|
 |
|
 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
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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"
|
|
|
|
|
|
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.
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.
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
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
|
|
McDonald’s
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.
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
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
