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John Keogh Song Lyrics. The photo is of John and his wife abord SS Canberra in 1983. And another song by John is one he wrote about me Martin Dardis called The Craic. John now has his own site here at John Keogh Songs

John Keogh
 I was born in Slieverue, in Co. Kilkenny in 1938. I came to the UK on 1st September 1939, 3 days before WW2 began. In 1967, I went to live in Australia & came back in 1977. I've always loved Irish & Scottish songs & I'm always changing the words. I write a lot of  humorous poetry mainly about my last job, which was as a lorry driver delivering parcels around London & the neighbouring counties. I've been back to Ireland 4 or 5 times, the last time was about 1965. I still think of it as my homeland although I only spent 18 months of my young life there. My dad was in the Easter Uprising & later joined the Free State Army. After that, he mainly worked as a labourer & a farm hand, both in Ireland & the UK. He taught me many of the rebel songs. However, one song always brings back memories of his sister-in-law, my auntie Bridie, from Waterford City, who taught me how to play "Doonaree" on a button key squeezebox. I'm not very musical, being told that I'm tone deaf, but I can knock out one or two simple tunes on a mouth-organ.

The Wee Folk

Ned Kelly Lyrics

The Leprechaun Song

The Arabs Got All The Oil Lyrics By John Keogh

The Arabs, They Got All The Oil.
Youtube Video By Mick Higgins

You may talk of the “Luck Of The Irish”
And our emblem, the little trefoil,
So how is it we got the praties,
And the Arabs, they got all the oil?
In the land that is known as Hibernia,
Sure, we’ve got remarkable soil,
But while all we get is a hernia,
The Arabs, they get all the oil.
Many Paddies went over to England,
For McAlpine and Wimpey to toil,
To dig canals there and build all the roadways,
While the Arabs, they got all the oil.
To counter this awful injustice,
We need a powerful foil,
While we Paddies have still got our Guinness,
The Arabs know what to do with their oil!
John Keogh, Ard File na hEireann, 15th May 2011

False Modesty

For years now, I’ve been writing poetry & songs.
And I’m bound to become famous, before so very long.
The Percy French Society is publishing my work,
To be read by every Irishman, O’Shaughnessy & Burke.

I’ll be so famous that in time you will no doubt see,
You’ll have pay a couple of quid, to even talk to me!
I don’t want to appear immodest, but it will soon be shown,
That I’m the greatest poet that the world has ever known!

Return To The Foyle

Return To The Foyle.


‘Twas many years ago I left my homeland,

To travel halfway ‘round the earth.

But I never thought to ere fulfill the yearning,

To return to the land of my birth.


But now I’m aboard the Qantas airplane,

Heading back for many miles across the sea.

To the land I left behind with teardrops falling,

To the place that’s been forever calling me.


Once more, I’ll see the spire of St. Eugenes,

Standing there, so stark against the sky.

And once more, I’ll feel the teardops falling,

For it’s enough to make a grown man cry!


Perhaps then I’ll see my old comrades,

The ones I was so sad to leave behind.

I’ll be once more with my dear family,

The ones that I recall are good and kind.


I’ll hear again familiar surnames,

Like Murphy, Ryan, Doherty and Coyle.

And, at last, I will have fulfilled my yearning,

To return to my old hometown on the Foyle!


John Keogh. 29th November 2012.

written a sequel to Brian Coll's "Hometown on the Foyle" 

Souvenir of Ireland

Some day you’ll come over to Ireland,
And you’ll say, ‘’It’s so nice over here.’’
You’ll go into a little emporium,
To purchase a small souvenir.
You find one that reminds you of Dublin,
Of Cork, or maybe Clonmel.
With a wee leprechaun & a shamrock,
And a harp & St. Patrick as well.
Then you turn it up & you look on the bottom,
And in Gaelic words that you don’t understand,
You see ‘’An Tseapan Tir Adheanta’’,
Which means it was made in Japan!

The Port of Waterford Lyrics

Oh, how sweet ‘tis to roam by the sunny Suir stream,

Through the container terminal  they built at Gorteens.

Where my Dad used to fish with his small boat & line,

On the banks of the Suir, a few miles from Mooncoin.


Sure, they’ve knocked down the cottage in which I was born,

Where I first saw the light on that bright Sunday morn.

‘Tis altered completely, sure everything’s new,

Since my Dad used to labour for Powers of Belview.


My Dad & John Lonergan  used to stretch out their net,

In the hope that a couple of salmon they’d get.

