'The Scroungers' Song' is commentary about homelessness and the stigma often attached to the homeless. Here are the facts that inspired the song:
Homelessness and Rough Sleeping in England

Homelessness and rough sleeping in England are still escalating, with recent data highlighting significant increases.

In 2023, an estimated 3,898 individuals were sleeping rough in England, marking a 27% increase from the previous year. This rise represents the sharpest annual increase since 2015 and indicates that the government’s 2019 manifesto commitment to end rough sleeping by 2024 has not been met. 
This trend inspired ‘The Scroungers’ Song'.

Here are the lyrics:
The Scroungers’ Song

VERSE 1
A homeless stranger rapped upon the door,
in hopes to beg a simple crust of bread.
“Please help me Ma’am,” he said, “for I’m dirt-poor.”
Here’s what the stony-hearted woman said:
“The likes of you will get no welcome here!
We don’t like beggars! Clear off! Move along!
I’ll give you this advice - let me be clear,
I’ve nothing for you but the Scroungers’ Song.”

CHORUS 1
I’m not the fool you seem to think I am.
For sure, your rags and poverty are sham.
The final word I have for you is ‘scram.’
I’ve got no time for misfits or for losers.

VERSE 2
The old man put the village to the test.
He called at many households, one-by-one.
The people were well-fed and well-addressed.
He swore he’d beg for food till day was done.
But everywhere he went it was the same;
the doors were always slammed shut in his face.
The only handout that he got was shame.
He heard the Scroungers’ Song in every place.

CHORUS 2
The people here-abouts don’t give a damn.
You’re just a good-for-nothing, with a scam.
There’s labouring work, I’m told, in Nottingham.
Be off with you, for beggars can’t be choosers.

VERSE 3
At close of day, he found an overpass:
a shelter where he chose to make his bed.
The journey that had made him second-class,
ran round and round in circles, in his head.
Some other homeless man, already there,
had built himself a flimsy cardboard shack.
He said, “I’ve got a bag of chips to share.
I see you’ve had the Scroungers’ Song setback.”

CHORUS 1
I’m not the fool you seem to think I am.
For sure, your rags and poverty are sham.
The final word I have for you is ‘scram.’
I’ve got no time for misfits or for losers.
VERSE 4
A tale about a tramp in Wensleydale,
(who was the angel ‘Justice’ in disguise)
tells how he summoned up a mighty gale:
and caused chastising flooding to arise.
But angels are not commonplace - in truth.
True kindliness looks faded now and worn. 
The way the poor are treated is uncouth.
They’re served-up alms of mockery and scorn.

CHORUS 2
The people here-abouts don’t give a damn.
You’re just a good-for-nothing, with a scam.
There’s labouring work, I’m told, in Nottingham.
Be off with you, for beggars can’t be choosers.

VERSE 5
“Fraternity was once a dream we had.
But that was years ago,” my father said.
“I hardly recognise this country, Lad.
The post-War world we built is now stone-dead.
What happened to our ‘green and pleasant land’?
Our ‘all for one’ was swallowed in a fog.
The shift is hard for me to understand.
Side-by-side was swapped for dog-eat-dog.

CHORUS 1
I’m not the fool you seem to think I am.
For sure, your rags and poverty are sham.
The final word I have for you is ‘scram.’
I’ve got no time for misfits or for losers.
CHORUS 2
The people here-abouts don’t give a damn.
You’re just a good-for-nothing, with a scam.
There’s labouring work, I’m told, in Nottingham.
Be off with you, for beggars can’t be choosers.

OUTRO

The Scrounger's Song

The Scroungers' Song

Here's the lyric:
Vervain

Once, drifting near sleep’s rim in Chafer Woods,
I slumped against a clump of wild vervain.
What next transpired, mere logic can’t explain,
though inklings seep from Secret Sisterhoods.
My sleep-fogged fingers, bound like dead-man’s clutch,
were locked around a tube of Celtic steel -
or maybe graven glass. It had the feel
of things alive and pulsed beneath my touch.

The foot-long cylinder breathed muffled sighs.
But, as I slowly raised it from the moss,
the sound swelled louder than the Falling Foss,
until the Dales were bulging with its cries.
A gale of futures swept in with the din.
The skies were bright, and hope was rife as prayer.
Pure helpfulness and honesty were air.
And, sure as day, the saints came marching in.

But, sure as day, day-consciousness returned.
The cylinder decayed into a stick.
I grasped at straws till I awoke - heart-sick,
back to a world where decency is spurned;
where bosses peddle guns and peddle lies;
where fantasy is cause enough for war;
where locks and bolts are part of every door,
and wisdom has been filched by the unwise.

