1. |
Spam
03:30
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I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am I am
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am I am
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am
When powering up my laptop
I notice something sinister
An email purporting to be from the national Westminster
Bank who want me to reveal my sort code and expiry
Date upon my credit card
Do they really think that I would be
Daft enough to let them know
Out of there my dosh would go
Causing mucho hassle and hysteria
When I know it’s just some a**hole from Nigeria
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am I am
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am
I’m drowning underneath I am
A sea of spam I am I am
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am of spam I am I am
While wondering can I sue them
Take them through the courts
I get another email from someone called Gladys Schwartz
She’s selling pills and potions
Some to give a slimmer figure
How to live a lifelong dream and cream to make my willy big
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am I am
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am
There must be some way I could jam the flow of Spam so they would scram
To hell I damn them and their Spam
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am I am
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am
My firewall is failing me
People keep assailing me
Dodgy deals and fake degrees
Business opportunities
No sooner do I press delete than something quite explicit
Comes whizzing through my inbox
Completely unsolicited
And yet another online scam
Takes up mega gigs of RAM
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am I am
I’m fed up to the back teeth I am with Spam I am I am
And now there’s something going wrong
I find I’m trapped inside this song
Cannot find the exit sign
Entangled in these chords of mine
F sharp F sharp then a B
Minor then it’s down to E
Round and round and round and round
It makes a quite hypnotic sound
An executive decision has been made
The only way out is a fade
A fade, a fade, a fade, a fade
A fade, a fade, a…
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2. |
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I like to cook at weekends
It helps me to chill
I like to take a step around
The salt and pepper mill
And while I’m slicing onions
It’s like therapy to me
I like to play my music
It’s heavenly
But my iPod has turned into Hank Williams
It’s the only stuff the thing will play
I know the songs are sung and loved by millions
But sometimes I just wish he’d go away
Take care when I’m preparing
What I’m putting on the plate
I like to make nice gravy and a pile of roast potatoes
And all the time I’m listening to my music having fun
I know that even good things can be overdone
My iPod has turned into Hank Williams
It’s the only stuff the thing will play
I know the songs are sung and loved by millions
But sometimes I just wish he’d go away
Oh I remember times when the shuffle gently ran
Through a touch of KT Tunstall
And a slice of Steely Dan
And now it just don’t matter
Which option that I choose
I get the lonesome blues
Used to get some Mozart
A little modern jazz
Some say machines, they don’t have minds
But this one clearly has
And it’s made up to focus on one particular guy
Now am I doomed to listen ‘til I die?
My iPod has turned into Hank Williams
It’s the only stuff the thing will play
I know the songs are sung and loved by millions
But sometimes I just wish he’d go away
Yodel-o-dee Yodel-o-dee
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3. |
Bought and Sold
03:29
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I never ever knew you
You were gone before I came
Born in Mayo
Mooney was your name
Once in an open moment
Your story I was told
You were bought and sold
You were taken to the city
Ahead of market day
Rocky road to Dublin
Walking all the way
Bid for by the Geordie
That’s the story I was told
How you were bought and sold
You were no more than a child
Could you even write or read?
You were off because your mother had
Some other mouths to feed
Did you wonder what was going on?
Did you come to understand?
When your sister walked away with a Manchester man
Now I’m looking at this picture
Of you in your new home
Your spirit made it
Through the faded monochrome
These Irish girls they don’t mind work
They don’t feel the cold
You were bought and sold
You were no more than a child
Could you even write or read?
You were off because your mother had
Some other mouths to feed
Did you wonder what was going on?
Did you come to understand?
When your sister walked away with a Manchester man
Now I see another picture
Proudly on display
Celebration of a graduation day
But this one knows her destiny is in her hand to hold
She won’t be bought and sold
She won’t be bought and sold
She won’t be bought and sold
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4. |
Wishing Well
03:08
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No song to sing
No joke to tell
And once more to the wishing well
We’ve overloaded everything
No song to sing
I look into your eyes and I see hurt
A curtain of a smile to hide your pain
When you see a diamond in the dirt
A certain kind of sadness there remains
You can cry a tear
You can wipe it dry
It’ll disappear ‘til another comes by
‘Til another comes by
No song to sing
No joke to tell
And once more to the wishing well
We’ve overloaded everything
No song to sing
Nothing you can do to change it much
Such a thing is hard to get just right
When you’re breaking everything you touch
Clutching at the dream you had one night
You can buy a ring
You make a vow
Promise everything but you never knew how
No you never knew how
No song to sing
No joke to tell
And once more to the wishing well
We’ve overloaded everything
No song to sing
You work out what you want and you wonder why
They’re the only things your store card cannot by
You don’t know where you’re going
You can read your tea and see your fate
Wait until the stars are all aligned
And you’re thinking everything is great
The state you’re in is only in your mind
You can hire a shrink
You can dial a prayer
You can turn to drink like somebody would care
Like anybody would care
No song to sing
No joke to tell
And once more to the wishing well
We’ve overloaded everything
No song to sing
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5. |
B.B. King Keyring
03:30
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Well I’ve got a BB King keyring
That I hope I never lose
From a Florida museum
Devoted to the blues
I’ve got a BB King keyring
A freebie BB King keyring
Now who could ask for more?