And up on Snow Hill, a few rabbits would catch,

And praties he’d grow in the vegetable patch.


In all kinds of weather, rain, sunshine or snow,

My five sisters, all barefoot, to school they would go,

And the ould Billy goat would often them join,

On the banks of the Suir, a few miles from Mooncoin.


The new Port of Waterford is what is there now,

Just a short distance  away, sure, from ould Kilmacow.

They are loading the ships now, by sun & moonshine,

On the banks of the Suir, a few miles from Mooncoin.


The Army Medical Song Lyrics

Tinkle, tinkle in this jar,
We’ll soon see how fit you are.
That’s what the Army doctor said to me,
So I obliged him with a wee.
What’s that you say? You’ve got flat feet?
And your nickname’s Peg-Leg Pete?
I can see that you’re just four feet high,
And you only have one eye.
You say you’ve got a wonky head,
And every night, you wet the bed.
Well, never mind about that now,
It doesn’t matter anyhow.
Yes, I know you’re ninety two,
But your country still needs you.
So, we have marked you grade A one,
And you are in the ARMY, son!

Rhythm Of The Train Song Lyrics

Listen to the rhythm of the rolling train,
Takin’ me somewhere I’ve never been.
Helpin’ me to leave behind my grief and pain,
And find someplace I’ve heard the grass is green.
Train, won’t you take me where I want to go,
‘Cos I am puttin’ all my trust in you.
Then won’t you tell me what I want to know,
That you’re gonna make my dreams come true.
I left my home in Denver only yesterday,
To jump aboard this rusty railroad car.
Hopin’ that it will take me far away,
To where I’ve heard that all the good times are.
Train, won’t you take me where I want to go,
‘Cos I am puttin’ all my trust in you.
Then won’t you tell me what I want to know,
That you’re gonna make my dreams come true.
Hopin’ that it might just help to ease my mind,
I’ve got my old guitar beside me now,
But, I might as well have left it far behind,
‘Cos I never learned to play it anyhow!
Oh, listen to the rhythm of the rolling train,
Clickety, clickety, clickety, clickety, clack.
Oh, oh, oh, listen to the rolling train,
As it rolls along the railroad track.
John Keogh. Railroad Hobo. 5th June 2011.

From The Green Fields Of  France To Paradise!

From The Green Fields Of  France To Paradise!
I just heard the story of Willie McBride,
Of how he and his comrades, in their millions have died.
In the song that is called “The Green Fields Of France”
Which I happened to find merely by chance.
It tells the very sad story of countless young men,
Whom their friends and their sweethearts will ne'er see again.
They fought in the wars of this evil world,
That’s controlled by someone of whom you may have heard.
To the Scots he’s Auld Clootie, to some he’s Old Nick,
He would like us to think that he doesn’t exist!
But The Bible gives proof that he’s real, sure enough,
And why life under his rule is so stressful and tough.
However, take courage, there’s no need to despair,
For The Bible also tells he won’t always be there.
It was not Jehovah’s purpose for mankind’s short life,
To be forever cursed by warfare and strife.
For when man was created and life did begin,
‘Twas in a Paradise garden that Jehovah placed him.
Then Satan told Eve the first ever lie,
You can eat of that tree and you will not die.
He thus caused Eve and her husband, Adam to sin.
And ‘twas then that sickness and death did begin.
For if they had not disobeyed that simple command,
Fruit from the Tree of Life they could have taken to hand.
The name of that tree shows that they would never die,
If they had not listened to the Devil’s first lie!
However, Jehovah’s purpose for the Earth and for Man,
Just cannot be thwarted by Satan’s evil plan.
For straightaway, it was then that Jehovah decreed,
He would destroy wicked Satan by means of a Seed.
That Seed came to Earth in the form of His Son,
Who for the sake of Mankind, the victory has won.
After Jesus Christ destroys God’s adversary,
Soon now to happen, ‘tis then we will see,
Then all of Mankind will forever be thrilled,
When God’s original purpose for the Earth is fulfilled!
No more will there be wars and trouble or strife,
But Mankind will then enjoy everlasting life.
That was Jesus’ promise to the man at his side,
On the day that for our sins Jesus died.
So may you take advantage of the very great price,
That Jesus Christ paid by his one sacrifice,
That will truly cause wars to cease evermore,
And we’ll no longer be singing about any war.
Where all the young men like Willie McBride,
Will come back to true freedom for which they all died.
Then the Green Fields of France that were won at a price,
Will truly be part of a global Paradise!
John Keogh. 3rd June 2011.