I’ll trace my steps once more to Chafer Woods,
and search again for mandrake and vervain.
What next transpires, some logic will explain;
the inklings seep from Secret Sisterhoods.

Alan Wagstaff

After recording this song I changed the main location to Chafer Woods.

Vervain

Here are the lyrics:RAMBLEAWAY

INTRODUCTION
VERSE 1
As I was a-going to Derrydown Fair,
With my fine scarlet coat and everything rare,
Enough to entice all the maidens that day,
When they set their eyes on young Rambleaway.
REFRAIN
Rambleaway! Rambleaway!
When they set their eyes on young Rambleaway.
INTERLUDE

VERSE 2
The very first steps I took into the fair, 
I saw pretty Nancy a-combing her hair. 
I gave her the wink and she rolled her black eye. 
Thinks I to myself, I'll be there by and by.
REFRAIN
Rambleaway! Rambleaway! 
Thinks I to myself, I'll be there by and by.
INTERLUDE

VERSE 3
That night I told Nancy we never would part,
and took my bright darling to be my sweetheart. 
She smiled in my face and these words she did say
Are you the young man they call Rambleaway? 
REFRAIN
Rambleaway! Rambleaway!
Are you the young man they call Rambleaway?
INTERLUDE

VERSE 4
I said, Pretty Nancy don't smile in my face,
For I do not intend to stay long in this place.
So I gave her three doubles and fair length and share,
I told her I'd ramble the devil knows where.
REFRAIN
Rambleaway! Rambleaway!
I told her I'd ramble the devil knows where.


VERSE 5
When twenty-four weeks they were over and past,
This fair pretty maiden did sicken at last. 
Her gown wouldn't meet nor her apron strings stay,
And all through the love of young Rambleaway.
REFRAIN
Rambleaway! Rambleaway! 
And all through the love of young Rambleaway.
INTERLUDE



VERSE 6
So come pretty maidens wherever you be, 
With courting young fellows don't make yourselves free. 
For if you should do so you'll rue the sad day, 
 When you met with the likes of young Rambleaway.
REFRAIN
Rambleaway! Rambleaway! 
When you met with the likes of young Rambleaway.

OUTRO
I have created a new tune for this trad song.

Rambleaway

Do As You Will

Introduction
Verse
Once I had a soldier lad who swore he’d love me truly.
Ah! But now those days are gone!
When the battle raged he turned his heel and followed duly.
I gave him the salute and soldiered on.
Chorus
The wind’s about the barley 
And the mice are in the meal,
So rise up bright and early
All young lassies if you would do as you will.

Interlude

Verse
Then I loved a farmer’s son whose trinkets were his kisses.
Ah! But now those days are gone!
But on the road to market he had scores of narrow misses.
I tossed him out for chaff and ploughed straight on.
Chorus
The wind’s about the barley 
And the mice are in the meal,
So rise up bright and early
All young lassies if you would do as you will.

Interlude

Verse
Next I had a blacksmith who was swarthy, dark, and handsome.
Ah! But now those days are gone!
He stole away my store of coin and ran off with the ransom.
I hope he finds the fires! I’m forging on!
Chorus
The wind’s about the barley 
And the mice are in the meal,
So rise up bright and early
All young lassies if you would do as you will.
Interlude
Verse
Jack the tinker courted me, and he was ever willing.
Ah! But now those days are gone!
Everywhere he plied his trade he fell to jack and jilling.
I threw away his pans and wandered on. 
Chorus
The wind’s about the barley 
And the mice are in the meal,
So rise up bright and early
All young lassies if you would do as you will.

Instrumental
There’s no faith in any man, not even my own brother.
Ah! But would those days were gone!
Girls, if you but would, or can, you’d best love one another
And leave the men behind and carry on!
Chorus
The wind’s about the barley 
And the mice are in the meal,
So rise up bright and early
All young lassies if you would do as you will.


Do As You Will

INTRODUCTION

VERSE
O, Bryan Hardcastle the cobles are moored.
and down in The Fish Quay the ghosts are aboard.
The calico’s furled and the tide is still low,
so rest a while longer, till the time comes to go.

CHORUS
It’s the life of a young man to be fishing these shores.
For there’s scant other work on the North Eskdale Moors.
The young men must toil under sail and with oars,
for there’s scant other work on the North Eskdale Moors.

INTERLUDE

VERSE
The haddock are sleeping and safe from the net.
So rest you my fisher lad - do not rise yet.
The hillcrests of Saltwick are scarce tinged with red.
So sleep a while longer and keep to your bed.

