Have you felt Nibiru’s presence?
No you haven’t, it’s just the drugs

I’m the manifestation of Shiva
Oh shut up, it’s just the drugs

In a past life I was a tribal elder
Were you fuck, it’s just the drugs

It’s just the drugs

I’m feeling everybody else’s pain
No you’re not, it’s just the drugs 

They give us drugs to make us docile
If you like, but it’s just the drugs

Angela Merkel is a lizard
No she’s not, it’s just the drugs

The truth is out there…
Errrrrrm.… it’s just the drugs

It’s just the drugs

They’re poisoning us with vaccines
No they’re not, it’s just the drugs

They’re manipulating everybody’s brains
Fat chance, it’s just the drugs

I can feel quantum energies
No you can’t, it’s just the drugs

Blah blah Jewish conspiracies
Fuck off, it’s just the drugs

It’s just the drugs

Hilary Clinton’s a stand-in
No she’s not, it’s just the drugs

So is Paul McCartney
No he’s not, it’s just the drugs

Humans are genetically engineered
No we’re not, it’s just the drugs

Fluoridisation is mind control
No it’s not, it’s just the drugs

It’s just the drugs

Aeroplane trails are psychotropic
No they’re not, it’s just the drugs

Madeleine McCann never existed
Yes she did, it’s just the drugs

That screaming child is a crisis actor
No she’s not, it’s just the drugs

When did you become such a heartless bastard?
I hope it’s just the drugs

It’s just the drugs

It's Just The Drugs

Not very subtle to put the photo on this page, but what can you do? The mud on the rug came from Dachau, and that really is Hitler's bath.

You get in, she says, I’ll set up the camera.
All you have to do is, pretend to be me.
Why are we laughing? Do we think it’s funny
Now look over your shoulder

Two sets of clothes folded on the chair
Two pairs of boots, mud on the floor
There’s a hammering, hammering on the door
Look over your shoulder
We laugh and we laugh

Late at night, the boys pass round the picture
It’s not much but it’s all you can get at school
Tries to forget what they’re doing with her
They laugh and they laugh

We can laugh but we can’t forget what we’ve seen
But we can at least try to scrub ourselves clean
Put our clothes back on, we’ve seen enough bodies
To last a lifetime

Take these boots and wipe them on the carpet
Take all these pictures, burn them on the fire
Take all these memories and throw them
Over your shoulder
We laugh and we laugh

And she says to the boy, how dare you ask me
Why I do these things - because I do.
I don’t know who you are, don’t say you love me
We laugh and we laugh

Munich 1945: Lee Miller in Hitler's Bath

Craft Work

KX Only (Mixed In Motion)

© JH 2020

Desperate situations call for panic, I suppose
That’s why we’re all running round and round
Vogue are running features on the Emperor’s new clothes
I read it in the taxi into town

Deportees are waiting in the holding shed
767 standing by
ATC are watching green lights turn to red
We’re asking ‘how?’ and ‘where?’ but never ‘why?’

The kids are queuing up behind police tape
With folded arms, the bouncer nods them through
He stands like a statue but he’s longing to escape
What else can a big man do?

Drink up now or we might end up sober
Wake me when the madness is over
Or never, whichever one is sooner

Neighbour’s got a chainsaw and he’s chopping down trees
We’re looking at the rain and the tide
With any luck the neighbour might get washed into the sea
A tragedy but serve the bastard right

In the middle of the night when they come knocking on my door
I’ll surrender and they’ll take me away
It’s only fair to take the blame, it’s what we voted for
It’s a shame but someone has to pay

In corrugated iron barns, all painted Lincoln green
In converted Little Chefs and petrol stations
In bypassed towns all boarded up, there’s no one to be seen
Fuck it, it’s a desperate situation

Desperate Situations

© Jon Horne 2020

This is the story of Marie and Kevin K
And may it be a lesson to us all
It started high above us on Valentine’s Day
And ended over Niagara Falls

Now Marie was Canadian and Kevin was a Yankee
And both of them were veterans of the stage
From Victoria to Ottawa, Miami to Milwaukee
And everywhere in between they each had played

They may have met in passing like ships in the night
As actors waiting in the wings
But one day was different, it was love at first sight
Their eyes met, and so we must begin.

It was Valentine’s Day as I’ve already stressed
Six miles over Hudson Bay
A glass of wine spilled by an airline stewardess
All over Marie and Kevin K

Marie stood up and loudly did yell:
“See the stain on this thousand-dollar dress?”
Kevin K whispered quietly: “I can tell
You’re an actress,” and Marie whispered “Yes.

I’ve been performing for the people of the UK
Ireland and (for one week only) France.”
Kevin K said: “Me too - well, you don’t say.
Things like this don’t just happen by chance.

Look at what they’ve done! They’re a danger to us all,
The stewards and the pilot of this plane!
As soon as we land, I’m bound to make a call
To my lawyer who will boldly make a claim.”