The Green Fields Of France Lyrics And Chords

The Aborigines Lament. Song Lyrics

The Aborigines Lament.
(or The Stick That Was Bent)
My name is Black Jack,
I live in the Outback,
Down Under, near Botany Bay.
One day, I found,
Lyin’ there on the ground,
A funny bent stick,
Which I grabbed very quick,
And I took it home right away.
But my wife said, “What good,
Is an old bent piece of wood?”
And proceeded to chuck it away.
But it kept comin’ back,
To give her a whack,
So she decided it would have to stay.
Then I took a good look,
At this stick with a crook,
Then it dawned on me right away.
For then we found out,
Without any doubt,
You can’t throw a BOOMERANG away!
John Keogh, Bush Poet, 29th May 2011

My Ould Tin Kettle’s On The Boil Lyrics

As the plane flies out today from Delhi City,
Was what I thought the words were of the song.
But I realised that my ears deceived me,
And I’ll need a hearing aid before too long.
However, it came about that not long after,
Those words came true as life can be unkind,
And because of things I knew I couldn’t alter,
I had to leave Australia behind.
I got aboard a Jumbo jet in Adelaide,
And it flew on westward then to Perth.
By the time that plane had landed in New Delhi,
It had flown me nearly halfway ‘round the earth!
As the plane flew out that day from Delhi City,
The words I thought I’d heard were coming true.
A tear came to my eye, Oh what a pity,
It’s no wonder, then that I was feeling blue.
I thought about all what I would be missing,
When I will be once more on England’s turf.
No more I’ll take my boat and go out fishing,
As I battled thru’ that wild Austalian surf!
Many thousand miles I travelled on that journey,
As I left behind the wild Australian soil,
And soon I was back again in England,
Where I’d write the song, “The Arabs Got The Oil”
Now, when the plane had landed safe at Heathrow,
And I had my feet back  firmly on the ground,
I thought that I was back again in Delhi,
When I saw the turbaned heads that were all 'round!
I was asked one day, “How did you find Australia?”
My answer, I thought, was rather neat because,
I said, “I didn’t really need to find it,
The chap who drove the plane knew where it was!”
I suppose that he had used a sat-nav,
As we might use in our own motor car,
A sheila’s voice said “You’ve reached your destination.”
And there in Sydney Airport’s where you are!
Well, that’s another lovely song I’ve ruined,
About the chap who left his Hometown on the Foyle.
But I have to go now, my tea is brewin’
For I left my ould tin kettle on the boil!

John Keogh. Ard file na hEireann. 27th May 2011

The Irish Working Man Song Lyrics

The Irish Workin’ Man.


Half a dozen Paddies stood outside an English bar,

They were wishin’ ‘twas inside they were, suppin’ at a jar.

But, seein’ it was Thursday and their dole already spent,

Between the bloomin’ lot o’ them, they hadn’t got a cent.


Then up along beside them, there drew a limousine,

The chauffeur was resplendent in his uniform of green.

The passenger was McAlpine, who offered them some work,

And the foreman who’d be over them was little Micky Burke.


Now at the sound of Micky’s name, any navvy pales,

For though he was only five foot three, he was as hard as nails.

However, bein’ desperate, they all at once agreed.

So they got into the motor car and off they went at speed.


He took them to the site and to the shed where tools were stored,

And many spades and shovels were there, hangin’ on a board.

So Micky Burke said to them, “Now lads, take yer pick”

But this was most confusin’ to Paddy, Sean and Mick.


Since only spades and shovels was all that they could see,

Said Paddy, “How we’ll take our pick, is beyond the likes o’ me!”

Then, kitted out with wellies, hard hats upon their heads,

With barrows full of concrete, down the road they sped.


Now from Birmingham to London and all places in between,

Every mile of motorway in England’s land of green,

And many a public building you see throughout the land,

Was built with blood and sweat and tears, and Paddy’s own strong hand


The Unwilling Train Lyrics


Percy French thought that he would go to Kilkee,

At the mouth of the beautiful Shannon.

Where he also thought he might have for his tea,

A plateful of Irish colcannon.


To Ennis Station he went with wilful intent,

And bought a ticket which cost him a shilling.

He then took his seat & there he would wait.

For he found out the train wasn’t willing!


So he wrote a refrain about the ould train,

And Michael, who drove the ould engine.

But the railway’s boss, got awfully cross,

And to the magistrates’ court, he went whingin’


He said that Percy had shown him no mercy,

And so compensation he sought.