CHORUS
It’s the life of a young man to be fishing these shores.
For there’s scant other work on the North Eskdale Moors.
The young men must toil under sail and with oars,
for there’s scant other work on the North Eskdale Moors.

INSTRUMENTAL

VERSE
The cold-hearted Ocean knows nothing of men.
It takes them or leaves them, no heed where or when.
The candles are out in the homes round the Bay,
so stay in my arms, love, till the first light of day.

CHORUS
It’s the life of a young man to be fishing these shores.
For there’s scant other work on the North Eskdale Moors.
The young men must toil under sail and with oars,
for there’s scant other work on the North Eskdale Moors.


The North Eskdale Moors


VERSE
Wend your own way to the wilds and the woodland.
Find the faint footpath beyond turmoil’s reach.
Take to the tracks of the hedgehogs and badgers,
bend to the will of the hazel and beech…

Follow your feet to the forest’s deep heart-space.
Seek out the cottage half-buried in years.
Cross its worn threshold and breathe in the blessing.
Let its strong roof-tree ward-off ancient fears.

CHORUS
Wild woodland creatures still know where it’s hidden,
still know the way, though the tar road is gone.
The cottage, once thought of as myth, or forbidden,
is waiting for those with the heart to keep on.
Wild woodland creatures still know where it’s hidden,
still know the way, though the tar road is gone.
The cottage, once thought of as myth, or forbidden,
is waiting for those with the heart to keep on.

INTERLUDE

VERSE
Search for the bed in the heart of the cottage.
Lie in the folds where the blankets are flung.
Ask the soft bedsheets to hold and enfold you.
Rest on the pillow where lovers are young…

Call to your lover to have and to hold.
Limbs will be liquid and lithesome with youth.
Cleave to your young love, once he was older.
Magic is commonplace, longing is truth.

CHORUS
Wild woodland creatures still know where it’s hidden.
They still know the way, though the tar road is gone.
The cottage, once thought of as myth, or forbidden,
is waiting for those with the heart to keep on.
Wild woodland creatures still know where it’s hidden.
They still know the way, though the tar road is gone.
The cottage, once thought of as myth, or forbidden,
is waiting for those with the heart to keep on.
OUTRO


The Cottage



Lovers of Irish music, this track is for you! This song reacts to Robert Frost's famous poem 'The Road Not Taken'. Here's the lyric:
Walking With Frost

VERSE
Two roads diverged inside an eerie wood.
At different times I’ve walked along them both.
I trudged for miles until I understood
their winding ways, the best way that I could...
Both roads were hidden by the undergrowth.
Both roads were hidden by the undergrowth.

VERSE
Those roads enticed me, each one just as fair,
but neither way could make a stronger claim.
The first, named ‘Wild’, hung blossom everywhere.
The scent it made was giddy on the air.
The second road gleamed bright as any flame.
The second road gleamed bright as any flame.

INTERLUDE
VERSE
This path, named ‘Bright’, was lined with precious stones.
And light glanced from its million mirrored planes.
And bell-like notes in peals of crystal tones,
Brought tonic to my tired and aching bones,
and thrust pure fire-ice deep into my veins,
and thrust pure fire-ice deep into my veins.

INTERLUDE
VERSE
I learned their back street nicknames, years ago.
The Wild picked names that say, ‘That’s how I feel’.
The Bright has labels meaning ‘Now we know’.
These tags are hidden street signs, that can show 
The tracks that lead us on to what is real.
The tracks that lead us on to what is real.

INTERLUDE
INTERLUDE
VERSE
It’s not that I am fixed to either road.
I walk them both - and have no hesitance. 
Their combination moderates the load,
and clarifies what’s hidden in their code.
The right path is to know the difference.
The right path is to know the difference.

Alan Wagstaff ©

Walking With Frost

President Chump
INTRODUCTION

President Chump, fashions a slump,
lands with a thump. He’s a self-lover.
He blurts out everything he thinks.
Even when it’s nonsense and stinks.
Every day his cultic base shrinks.

He thinks he can rule.
The delusional fool!
INTERLUDE

President Chump, gets in a grump,
lands on his rump. He’ll soon discover,
his acolytes and rich sycophants, 
are kneeing at his feet in a trance.
He acts like Napolean of France.

But the Keys have got gates.
Fort Jefferson awaits.

INSTRUMENTAL

President Chump, thinks in a sump,
sinks in a dump. He’s a hate-shover.
He suffers from verbal diarrhea. 
His final destination is clear.
The signs say ‘Get out of here’.

His crown is a cone.
He’ll soon be alone.

He thinks he can rule.
The delusional fool!

But the Keys have got gates.
Fort Jefferson awaits.

