Lazy Lennon Medley

C     Fm….
The EDL and BNP would have you think our enemy 
Is immigrants and Islam, both eroding English free-dom,
The EDL and Daily Mail say England's in the bin,
C       Fm        G
But Britons all, the truth is that the enemy's within...

C               Fm
Send The English Back, oh, (x2)
G                    D7            G7
Don't want no Saxons coming here and giving it, 'yap yap'
C     Cm7     C7     Fm
You're British, whether you are pink or red or blue or black,
C       Fm        Em       C
So Send The Anglo Saxon Nazis Back!

There were Brits before the Romans, and British we've remained,
But then we had to deal with thieving Saxons, and the Danes, 
They stole our South-East pastures, and still they won't fuck off,
(But with) English right-wing parties getting votes, we must get tough!
... As Jackson said, it don't matter if you are white or black,
This em'rald isle will sparkle more when Nick Griffin we lack!

To Essex and to Sussex and to Nussex this plague spread,
They got a taste for pitbulls, Dr Martens and skinheads,
A weak cultural stereotype, I'm sure you will agree,
But such a ploy should be a joy to the cunts in the BNP!
...And take Melanie Philips please, she deserves a good smack.
Goodbye English Defence League, would you like us to help you pack?

I don't like to be racist, but this Anglo Saxon scum,
Should watch their gobs when shouting out 'go back to where you're from!'
Maybe the English should get back to where they once belonged, OH!
That small region of Saxony will welcome them back home! 
... It doesn't matter if you're black or white, or fleeing from Iraq,
That cross o'St. George is foreign-forged, so wipe it off your face,
Let's kick the English into space!

Give us your huddled masses, come and join the British race,
Once we kick out the Saxons, it's a very roomy place,
No more, the cried of 'ENG-ER-LAND!' and no more EDL,
We'll send them back to Germany, or send them back to hell! OH!
Although I am a Billy Bragg fan, let's keep the Union Jack,
The phrase 'the native English' is oxymoronic cack!

The only way is Essex, that's where we'll make our attack!

Send The English Back

The finale to BBC Radio Bristol Speech Bubble S02E04!

Come Ye Britpop Lads & Ladettes Live at the BBC

When I was eight I was just like Greg Lake, yes I believed in Father Christmas,
But now when the year grinds into bottom gear, Christmas Eve, can't we skip all this fuss? 
As decades advance and the world kicks your pants, festive costs nearly turn you to crime, 
It makes you feel sick and you wonder if Dickens did not get it right the first time.
I won't shout Bah Humbug, I'll just have to shrug, give a quid to some homeless refuge,
Cos I-I-I-I Don't Want To Turn Into Scrooge.

Old Ebenezer was not a bad geezer, he just knew that life screws you hard,
And I'm not a miser, but surely it's wiser to not bother sending out cards?
They only wind up in the bin in the end, and yes, I can hear myself grouse,
But all of those lights really do look like shite when they're plastered all over your house. 
You could wait all the year for the snow to appear, as rain pisses down like a deluge. But...

(But you'd need to) hire me three spirits, to come and pay me three midnight visits, find my hole and fill it brimful with naiveté...
(I wanna grumble) I'll retire to Bedlam, but I’ll probably just retire to bed then, drink eggnog & get out of my head, till Boxing Day.

I'm not anti-fun, God bless us everyone, and bless all the surplus populations.
Why should it mean that I have to feel mean cos I can't be arsed with decorations? 
Mankind is our business and that's the point isn't it, all year, not just the 25th,
Don't wrap me in chains just because it's a pain to spend time with your kin and your kith! 
So I'll grit my teeth when my gross cousin Keith pulls me in for a mistletoe clinch,
And I-I-I-I-I won't turn into the Grinch.

I'll not say that drips with goodwill on their lips should be boiled with their own Christmas pud, 
But as a rule it seems like every yule, since about 98's been no good.
And Christmases past get forgotten so fast, it's tough to continue to give a shit,
And those yet to come make me reach for the rum, hold the bottle aloft and then finish it.
That old milk of kindness has half turned to cheese, and the world's made me feel like a stooge... 
I don't wanna die alone so I'll think of my gravestone, and scream till my cheeks are all rouge...
If I wasn't shit I'd write a Christmas hit, and my festive income would be HUGE! So...

I Don't Want To Turn Into Scrooge

I JUST TURNED RADIO 2 ON AND THEY WERE PLAYING IT AGAIN! ARRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!