But the Judge was no fool, he stuck to the rule,

And threw the case right out of court!


That is why to this day, Percy’s songs still hold sway,

In Ireland’s taverns, meadows & bogs.

And sorry to say, the West Clare Railway,

Has assuredly gone to the dogs!

John Keogh, Ard File na hEireann,  25th May 2011

From Rebellion To True Freedom!

From Rebellion To True Freedom!


My father was a rebel, in nineteen hundred and sixteen,

He marched along with Erin’s sons, beneath their flag of green.

But then he went to England, just before the war,

And he decided he didn’t want to be a rebel anymore.


He began to see the folly of the killing and the strife,

And how young men and women had thrown away their life.

He could see, throughout the world, the same thing going on,

And so, one day, he said to me, “Don’t follow them, my son.”


In later years, I came  to see how wise the words he spoke,

As towns and cities around the world went up in flames and smoke.

So I began to yearn for the time these things end,

When every man would say that his neighbour was his friend.


In time, I got to learn of what our God has promised man,

Of how He has prepared what we might call His universal plan.

How Adam & Eve disobeyed the law that Jehovah gave,

And how God sent Jesus Christ that we sinners he might save.


When Jesus was upon the earth, he did not engage in strife, 

Instead, he said that meek ones would  get eternal life.

He said to his friend Peter, to put away his sword,

And if we follow Jesus’ lead we will get our reward.


Then let all fighters everywhere put their bombs and guns away,

And let all look forward to God’s great Judgment Day.

When He will destroy all weapons, and all hatred will be gone.

By means of His Kingdom Rule, under his loyal Son.


So when His servants call on you, to tell the Kingdom News,

Please listen to their message, for it depends on what you to choose.

Whether you want everlasting life, or that life you will lose.

So may the choice that you make, be the right one for your own sake!


The New Motorway Song Lyrics - John Keogh

The New Motorway.

Oh, tell me Patsy Murphy, tell me why ye hurry so.
Hush mo búacaill, hush and listen, I’ll tell ye all I know.
I bear orders from McAlpine, get ye ready quick and soon,
For we must build a motorway by the middle of next June.
The middle of next June, me bhoys, the middle of next June.
Yes, we must build a motorway by the middle of next June!
Oh then, tell me Patsy Murphy, where the motorway’s to be?
From the northern tip o’ Scotland down to Penzance by the sea.
One word more, for signal token, whistle up McAlpine’s tune,
With your pick upon your shoulder, by this comin’ Thursday noon.
By this comin’ Thursday noon me bhoys, this comin’ Thursday noon,
Yes, have your pick upon your shoulder, by this comin’ Thursday noon.
Out from every pub and lodgins’ they came all thru’ the night,
And by that Thursday mornin’ bhoys there was an awsome sight.
A hundred thousand Paddies, McAlpine’s Fusiliers,
Tho’ many were the worse for drink, from far too many beers.
Far too many beers, me bhoys. Yes, far too many beers,
But that’s the fuel that powers them, McAlpine’s Fusiliers!
John Keogh, Ard File na hEireann, 18th May 2011

A Navvy's Anthem Song Lyrics. John Keogh

The Navvy’s Anthem.
Oh Mary dear, and did ye hear the news that’s goin’ ‘round?
Wimpey and McAlpine are still diggin’ up the ground.
Ye’ll see lots o’ gangs o’ fellers here called Paddy, Sean and Mick,
And ev’ry one is kitted out with his shovel and his pick.
Murphy too is diggin’ trenches for gas, electricity and phones.
And now and then they come across a load of ancient bones.
Some o’ these, I have to say it’s very sad to tell,
Are the remains of Irish navvies who lay there where they fell.
Now d’ye know what W.I.M.P.E.Y stands for Mary dear,
It simply means that We Import More Paddies Every Year!
Now,  Seamus swung his pick one day, which through a cable went,
And blacked out half of England from Derbyshire to Kent!
But then Murphy came along and grinnin’ like an ape,
Said, “I’ll soon fix that with a roll o’ Sellotape!”
So soon, the lights they came back on, in restaurant and pub,
And off they went to the nearest bar, to drink away their sub.
McAlpine and his Fusiliers and Ryan, Mick and Pete,
Will soon have England’s green and pleasant land buried in concrete!
John Keogh, Ard File na hEireann, 17th May 2011