It plays Hoochie Coochie man when I open my front door
Well I’ve got a BB King keyring
How good that makes me feel
With a picture of the man himself
And his guitar called Lucille
They could have bought me a poster bearing Robert Johnson’s face
A John Lee Hooker tea towel
A Muddy Waters pencil case
A Blind Lemon Jefferson mouse mat
They could have bought me anything
But heaven knows I’m glad they chose my BB King keyring
Well I’ve got a BB King keyring
Now I can only win
Cos I have to keep on going out
So I can come back in
My social life is thriving
My circle widening
I’m getting around and it’s all down to my BB King keyring
Well I’ve got a BB King keyring
But I might have to take it back
Since I found out that Hoochie Coochie man
Is a Muddy Waters track
But life goes on regardless
It’s roundabouts and swings
I care not one jot cos I’ve still got my BB King keyring
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6. |
Bubble
02:20
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I got my headphones
Bid the world a farewell
Boot fit suit and a bucketful of hair gel
Stuff is in my man bag
I’m a proper bloke
I stroke my stubble
I’m in my bubble, I’m in my bubble
I’m looking at the notebook screen as I am riding
On the public transport facility, I’m hiding
Don’t want any contact, that’s what it’s about
Keep out of any trouble
I’m in my bubble, I’m in my bubble
And everything that’s going on is passing me by
Someone could be screaming I won’t hear it
There’s a big yellow sun shining up in the sky
I don’t see it, I don’t see it
There’s someone on my left another on my right side
Someone at the window looking on the bright side
The total infrastructure of the world surrounding me
Could be reduced to rubble
I’m in my bubble, I’m in my bubble
Beginner empathy and basic observation
Play no further part like the art of conversation
I’m standing in a bar and I’m trying not to think
I drink my double
I’m in my bubble, I’m in my bubble
And everything that’s going on is passing me by
Someone could be screaming I won’t hear it
There’s a big yellow sun shining up in the sky
I don’t see it, I don’t see it
I got my headphones
Bid the world a farewell
Boot fit suit and a bucketful of hair gel
Stuff is in my man bag
I’m a proper bloke
I stroke my stubble
I’m in my bubble, I’m in my bubble
I’m in my bubble, I’m in my bubble
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7. |
Billy Gibson's Things
02:33
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Billy Gibson’s things are in the back lane
The pickin’ up’ll take a little while
There’ll be Ts to cross, and Is to dot
Then like as not, they’ll close the file
He had some china cups
And a book
Of English poetry at which he’d sometimes look
To read his favourite bits
He never tired of it
About a man who didn’t fit
Into his time
Did anybody care? Or give a hoot?
He had an overcoat
And a pair of boots
Those old boots were scuffed
Just like the other stuff
But through the smooth and rough
They’d done him fine
On the wall he’d had a poster that you might not expect
Woman in Black Feathers by Toulouse Lautrec
And a jam jar full of pennies
And a couple of five pound notes
And a snapshot that was taken
At the bay in Cullercoats
Now as the locks are changed
The council checks its list
Of potential occupiers who can make a fist
Of surviving in the silence
Come the closing of the door
After realising that they just don’t matter anymore
Outside the streets are quiet
A solo blackbird sings
And the rain begins to fall
On Billy Gibson’s things
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8. |
Luckie's Bar
03:28
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It’s a routine rendezvous
Come rain or shine
We talk and order wine
And walk the borderline
For celebrations, consolation if you’re down
Let’s go to Luckie’s for one more round
Daily game is over
Race is lost or won
Love affair is done
New one begun
When you’re flying on a high
Or if your hopes have hit the ground
Let’s go to Luckie’s for one more round
For one more round
Right across the city
All around the town
The palaces of pity
The Star, The Plough, The George, The Rose and Crown
Some are claiming victory
Others laying blame
We treat them just the same
Claim and counter claim
To find out what it takes to make a sorrow drown
Let’s go to Luckie’s for one more round
For one more round
For one more round
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9. |
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I’d rather be a writer than a critic
Prefer to be creative than condemn
The output of a poet or a playwright
Face it it’s a case of us or them
I’d rather be a writer than a critic
A critic wouldn’t hesitate or stint
In their efforts to catch any fad that’s passin’
That they can assassinate in print
A star in the ascendance can very soon be dragged
Down into drug dependence after being roundly slagged
By one whose role is purely parasitic
I’d rather be a writer than a critic
I’d rather be a writer than a critic
Do they have to do a college course?