Sorry, I just had to get it out of my system.

He's A Dickhead

Thanks to Matt Bragg on bass, and Gavin Lazarus on drums. Apologies to Lennon/McCartney.

This must be the least romantic song I have ever written...

D Dm A (A7/F#m)
There may be just one true love for us out there on this Earth,
But they could be in Timbuktu, or Bruges or Hull or worse,
Whereas you're really rather nice, and you live up the road,
B7 E7 A
We may not share a love supreme, but we sure share a postcode.
F#m B7
Proximity – baby I love your Proximity,
DDm E7A
And for me to become us, I don't even need the bus, so it's meant to be. 
Proximity – that's what you got girl, Proximity,
And my love for you is total just as long as you stay local, quite near to me.

You're wonderful and witty and our dates could not be merrier, 
But above all you fall into a realistic catchment area.
Our lives are here, our way is clear, we just need someone who, 
Is single, meth-free, doesn't smell, and generally will do.
Proximity – baby you got such Proximity,
We have no need for Skype, and you're approximately my type, it's destiny.
Proximity – baby God bless your Proximity,
Your dream man may be in Texas but I'm handy for some sex as soon as you're ready.

Proximity – darling, I love your Proximity,
I live just around the block and I have a working cock, conveniently.
Proximity – that's why we're here babe, Proximity,
And if you travel far from here, we'll find someone else who's near, because the thing that makes the world turn isn't love, it would appear – it's PROXIMITY.

PROXIMITY

Single, Solvent & Fertile

In October 2016, a large British comedy musician travelled to the Golden Islands of Georgia, USA and bemused a series of people in venues ranging from a cosy Irish pub in Brunswick, a grand beachfront hotel on St. Simon's Island, and under the stars on Jekyll Island, pretending to be a member of the Scooby Gang. The endlessly more talented Michaele Hannemann is to blame for none of this... Well, not most of it.

This is an audio collage of different environments and performances, but it certainly proves I did it. When you learn that songs excised include 'Urban Spaceman', 'Never Gonna Give You Up', 'Wild Honey Pie', Monty Python's 'Galaxy Song', Victoria Wood's 'Crush', 'No Surprises', 'Crocodile Rock', 'Crazy Little Thing Called Love', 'A New England', and much more... that may give you some idea of what to expect.

1) LADY MADONNA
2) EVERYONE HATES UKULELES
3) AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON
4) KOOKS
5) ACE OF SPADES
6) NO REPLY
7) PROXIMITY
8) SOPHISTICATED SONG
9) SINGLE, SOLVENT & FERTILE
10) SOMEWHERE DAT'S GREEN
11) SHE'S ELECTRIC
12) YOU WOKE UP MY NEIGHBOURHOOD
13) HALLOWE'EN MEGAMIX
14) NOTHING LIKE YOU
15) HANDLE WITH CARE

JEM ROBERTS: HALLOWEEN ON JEKYLL ISLAND!

NSFW (and other places)

A little bit of politics, ladies and gentlemen, yes indeed.

This marv'llous millennium, so shiny and new, gave us hope for the good times to come,
But now we are screwed, I know that, you do too, and the days ahead already hum.
With patriarch privilege then it all, seems to always come back down to genitals...

This 21st century is in a bit of a fix,
The World's Still Run By White Straight Men With Tiny Dicks.
Although sanity reigns by a narrow margin,
Somehow these tiny dicks keep getting voted in!
They say that our PM is a woman, so what? 
Theresa May has the tiniest dick of the lot.
The President's so dumb, he could not finish school,
You can't doubt Donald's dick must be miniscule.

You may think there's hypocrisy here in my hate,
And yes, I will admit that I am white, and I'm straight. 
The World's Still Run By White Straight Men With Tiny Dicks.
What can we each do to fuck with their politics?
Until we vote them out of government halls, remember,
Where there's a tiny dick, there's bound to be balls.
When times and tiny dicks are hard, then act quick,
Give those white straight male balls, a bloody big kick!
It's time to kick balls! But not mine obviously.
The World's Still Run By White Straight Men With Tiny little fly's eyelash DICKS!