“There’s no need for that,” said the chief stewardess,
“Here’s a thousand from the tin of petty cash.”
“Make it five,” said Kevin K, “and I’ll do my best
Not to sue this airline’s corporate ass.

Marie said: “You’re my kind of man, dear.
Well spoken but morally blank.
And as soon as this aeroplane lands, we’re
Ideally placed to go and rob a bank.

I’ll play the screaming, terrified hostage
While you hold a gun to my head
I guarantee the bank tellers won’t have the courage
To just let you shoot me down dead

And so in the First American Bank Of Missouri
They tried out Marie’s cunning trick
The teller handed over a bag of used twenties
They made their getaway and made it quick

They looted every bank in Kansas and Nebraska
Then counted out the money every night
Kevin kissed Marie, then knelt down to ask her:
“Darling, would you like to be my bride?”

Marie said: “I’m going to have to make a confession.
You’re not the first who’s asked me to wed.
To be honest I’ve got husbands in almost every nation.”
So don’t marry me, just come to bed.”

Kevin K turned away and forced back a teardrop
He wasn’t used to being told “No”.
Marie said: ‘What’s the matter?” You could have heard a pin drop
And Kevin K got up to go.

“Not so fast, Kevin K!” said Marie with a grin
Your trouble is, you’re always in a hurry
Let’s go to Las Vegas, I’m sure we’re gonna win
And then maybe we could still get married.




So they drove off to Nevada in a stolen Chevrolet
And bought a hundred thousand worth of chips
They lost them playing poker, pontoon and piquet
But caught sight of Elvis on the strip

They headed to the airport with the last of the money
Buffalo was the first flight out of town
And when they got to Buffalo, Marie said: “Kevin, honey,
Canada’s just here, I’m going home.”

“I’ll walk you to the border,” said Kevin to Marie
And I’ll kiss you one last time at the frontier
We’ll perform the greatest farewell anyone could ever see
Everyone around will shed a tear

Fifty years later, Marie and Kevin K
Are living in the suburbs of Niagara
The story didn’t end, it didn’t happen that way
They’re living on pink gin and viagra

And when they’re not acting, they still go out thieving
It surely brings a tear to the eye
Holding up a garage gives them something to believe in
Now Marie’s other husbands have all died.

I’m done with this story, my throat is getting sore
I’d like to thank you all for your time
If you want to hear some more, I’ll open it to the floor
Try to make it make sense and also rhyme.

The Ballad Of Marie And Kevin K

© Jon Horne 2020

Let’s hear it for the landlord who takes your empty cup
Let’s hear it for the landlord who fills it straight back up
To the top or to the line
With a head or not, that’s fine
But let’s hear it for the landlord, before the landlord calls time

It’s been a long day and you’ve nothing to say
Your forehead’s in the palm of your hand
There’s a pound of Bombay mix in an ashtray
Tasting of salt and sand
A skinny little runt pushes up to the front
And orders a pint of Camd-
-en Hells. Well, it serves him right
When you steal his pint
Then you go and listen to the band

Well the likes of Len won’t be seen again
And he certainly won’t be heard
Because the band are playing, eardrums fraying
Volume is the word
The rafters creaking, everyone’s shrieking
Time for the Surfin’ Bird
Part time punks and small town drunks
Theatre of the absurd

Let’s hear it for the landlord…

Derek O’Day always wanted to play
Poker with the men in suits
Could tell by the way the cards were laid
Who was gonna get the loot
Saloon bar doors, wood on the floor
Whisky and a brown cheroot
But the best he’ll get is an Embassy red
And a pair of Italian boots

Let’s hear it for the landlord…

For The Landlord

© Jon Horne 2020


I’m too white for the blues,
Not cool enough for jazz,
Too old for rock’n’roll
I’m grey and middle class

I’m too urban for country
But not enough for grime
I’m too straight for the West End
Most of the time

I’m too stiff for disco
Not stoned enough for dub
There’s only one thing left for me
And that’s the folk club

This is the story of somebody quite unlike me
But I’ll tell it in the best way that I can
That’s the first person, singular
In metre fairly regular
And I might throw in a moral at the end

Then I’ll change my tune for the bit before the chorus
So that if you’re singing along
You’ve got time to take a drink
Before it’s time to join in
This is your bit, so please don’t get it wrongFol-de-roll Ta-lu-ra-lay
Tallulah, riddle-i diddle-i day
Whack for me-daddio
Cheerio ma-cherie-o
What are we trying to say?