A Workin' Lad's Tale Lyrics By John Keogh
When I was sixteen years of age, I went off to earn a wage.
I was prepared for workin’ hard, so I went down to the builder’s yard.
I told them that my name was John, and there and then they took me on.
I was to be there on the stroke of eight, and I would be a plumber’s mate.
In the depth of winter, I would go, on me bike through the rain and snow.
They put me with a chap called Bill, so I set off with a will.
Now, I’m not one to make a fuss, but Bill, he was an awkward cuss.
We were upon a roof one day, when things began to go astray,
The blowlamp, it just wouldn’t light, to see Bill’s face it was a sight!
He began to swear and curse, but what came next was even worse!
He took the blowlamp in his hand, and hurled it far across the land,
And as it left his mighty fist, the foreman plumber, it just missed!
As Bill continued in his huff, ‘twas then I felt I’d had enough.
I got upon me bike and fled, leaving Bill amongst the lead.
When to the depot I got back, they put me with a chap called Jack.
Now, Jack he was a decent bloke, never swearin’ when he spoke.
Of better stuff Jack was made, he could turn his hand to any trade,
Of this fact he soon showed  proof, as we went off to tile a roof.
He taught me many things you see, that would in future prove to be,
As through life I went, for good or bad, of benefit to a workin’ lad.
They sent us to the brewery in Watford town, to fix up what was fallin’ down.
Before we’d start, what do you think? We got two pints of beer to drink!
Now, I thought that this wasn’t bad, considerin’ I was just a lad!
You won’t get that happening today, when Health and Safety have their say!
Ev’ry day hour after hour, we toiled away at the top o’ the tower,
An inspector came along one day, and to yours truly he did say.
A lad of your such tender year, should not be workin’ right up here.
So back down to the ground I went, where I set to work mixin’ up cement.
I’d say the yakka it was hard, workin’ in the brewery yard.
But at noon we’d take a break, and for the canteen we would make.
The tucker there, it wasn’t bad, for a young hard-workin’ lad.
I needed buildin’ up y’see, as I was skinny as could be.
This truth would soon be evident, when on the next job I was sent.
I was told a basket skip to lower, of rubbish from atop the tower.
The way that this would be achieved, was with a pulley, single reeved.
I was told to hold the rope, but  with my slight build, there was not much hope.
But I put a pair of gloves on and, let the rope slide thru’ my hands.
I was managing to hold my own, until the skip was halfway down.
Then beneath my hands there came a knot, and up into the air I shot!
How I missed the scaffolding, now that is such a wond’rous thing.
A big navvie, who was standin’ there, could do nothin’ else but stare,
Then he doubled up with laughter bent, as up into sky I went!
I hadn’t even got a hard hat, in those days, no such thing as that.
I slid down the rope and found, my feet were back upon the ground.
‘Tis then I saw the funny side, of my rapid skyward ride.
And got to thinkin’ “Yeah, I bet, that’s the only rise I’ll get!”
Yet there’s no need to moan ‘n wail, at least I’m here to tell the tale.
So as this workin’ lad goes on his way, we’ve leave the rest for another day.
(To be continued, no doubt!)

Will ye come, Johnny Keogh to Ballymackeogh.

Will ye come, Johnny Keogh to Ballymackeogh.
The poets of Ireland have vanished, they say,
But I know where one can be found.
‘Tis meself, Johnny Keogh, tho’ I’m old and grey,
There’s life in me yet, I’ll be bound.
They say ‘tis from Irelands High Bards that I came,
And I’ve no reason to doubt that it’s true
So Ard file na hEireann  is the title I claim,
That’s High Poet of Erin to you.
I’ve heard of a place that’s called Ballymackeogh,
A place that I have yet to see.
But it must be a nice place, this Ballymackeogh,
For sure, ‘cos it’s named after me!
So will ye come, Johnny Keogh to Ballymackeogh,
From England far over the sea,
For they say that it‘s lovely in Ballymackeogh,
The place that I’m longing to be.
Sure, I was born in Kilkenny, in ould Slieveroe,
In a cottage beside the Suir stream.
Then off to England my parents did go,
Now I only go back in my dreams.
Now I wouldn’t recognize ould Slieveroe,
‘Tis changed beyond all compare,
There’s an industrial estate there, sure wouldn’t ye know,
So I won’t bother goin’ back there!
So will ye come, Johnny Keogh to Ballymackeogh,
From England far over the sea,
For they say that it’s lovely in Ballymackeogh,
The place that I’m longing to be.
Thanks to Percy French now, for inspiring me,
With his poems and songs of good cheer.
There’s The Mountains Of Mourne and Paddy Reilly,
As well as Abdulla Bulbul Ameer!