©Jem Roberts 2016

The World's Still Run By White Straight Men (With Tiny Dicks)

CRASH NIGEL CRASH
It was May the 6th two-thousand-ten, he mounted to the carriage,
Of a golden oreole aircraft, a racist named Farage.
He was 5 foot 8 of city shit, and despite a German wife,
He'd made the British bigot's cause the meaning of his life.
He aimed to lead his party, pump the country full of hate,
Take back something called sovereignty, and chain up Britain's gate.
He blamed our problems on muslims, and not on corporate greed,
And as he flew into the clouds, he was feeling smug indeed.
Crash, Nigel, Crash,
Shuffle off this mortal coil like a quick flick of fag ash,
No more spreading hate, be late, you belong in the trash,
Crash, Nigel Crash.

The UKIP flag flapped off the plane, as it tried to loop de loop,
But the stunt went wrong and the plane went down, was Farage in the soup?
The poor pilot was doomed, but could the same be said for Nigel?
The country's future pathway may depend on his survival. 
If only that green-toothed rich twat could get his mug on TVs,
He'd take the heat off the real elite and make pricks blame refugees.
That wealthy racist bastard tweaked the nose of death that day,
Who knows how sweet our present might be if he'd never walked away?
Crash, Nigel, Crash,
No more shit about elites while you're loaded with cash, 
All these coming nightmares could be wiped out in a flash...

Well he staggered from the wreckage dripping claret, had a fag,
And he plotted UKIP's backward quest with every bloody drag.
Within six years the bile he'd spew would damn us all to Brexit,
So much strife could be wiped from life, there was hope, but then he wrecks it.
One twist of fate, if Nige was late, would we finger the real elite?
And would innocent immigrants feel safer on the street?
Without them lies he stood before, would Britain have voted Remain?
And without Brexit's precedent, would America's be sane?
Crash, Nigel, Crash,
Let us fix this timeline cos you've really made it gash,
Let's erase each minute of publicity you've stashed...
Crash, Nigel, Crash,
Do expect invective when ide-ologies clash,
We don't need you egging on the acts of IS & DAESH...
Crash, Nigel, Crash, 
Save us from your lies and from that fucking daft moustache,
Trump don't need you holding his tiny dick for every slash...

Crash Nigel Crash

There are many crucial ways to fight horrendous, backward fascism. Mockery is just a stopgap.

C Gm7 C
Vladimir Putin loves cock...
C Gm7 Dm7 E7
He's rippling and hot and he hates gays a lot, but...
A7 Dm7 E7
He has a penchant for penis, Old Dobby the House Elf, he
Knows we're all aware that that's perfectly healthy,
The one disagreement would come from himself, he
B Bm7 D7
Insists it's a sin, to have hard cocks within him, that silly old Russian despot!
... He just yearns to frot but he swears he does not...
When he sees a big Ruskie he just starts to throb,
He gets all these weird tingles all over his knob,
While promoting the action of gay-bashing mobs,
He swears that he's straight as he's spreading his hate, all he wants is a hot man to fuck!
He's bald and he's squat, and shows his abs a lot...
Dicks make him hot to trot, that slap-headed old twot, he thinks they should be shot but he wants what they've got, it seems his closet lock is a little bit stuck, it is hardly a shock, if it's not in a frock, he will want to get sucking and frotting and fucking then get in a ruck with some sailor called Chuck who's a bit of a jock from gay Vladivostok and he'd swallow his muck as their butts start to buck and with a bit of luck the insane soviet schmuck will just build up some pluck and come out and kiss truckers in public, and no one will moooock!!!
Then gay Russia will rock, and Olympians will flock, soon as...

Vladimir Putin Loves...

BRIAN'S SONG live at Rec House Open Mic, Bath – in St Michael's Church, Twerton 22 Feb 2018.

THEME FROM THE LIFE OF BRIAN live at St Michael's Church

Give Me Love, Give Me Peace On Earth

"They say that I'm a round rotund tosser
I'll admit, they may be right
But though my wit may not equate Chaucer,
I'm still here tweeting this shite,

'Cause the twat has ten thousand tweets,
Yes ten thousand tweets, all tripe of course,
And this one's par for the course,
So remember, it may not be Wordsworth or Keats,
But the twat has ten thousand tweets.

Cos the twat has 10,000 tweets,
That's 10,000 puns, crap jokes and lies,
I must apologise,
Just remember tweeting them kept me off the streets..."

(Apologies to Weisman/Wayne/Garrett)

10,000 Tweets

Comedy filth from Bath's very own twelve-thumbed twot.

Jem Roberts

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