OUTRO






President Chump

About different points of view. Here's the lyric: 
Different Suns
INTRODUCTION
VERSE 
The zenith sun above the mountains sings:
‘Look! Look! The hues of all the earthbound things!’
He sings ‘green leaves’. He sings the red flames’ heat.
He sings ‘blue waves’. He sings the yellow wheat.
He sings, ‘I’m still the castle king’ - at noon.
and scoffs at rascals underneath the moon.
INTERLUDE
VERSE
But hours before he mounts the mountain peak,
when glancing, morning  light is more oblique,
the green of forest leaves, the red flames’ heat,
the blue of waves; the yellow of the wheat -
are monochrome in tints of misty-grey,
unearthly colours painting in the day.
INTERLUDE
BRIDGE
And brief hours later, when he’s lost the hill,
and sated human eyes have scoffed their fill,
the green of forest leaves, the red flames’ heat,
the blue of waves; the yellow of the wheat –
are deep red-orange, gold, and purple-grey,
unearthly colours, painting out the day.
INSTRUMENTAL
VERSE
While astronauts see Earth’s pale, liquid blues:
‘The Pearl in Space’ - and eulogise its worth,
we gum-boot humans, wade in crimson hues,
and red-gold, from a point-of-view on Earth.
The zenith sun above the mountains sings:
‘Look! Look! The hues of all the earthbound things!’
INSTRUMENTAL
While astronauts see Earth’s pale, liquid blues:
‘The Pearl in Space’ - and eulogise its worth,
we gum-boot humans, wade in crimson hues,
and red-gold, from a point-of-view on Earth.
The zenith sun above the mountains sings:
‘Look! Look! The hues of all the earthbound things!’

Alan Wagstaff




Different Suns

The Wooden Wife is based around a Ukrainian folk tale. It's a ghostly tale about 'letting go'. Here are the lyrics:

The Wooden Wife 
VERSE 1
Come, hear a tale of man and wife,
who loved each other very well.
The man, much skilled with whittling knife,
carved toys which they would sometimes sell.
And both could stalk the forest game.
As hunters, they were much the same.
And love lit up their hearth and hame.
This is the story that I tell.
VERSE 2
They hunted, often, side by side—
with bow and snares. Their steps were strong.
but deer tracks led them far and wide.
Once she stayed home when trails grew long.
He trekked alone through sleet and snow,
but game escaped his traps and bow.
He neither brought down buck or doe.
Without his wife, the hunt seemed wrong.
BRIDGE 1
When he returned she was  in bed;
a fever hot behind her eyes.
She kissed his hand. “Hunt on!,” she said.
Her breath grew faint; her words were sighs.
He wept and sat with her all night.
By dawn, her soul had taken flight.
He knew that she had lost the fight.
No neighbours came to sympathize.
VERSE 4
He carved her likeness out of pine,
and clothed the doll in her old dress.
He propped her in a fireplace shrine:
a mute companion, motionless.
Each night he brushed her ashen face,
and whispered words to empty space.
He called her soul, by Heaven's grace.
Though he was lost and powerless.
BRIDGE 2
A year of living with the pain:
a year of hunting on his own.
He struggled on through snow and rain,
He had no friends. He lived alone.
One night he found the fire’d been lit;
a deer was turning on the spit.
She had returned, alive and fit.
She had returned, from parts unknown.
VERSE 6
He watched her carry wood and sweep;
her garment was a ghostly white.
“We cannot touch,” she said, “or sleep
until we share the firelight
of kinsfolk, who must swear I’m here.”
He nodded, though he shed a tear.
He prayed she would not disappear.
He dared not draw her close at night.
 
VERSE 7
They walked through snow, six days or more,
towards her village – kith and kin.
And they were frozen to the core,
wrapped round in furs and cold as sin.
At night he broke and held her fast—
her voice cried out. The moment passed.
He felt a chilling north wind blast. 
And held a pinewood mannequin. 
VERSE 8
Then he ran wild and told his tale.
They followed him and saw his grief.
Two sets of tracks wound down the vale—
and one set beggared all belief.
Beside cold ash his doll lay prone,
its body hard as any stone.
He knew that he must live alone.
He mourned her but found no relief.
VERSE 9
And some who heard it marked the tale.
They warned young men of love too wild:
“Beware of touch beyond the veil:
the vanished face, the phantom child.
Let mem’ry be, what it must be.
The soul that won’t let souls be free,
is lost upon an endless sea,
to find that it has been beguiled.”

OUTRO

The Wooden Wife

Strongly influenced by folk and Celtic, though I do write in other genres: orchestral rock, melodic rock, and Country.

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