Four Worn-Out Tyres.  Lyrics By John Keogh
Four Worn-Out Tyres.
Tune Mull Of Kintyre


Four worn-out tyres,

On this lorry they’ve issued to me.

My desire, is only to get home,

On these four worn-out tyres.


Far have I travelled

And much have I seen,

From Watford Junction,

Down to Croxley Green.

Chorleywood Common

When the grass was on fire,

As I travel around on

These four worn-out tyres.


Four worn-out tyres,

On this lorry they’ve issued to me.

My desire, is only to get home,

On these four worn-out tyres.


I hope to get finished

By quarter past ten,

If I’m not stopped

By the coppers again.

The rubber’s all vanished,

They’re down to the wires,

A total disgrace are these

Four worn-out tyres !


Four worn-out tyres,

On this lorry they’ve issued to me.

My desire, is only to get home,

On these four worn-out tyres.


If I ever get home

In this lorry, then,

I’ll never drive for

This company again.

Their lorries are rubbish,

The wages as well,

And the loading bay foreman

Is straight out of HELL!

How are things in Wagga Wagga - Song By John Keogh

How are things in Wagga Wagga?
Is the Murrumbidgee  driftin’ by?
Does it still run down to Yarragundy,
Having come from Gundagai?
How are things in Wagga Wagga?
Is that billabong still lying there?
Does that swaggy drop his heavy pack,
Down from off his back?
And does he curse and swear,
To find no jumbuck there?
And so I ask each lonely gum tree,
And each creek along the way,
From Yanco and Carrabogie down to Hay,
How are things in Wagga Wagga,
This fine day?

John Keogh.  20th March 2011

Crazy Mixed-Up Song Lyrics
Crazy Mixed-Up Song
To the tune of “Riders in the Sky”)
An old cowpoke went riding out, one dark and stormy day,
When he saw a great big wooden box a’floatin’ in the bay.
I’ve got my songs mixed up again, as I very often do.
But, never mind, I’ll go ahead and sing this song for you.

The Jolly Swagman pitched his camp beside a billabong.
But when he found the ground was damp, he decided to move along.
So he pulled up stakes and headed north, along the Birdsville Track,
Where Charlie Drake sat waiting for his boomerang to come back.

The swaggie said to Charlie, Mate, it’s no use sittin’ here ,
Let’s go and see if we can find a pub that’s got some beer.
So, off they went along their way, but hadn’t gone too far,
When, up along beside them drew O’Rafferty’s Motor Car.

They said Can you give us a lift? and the driver he agreed.
Then he stepped hard on the gas, and off they went at speed.
But the driver was a kangaroo and really took them round.
They went from Perth to Adelaide in one almighty bound!

He then hopped north to Darwin and back to Alice Springs,
Where they bought themselves some opals and lots of other things.
Then, southeast, on to Flemington, is where they ended up,
In time see Delaney’s donkey win the Melbourne Cup!

Oh! What a Miserable Mornin’! - Home Down In Oz Lyrics

Oh! What a Miserable Mornin’!
Oh! What a miserable morning’!
Oh! What a miserable day!
I’ve got a terrible feeling,
Ev’rythin’s goin’ astray!
There’s a dark, murky smog on the meadow,
There’s a dark, murky smog on the meadow,
The corn is as low as a grasshopper’s toe,
An’ it looks like it’s never, never goin’ to grow!
Oh! What a miserable morning’!
Oh! What a miserable day!
I’ve got a terrible feeling,
Ev’rythin’s goin’ astray!
Oh! What a miserable morning’!
Oh! What a miserable day!
I’ve got a terrible feeling,
Ev’rythin’s goin’ astray!
All the whole of the earth is in chaos,
All the whole of the earth is in chaos,
The wind is so strong, it’s uprootin’ the trees,
And the ole weepin, willow has fallen on me!
Oh! What a miserable morning’!
Oh! What a miserable day!
I’ve got a terrible feeling,
Ev’rythin’s goin’ astray!
All the cattle are lyin’ like corpses,
All the cattle are lyin’ like corpses,
They don’t turn their heads as they see me ride by.
That’s prob’ly ’cause they are all waitin’ to die!
Oh! What a miserable morning’!
Oh! What a miserable day!
I’ve got a terrible feeling,
Ev’rythin’s goin’ astray!
Home Down In Oz.
Oh, give me a home,
Where the kangaroos roam.
Where the emus and wallabies play.
Where the koala bear will just sit and stare,
From the branch of a gum tree all day.
Home, home down in Oz,
Where I once used ter wish that I was.
Where the dust and the flies,
Get up yer nose and in yer eyes,
And the bushfires keep burnin’ all day!
Oh, give me a land, where yer can walk on the strand,
But yer dare not go in fer a swim.
Cos the white pointer shark’s bite is worse than ‘is bark,
An’ yer don’t want ter meet up with ’im!
Home, home down in Oz,
Where I once used ter wish that I was.
Where the dust and the flies,
Get up yer nose and in yer eyes,
And the bushfires keep burnin’ all day!
Where the Bush Tucker Man, drives around in ‘is van,
Through Kakadu National Park,
And each day fer ‘is tea, ‘e’ll climb up a tree,
Getting’ witchety grubs from under the bark.
Home, home down in Oz,
Where I once used ter wish that I was.
Where the dust and the flies,
Get up yer nose and in yer eyes,
And the bushfires keep burnin’ all day!
But I no longer yearn ter ever return,
Ter the land of the coolabah trees.
So I think I’ll just stay here in the UK,
And let the winter winds blow ‘round my knees!
John Keogh.