Now for the bit where the story’s narrator
Faces down the dragon, so to speak
If male, he fights the French
Or is forced to take revenge,
The explanation for which might take all week

If female, it’s more problematical
Because the stories have been around so long
Women had no choice
No chances and no voice
But you have, so for Pete’s sake sing this song

Fol-de-roll Ta-lu-ra-lay
Tallulah, riddle-i diddle-i day
Whack for me-daddio
Cheerio ma-cherie-o
What are we trying to say?
Now we’ve come to the end, and I tell you my friend
No one gets out of this song alive
Blown up in no man’s land
Or strung up for high treason
We’re waiting for the reaper to arrive

All you boys and men, now this really is the end
All the girls and women, please stay strong
The time bell rings
It’s the last chance to sing
This meta-thingy-something of a song

Fol-de-roll Ta-lu-ra-lay
Tallulah, riddle-i diddle-i day
Whack for me-daddio
Cheerio ma-cherie-o
What are we trying to say?

Folk Song

We're Shit Together

© Jon Horne 2020

Across the new estate, I can go anywhere
Climbing the garden gate, I need to show off my new long hair
Grown over winter, tied up in a school tie
Like a tennis player or an Indian

It was better before they dug in the trees
Better when you could feel the breeze from the sea
Better when the beck was flowing high after the rain
Better before the diggers came

To finish the job, please don’t finish the job
I like it the way it is

Over the wall into the delivery yard
Line up beneath the lights, trying to look hard
Pick sides for the fight, hoping you’re not the last
cause the first is first and the last is… finished

The bridge sounds like tin cans at the cricket
Alone at night, I can still hear it
Donkeys waking up in the field behind the hotel
It’s four AM and the diggers have come

To finish the job, please don’t finish the job
I like it the way it is

When the wasteland’s gone there’ll be nowhere to go
Nowhere to think, nowhere for the beck to flow
they’ll cover it up, turn it into a drain
What about the sticklebacks?

The rattling bridge left over from the war
Won’t move when you drive over it any more
The dunes won’t crumble underneath the road
It’s just a path now

And the donkey field is a car park now
Except it’s not because the cinema’s shut down
And the bowling alley and the 'new' café
Brambles are growing through the tarmac
To finish the job.

Finish The Job (Cleethorpes 1974)

© Jon Horne 2020

For Kev Farmer, RIP. Hear him here: https://jonhorne.bandcamp.com/track/last-day-on-earth

I think you need a shave, man,
I’m thinking, as I wave
Nods in return, half way through a verse,
A coin’s too little,
a note’s too much
I’ve heard this one before
It’s The Last Day On Earth.

Do you know him, Dad? Yeah
I used to sing with him
Can’t stop now, I don’t want to get too close
Been meaning to ask
For a copy of the words
I was going to do a version
Of The Last Day On Earth.

Now I ought to say something
Although I hardly knew him
At least sing a song, it’s what he deserves
Downstairs at Rosie’s
Guitars and cigarettes
Just to get in the mood
But Tom’s got there first

Al plays so loud
That you can’t hear the words
Might as well be singing
The Last Day On Earth
But we know who it’s for
And Tom got there first

Verse: F#, Ebm, Bm7 / F#, Ebm, Bm7, C#11, F#

Middle: C#, F#

Kev's Song (Tom Got There First)

© Jon Horne 2020

You know that I love you
I’ll just suppose you do
And if there’s anything you’re wanting
I’ll order it for you
And the delivery drivers
Will ring upon the bell
They’ll take one look at you
And they’ll want you for themselves
And if that doesn’t please you
If it’s really not your thing
I’ll gift wrap this for you
Thirteen songs and a broken string

I set out on the road
In the way that young men can
I bought an old guitar
and I rode a Luton van
The driver sang like a madman
Like a cowboy with a gun
And all day we rolled on
With our backs to the sun
From South Mimms to Royston
And to the Ram Jam Inn
All of this for the sake of
Thirteen songs and a broken string

There must be more to life than this, you say
Just buy yourself a new string
And put that guitar away

The river’s coming over
Trees are coming down
And I’m looking for a shelter
On the near side of town
And the wind keeps blowing harder
They’re saying it’s time to leave
To drop all our possessions
I don’t know who to believe
But I do as they tell me
I’m dropping everything
All except, you’ve guessed it
Thirteen songs and a broken string

13 Songs And A Broken String

© JH 2020

Last train to Shitsville
There’s nobody at the station
But we’re all glad to see you leaving town
Last train to Shitsville
If you had a reputation
No one gives a shit about it now

Last train to Shitsville
There’s no ticket inspector
All of this is down to Casey Jones
One the train to Shitsville
We all know that it’s safer
To drive into Shitsville alone

Last train to Shitsville
You can only do your best
We’ve put you to the test and you failed
Last train to Shitsville
We’ll be on the train
Going to chain you up and tie you to the rails

Blow, whistle blow
You’ve only just arrived
Now it’s time to go

Last train to Shitsville
Got a ticket for economy
Time to rest your poor aching feet
Last train to Shitsville
It’s standing room only
You sold off all the tables and the seats

Blow, whistle blow
You’ve only just arrived
Now it’s time to go

Jon Horne

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