To learn about hyperbole and cliché
A masterpiece a stunning tour-de-force
They must be ever-vigilant and watchful
Unbiased and unprejudiced and fair
As they go to see a ludicrous hotchpotch full
Of badly structured hokum and hot air
The novelty will wear off the getting’ in for nowt
If you’re nutted by the author as you’re making your way out
He reckons you’re a tad anti-semitic
I’d rather be a writer than a critic
You go to see a show that’s naff and witless
Make enemies no matter what you do
End up at the top of every hit list
Just because you give a bad review
Preparation must be scrupulous and thorough
Two words wheat and chaff have come to mind
As they sit there on the train to Edinburgh
Wondering if the Fates will be inclined
To display their fickle nature, by visiting the hack
With a one-man mime performance ‘bout a donkey in Iraq
End up going out and getting paralytic
I’d rather be a writer than a critic
I’d rather be a writer than
I know we are much brighter than
And so much less uptighter than
I’d rather be a writer than a critic
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10. |
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The next time I’m in love
I won’t make any mistakes
Well aware that this takes
More than stone cold common sense
More than mere experience
As we live we learn
See the pages turn
The next time I’m in love
I won’t be slow to show my
Feelings, I don’t know why
Words can be so hard to find
I know she can’t read my mind
If she means more than gold
She needs to be told
And still, still I’m wishing these days were through
Will, will I ever get over you?
The next time I’m in love
I’ll take no thing for granted
Once the seed is planted
It can only grow and grow
If we try to live each moment like it’s our last
Things go by so fast
And will I know what to expect
The next, the next, the next time I’m in love
The next time
The next time I’m in love
The next time
The next time I’m in love
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11. |
Heart in a Helicopter
04:06
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I heard it on the radio
Going to the Gate
In a three mile tail back
Mad that we were late
And as we moved on forwards
Found out why we’d had to wait
Lying on the cold Coast Road
Had she run out of options
No family or friends
Had she come in on the Metro?
Walked down from Four Lane Ends?
The only cure for loneliness
The message that it sends
Lying on the cold Coast Road
If somebody could have stopped her
Her heart wouldn’t be in a helicopter
Someone’s broken, someone’s blue
Somebody else’s dream come true
The Rover it’s a write-off
On the road a crimson patch
One day she’s a misfit
The next a perfect match
There’ll be so much more to her
Beneath the surface when you scratch
Lying on the cold Coast Road
If somebody could have stopped her
Her heart wouldn’t be in a helicopter
Someone’s broken, someone’s blue
Somebody else’s dream come true
On the edges in the margins
Where a lot of folk reside
Someone’s often overcharging
For the service they provide
Now The Fates have been conspiring
The pieces are in place
Hear a dying siren
On a mercy race
Go looking through the debris
For some dignity and grace
Lying on the cold Coast Road
If somebody could have stopped her
Her heart wouldn’t be in a helicopter
Someone’s broken, someone’s blue
Somebody else’s dream come true
Had the journey been a long one?
Had the road been tough and hard?
Did she find all the entrances permanently barred?
Just another loner with an organ donor card
Lying on the cold Coast Road
If somebody could have stopped her
Her heart wouldn’t be in a helicopter
Someone’s broken, someone’s blue
Somebody else’s dream come true
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12. |
Fantastic Pasty
02:17
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There was a fantastic pasty
At the station and I just
Had to have it I said to Christine
Get that smell that pristine crust
A moment there to savour
One I wished I could record
Christine said: “I’ll go and check the departures board”
There was a fantastic pasty
A once in a lifetime treat
From off a cart, a work of art
I hardly had the heart to eat
Well I picked it up with both hands
No time for airs and graces
Christine said: “I’ll go and find a trolley for me cases”
It was a fantastic pasty
Not just full of ligaments and gristle
And while I ate
It tasted great
The gadgie must have blown his whistle
I realised I was alone
Potentially bereft
I could have gone chasing after her but I still had a little bit left
It was a fantastic pasty
Nobody could deny it
I’d offered her a bite but she was on the Atkins diet
I ran off to the platform
I could see her from the back
Struggling with luggage trying to get it on the rack
It was a fantastic pasty
Not one bit went to waste
I ate every crumb
And then succumbed
To the scrumptious aftertaste
Oh the memory of that pasty will go with me to the grave
The train pulled out and Christine didn’t even wave
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13. |
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I stood there on the platform
Thinking something must’ve vexed her
We hadn’t fought
Or so I thought
Maybe I ought to text her
I said I felt quite lonely and lost all on me own
I mentioned that she hadn’t waved
And the kiss she might have blown
Her reply it came quite quickly
But I couldn’t work out what it meant
About being strong when things go wrong
And long term commitment
And then her tone changed slightly
In fact it got quite nasty
She said: “I never thought I’d play second fiddle to a beep beep beep beep pasty!”
For the first time in me life
I knew what a broken heart meant
Came to accept food and love are kept in separate compartments
It’s not just a boy and girl thing
It’s about the way he treats her
I said why don’t you just come back home and we’ll go out for a pizza
That’s all I said
The line went dead
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Pete Scott Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK
Pete Scott (1948-2023) was a singer-songwriter from Newcastle upon Tyne.
He released many
albums throughout his career, including "Don't Panic" and "Jimmy the Moonlight" on Rubber Records in the 1970s and, more recently, the self-released albums "Why Sing Goodbye Songs", "Songs to Sing & Jokes to Tell", and "Sweet Dreams of Contentment"
Known for folk rock in the 70s and comedy more recently.
... more
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