The Pile Of Debris Song Lyrics

The Pile Of Debris.
T’was in an old Ford Capri that I found her,
at the side of the M23.
Bits of wreckage lay strewn all around her,
because she had run into a tree.

I had the ‘flu & was running a fever, & my warm,
cosy bed beckoned me.
But I could not just drive on & leave her,
‘cos I’m an AA Patrolman, you see.

She whispered softly, I think something’s broken.
& as I turned the ignition key,
I saw the truth of the words she had spoken,
as she sat in her pile of debris.

She tried to turn the engine over,
as the rain trickled down from above.
I said, Lady, it’s not like a Rover,
you’ll have to get out & give it a shove!

I then dislodged the bonnet stay with my shoulder
& it came crashing down on my thumb.
I said, Blow this for a game of tin soldiers!
& I called for the tow truck to come.

She said, How can I thank you for your endeavours,
trying to fix my Capri?
I said, Lady, just do me a favour. Next time,
please call out the R A C !!!!!!!!!

Road Tae The Gaols Lyrics

Road Tae The Gaols.
There’s a black Paddy Wagon takin’ me awa’
And it’s heading off towards Barlinnie Gaol.
And a big polisman is sittin’ next tae me,
Because I tried tae rob the Royal Mail.
Then, escorted by Securicor,
In handcuffs, I will go,
Then they’ll lock me up and throw away the key.
So will ye dae a favour for me noo,
And call ma little wife,
And tell her that I’ll no be hame for tea!
John Keogh.

oor hieland laddie

oor hieland laddie.
i have been commissioned tae write a verse or two,
aboot a chap called angus, (known as jock tae you).
he's awfu' hard tae understand when he starts tae speak,
he's full 'o phrases like "och aye" and "lang may your lum reek".

but now, the truth tae you i'll tell, when it comes doon tae brass tacks,
there's more worth in that one hieland man, than in a hundred sassenachs!
he bro't a haggis in one day, tae gi' us all a treat,
but it could'na dance a hieland fling, for it had'na any feet.

sae it sang a song instead, o' scotland's hills sae green,
and when it finished, there was no a dry eye tae be seen!
one day, he came in hieland dress, and strutted 'roond the yard.
he tried tae toss the caber, "och," he said, "it is'nae hard!"

we stood aroond, and cheered him on, we thought that he was magic,
however, what happened next could only be called tragic.
he was dae'in rather well, 'til he tripped up o'er his kilt,
then the caber came doon on his head, which really made him wilt!

we thought he looked sae funny then, he had us a' in fits.
and his voice became quite shrill, ye ken, when he did the hieland splits!
his sporran lay in tatters, a sad and sorry sight,
we had tae shoot the puir wee thing, tae save it frae its plight!

he thought tae throw the hammer next, but forgot tae let it go,
and he landed up in aviemore, beneath ten feet o' snow!
well, now my story has been told o' this hieland lad sae braw,
there's one mair thing that i must say, afore i gang awa',
if yo'ure feeling hamesick angus, and for the heather your heart yearns,
just read my poetry,and say, "who needs ye rabbie burns?"

