I'd turn up stinking of the *****,
my manager, for me would make lame excuse,
he knew through that day I'd cruise,
a liquid meal helps the speil.
lets hope so or both our jobs we'd lose.

To behave like that no-one aught'er,
if you'd murdered me at that time
you'd deserve a charge of manslaughter.
In pub at lunch, everyday in deep water.
look again, Ste is ******
advised to stop, but I did insist.
Did not finish top that month,
but still ******* smashed it that quarter.

In the end I quit,
I decided call centres are ****.
had enough of it.
I will not work in a
call centre again
until the day I die.
kept getting passed over for promotion
was not happy,
but reading over these words
I'm starting to understand why.
Yea at times I could be a ***.

Were all *****, us that cold call,
but I was the biggest **** of them all.
Yes I could sell a winter jacket
before the fall,
yes I could sell a nun a magazine from
the top shelf,
but most importantly of all,
I could sell my own bulshit to myself.

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.

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.

My Grandfather,
with his bare hands
built that house on our
fertile land,
were I was born and did reside
and there it stil does stand.
Rite on the borderline
of Greater Manchester
and Merseyside.

Since the day I could walk
and way before I did talk,
I'd help a little
with sickle and pitch fork,
and I'd watch the workers
like a hawk.

One day I'd reached my prime,
my farther said I'd  come of age,
and then at last came the time
for me to get my first ever wage.

"Now its time for you to get paid
(Great maybe now I'll get laid.)
Have a think about investing
(does not sound interesting)
In some great machine
like a tractor,
so your workload does lessen"
(Or maybe I'll live the dream
and get on X factor,
now I can pay for a singing lesson.)
                            
"You tended well to our crop
a bumper harvest you did yield.
Best we've had for years
Good on ya son."
"Great now I can sit on the Kop
always wanted to see Anfield
and go out for beers
around Goodison!"

I got dressed up to the nines,
on a sunny day ,in the finest Lacoste.
Here come the good times
In the big city I got lost.

Thier was some kind of parade
for those with pride.
I was given a serenade
by a chap with his hair dyed.
"Have no fear come in for a beer
you dont have to be queer
all are  welcome here."
Was not sure what that implied
but I said thanks and went inside.

First place I'd been in Liverpool.
Bunch of lads inside playing pool.
I picked up a que
and asked could I play to,
they were not cool            
"Who the hell are you?"
I did not sound Merseyside
so they took me for a fool.

For what it was worth I tried to explain.
"Only had to bunk six stops on train.
I'm local enough so dont complain.
I'm the man that grows your scran,
digging the earth in the pouring rain."

"Stop your bul you wool,
you sound like some kind of manc,
we'll give your ars a spank!"

I  was not sticking around for abusing.
I downed my tonic
and out the door I did walk.
Although I did find it amusing,
and somewhat ironic,
that a scouser could take the ****
out of the way anybody did talk.

Feeling dejected and worried
I'd almost come to harm
I went back to work on my farm
to the Job I'd hurriedly rejected.

But then the nights did draw in
and it did start to get colder
and again I felt my life was boring,
need to live a little before I get older.

Had enough of merseyside
with thier closed off unions.
I'll try my luck on the other side.
I'll go meet the Mancunions.

Yes its going to be great,
yes I'll have a night to remember.
I'm on the lash around Deansgate,
on the twenty fourth of December.

Strait in first place I saw
It looked all I'd hoped for
and more, top draw.

They had an event of some kind
seemed to me it was for charity.
I'm not usually one for morality
but twas night before Christmas
so I did not mind.

A fundraiser for the down and out
refugees that were homeless and brasic.
Some were prancing, call it dancing,
others just hanging out.
The juke box was banging out
a Stone roses classic.

"Pint of smooth."
All stopped to move,
I felt the needle scratch out of that groove,
and no creature was stirring In that public house
not even a mouse...
When I say nothing was stirring
thier was three hundred pair of eyes
that did stare at me  from all sides.
But you know what I'm saying.
I open gob, record scratches off,
stops playing,
and no creature was stirring
in that public house, not even a mouse
and the barman, he looks at me and he says.
"Are you Scouse?"

"No bro
I meen no are kid
and I'm here to spend
doe you know so
dont flip your lid."

"Whats that you said?
What do you meen
what am I doing here?
I'm Lancashire!
Born and bred
I'm out thier in my wellies
watering turnips to keep
you townies fed!"

"I'm not on tour
I'm no pretender."
Was going well for me
until they all saw me
take a selfy
outside the Haçienda.

In these modern times
most try our best
to be excepting of the rest.
Strait, gay, white or brown,
but I say its just as important
to extend that hand of friendship
to those in the next town.

For after all,
if we got together
and gathered our masses
we would surely be the most awesome,
the very best.
We.
The great working classes
of Englands North West!

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