The Loafer Lyrics

The Loafer
Over in Killarney,many years ago,
My Mother said these words to me,
My son, you’ll have to go!
I can’t afford to keep you,
While you sit around all day.
You’ll have go and get a job,
And bring me home some pay.
So I went down to the shipyard,
And said My name is John,
My Mother said I need a job,
So will you take me on?
The foreman took one look at me,
And said “You’re very small,
I don’t think we could find a place,
In this yard for you at all!
So I went off to the bakery,
And to the boss I said,
“D’you think you could put me to work,
In the job of makin’ bread?
What experience do you have?
Was all that he did say,
I said, “I’m fully qualified,
Sure, I loaf around all day!
I started in the bakery,
But I got the sack next day.
Now when I go back home to her,
I’ll hear my Mother say,
You useless lookin’ article!
You stupid omadhaun!
I should have given you away
The day that you were born!
John Keogh

McDonald’s Lyrics - Oh My Hat

Oh! Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that’s goin’ ‘round?
Sure, they’ve opened a McDonald’s in the heart of Dublin Town.
If you go down O’Connell Street, sure, you won’t believe your eyes,
For eight euros & fifteen cents, you get a Big Mac and fries!
Another euro  ninety five, you can have a Coke.
By the time you leave McDonald’s, sure now, you’ll be stony broke!

Oh! My Hat! Lyrics

While loading up my van today, a cold and frosty morn,
I had on my woolly hat, to keep my ear'oles warm.
The guv'nor came walking by, looking and inspecting,
And I could tell that towards me, his step he was directing.
He stopped, and looked at me, and said "where did you get that hat?"
"I bet a pound you could'nt write a poem about that!"
There! He'd flung a challenge down, just like a knight of yore!
Quick as a flash, I countered it with "don't you be so sure!"
At once, my brain went into gear, he'd really got me going.
And soon, from pen to paper,the words were quickly flowing.
"Where did you get that hat?" he'd asked, I wish that he had not.
For asking questions of that sort, could put me on the spot!
However, now he's asked me about this hat I wear,
'Tis nothing but the truth I'll tell, if secrecy he'll swear,
For if it were to get about, my future won't be rosy,
Whatever will I tell my wife, when she misses her tea-cosy!

The Flyer Song Lyrics 

 The Flyer.
When I got into work today, I met up with the boss, 
Who said, "Now, John, be on your way, and make for Gerrard's Cross
With thirty-one deliveries, ten for Wycombe too,
Plus eighteen drops for Rickmansworth, as you'll be passing through.
You should get that lot finished by twenty-five to one,
Then there's half-a-dozen Oxfam shops to clear before you're done!
I said to him, "now, guv'nor, I can see that you're all heart,
But there's one thing that I must do, before I make a start."
"I'll have to go a-searching, a 'phone box for to find,
To don my costume, red and blue, with cape that flows behind!
The reason for this quick-change stunt, is plain for all to see.
You must think that I'm superman, the things you ask of me!"
John Keogh, Man of Steel.

The Day They Chose A Mascot For Slattery’s Light Dragoons

The Day They Chose A Mascot For Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
One day, Slattery decided to appoint a mascot soon,
To go ahead of his brave lads, The Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
So he put a public notice in papers everywhere,
And addressed it to all creatures from goat to grizzly bear.
Well, he got lots of answers to the advert that he’d put’
To be the chosen mascot for The Slattery’s Mounted Fut.
So down they came in hundreds, led by loafers and poltroons,
Four and twenty wallabies and a couple of stout baboons.
Playin’ on the big bass drum, accompanied by bassoons,
The day they chose a mascot, sure, for Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
When Slattery caught sight of them, his heart it swelled with pride,
Says he, The name of The Light Dragoons, no-one ever can deride!”
So he put on his uniform and his Regimental Coat,
And drove up in a jaunting car pulled by McGinty’s goat.
Up along beside him, sure now, adding to his fame,
Mick the Marmaliser and Delaney’s Donkey came.
So down they came in hundreds, led by loafers and poltroons,
Four and twenty wallabies and a couple of stout baboons.
Playin’ on the big bass drum, accompanied by bassoons,
The day they chose a mascot, sure, for Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
When they’d finished their paradin’ and swaggerin’ about,
Slattery declared, “ My Lads, it’s time to sort them out.”
So they all lined up in front of him, waitin’ to be picked,
They disqualified the donkey, for Slattery he’d kicked.
Finally they chose one, and declared the contest fair,
The one they chose as mascot, sure was the famous Yogi Bear!
So down they came in hundreds, led by loafers and poltroons,
Four and twenty wallabies and a couple of stout baboons.
Playin’ on the big bass drum, accompanied by bassoons,
The day they chose a mascot, sure, for Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
(If Percy French were alive today, he’d be turning in his grave!)
John Keogh. 8th Mach 2011


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