Chopping An Onion

Oh I'm the son of my sister
And she's the wife of my Dad
And we live in a bloody great mansion
But we all sleep in the same bed,
Cos we're aristocrats, we're a bunch of twats
We love to hunt and play,
We've started shooting heroin
Cos foxes run away, they run away - tally ho!

Papa signed me up for Eton
On the very day I was born,
I was slippered, molested and beaten,
Oh we had such fun in the dorm,
Yes we're aristocrats, we wear top hats
And drink champagne on ice,
We've got loads of antique furniture
Around about the house, it's frightfully nice!
More tea vicar? Cucumber sandwich?

I am to the manner born,
I play croquet on the lawn,
We wear lots of sparkling jewels,
We send our kids to public schools,
I've got such a plummy voice,
I like to wank in my Rolls Royce.

Oh I'm the son of my sister
And she's the wife of my Dad
And we live in a bloody great mansion
But we all sleep in the same bed,
Cos we're aristocrats, we're a bunch of twats
We love to hunt and play,
We've started shooting heroin
Cos foxes run away, they run away, little bastards, big fluffy tails...

© Belinda Carbuncle

Aristocrats - Belinda Carbuncle

Somewhere in a cold stone building
An old man was lonely and sad
He shuffled away to an alcove
And now the old man is my Dad
For I am the son of a wanking monk
I am the son of a wanking monk

He was just a brother in a humble brotherhood
He said his prayers with all the rest and mostly he was good
But underneath his habit he felt his passion burn
He was filled with holy spirit and full of holy sperm
Oh no my Daddy didn't mind
Oh no so what if he went blind
O come all ye faithful come
For I am the son of a wanking monk

In the sky there was God looking from above
Down below my Dad was throbbing with devoted love
His head was full of angels and glory shone around
He felt like he was Jesus when he came on hallowed ground
Oh no my Daddy didn't mind
Oh no so what if he went blind
O come all ye faithful come
For I am the son of a wanking monk

© Belinda Carbuncle


I Am The Son Of A Wanking Monk - Belinda Carbuncle

When the women are all taken, all partnered up and gone
At the end of an evening, going home
Well don't you feel neglected, you should feel contented
Cos you can always hold yer own

I can't pull when I'm out, I can't pull any time
The only thing I pull makes me go blind
But I'm not jealous of my peers who have continuous affairs
I'll still be holding mine when they've lost theirs

Hold yer own in the evening, hold yer own through the day
Hold yer own in conversation on the phone
Don't you feel neglected, you should feel contented
Cos you can always hold yer own

Well don't be sad and glum at another failed evening
When there's no-one left to take home
When things are going bad and all the women have been had
You can always hold yer own

Hold yer own in the evening, hold yer own through the day
Hold yer own in conversation on the phone
Don't you feel neglected, you should feel contented
Cos you can always hold yer own

Well a judge can hold his own in court and deliberate at leisure
And when he sends people down it's purely for pleasure
When a girl holds my own I will always thank her
When a politician holds his own he dreams of Margaret Thatcher

Hold yer own in the evening, hold yer own through the day
Hold yer own in conversation on the phone
Don't you feel neglected, you should feel contented
Cos you can always hold yer own in the evening
Hold yer own through the day
Hold yer own in conversation on the phone
When things are going bad and all the women have been had
You can always hold yer own

© Belinda Carbuncle

Hold Yer Own - Belinda Carbuncle

Do You Love Me? - Belinda Carbuncle

Janet From Planet Thanet - Belinda Carbuncle

Hello - I'm an alien! My name is Zit. Here's 3 zogras, I'll have a pint of best please. Everything starts with z on our planet cos we're aliens. The best thing about being an alien is having two willies and the worst thing is having to keep stopping off in cornfields to empty both bladders. I like your earth girls, they give me the horns. Nice bums. All the girls on planet Zthsormbviwojgfwxdippglvnyxmidvku look like Moira Stewart and they are perpetually miserable. They've got farty breath. I wish I was a librarian in a big checked shirt like Rory Gallagher wore when he got bigger and his mate had to stamp on his head. I met Buz today. I learnt many useful everyday phrases. Funbags! Oooh Matron! Oi oi saveloy! Soapy tit wank! Fuck off you're shit! I wrote a poem, it goes like this... Roses are red, Violets are blue, I'm going to sneeze, Achooo! It's not very good is it? But I'm only a fukkin alien.

© Belinda Carbuncle

Song About Being An Alien - Belinda Carbuncle

Poverty Knock - Paul Carbuncle

Pig Farmer

When a maiden I was, in the Spring of my life,
I was promised to a farmer for to be his wife.
He had a bull, he had cows, he had a dozen fat swine,
And a dresser and a feather-bed, ’twould all be mine.

And he had a good house and a measure of land,
I was lucky, so they told me, for to take his hand,
And he had a good house and a measure of land,
I was lucky, so they told me, for to take his hand,
Take his hand, marry that man,
Lucky, so they told me, for to take his hand.

To the man I was wed, to the man I was wed,
And he took a liking to the beating of my head,
And he give me a kick, and he give me a clout,
Saying, ‘Woman, hold your tongue or have your teeth knocked out’.

He was a wicked old man, he was a wicked old man,
And he thought he taught a lesson with the back of his hand.
He was a wicked old man, he was a wicked old man,
And he thought he taught a lesson with the back of his hand,
Back of his hand, wicked old man,
Thought he taught a lesson with the back of his hand.

I was ready one night, I was ready one night,
And I loaded his gun and then I give him a fright,
And I made him to weep, and I made him to die,
And I did it with the blessing of the lord on high.

And I did it with hate, and I did it with love,
And I did it with the blessing of the lord above,
And I did it with hate, and I did it with love,
And I did it with the blessing of the lord above,
Lord above, love love love,
Did it with the blessing of the lord above.

I’m as free as a lark, I’m as free as a lark,
I am sitting in the dock and I’m as free as a lark,
And the magistrate glares, and the magistrate frowns,
And the magistrate mutters, ‘Has the body been found?’

‘Has the body been found? Has the body been found?
Are the officers a-digging up the farmyard ground?
Has the body been found? Has the body been found?
Are the officers a-digging up the farmyard ground?’
Digging in the ground, down down down,
Never going to find the body if they’re digging in the ground.

O farmer of pigs, O husband of mine,
I’m in hopes you think it fitting that I fed your swine,
O farmer of pigs, O husband of mine,
I’m in hopes you think it fitting that I fed your swine.

Paul Carbuncle

Pig Farmer - Paul Carbuncle

Drunken Sailor - Paul Carbuncle

"Dublin Bill" © 2017 Paul Carbuncle

Shall we begin back in County Kildare, Dublin Bill?
Would it be fair to say you weren’t a one for school?
All your bridges swiftly burnt,
And your letters left unlearnt,
Just a tearaway, but you could charm them all,
Nobody’s fool,
Sooner use your wits than follow any rule.

You took a girl for a romp in the hay, Dublin Bill,
At the farm down the lane, in a shed.
Found some guns in the straw,
Told your dad what you saw.
“Breathe one word of this and we’ll all be dead,”
Father said,
“Here’s a clip round the ear, now off to bed.”

The next morning you’re put on the boat, Dublin Bill,
Bound for London to live with Auntie May.
When you find out she ain’t real
You don’t know what to think or feel,
Then two ladies of the night kindly say
“It’s okay,
If you want you are welcome to stay.”

And they taught you to read and to write, Dublin Bill,
Slowly taught you to write and to read.
Then the press-gang hit town,
Combed the streets all around,
They said “Paddy boy, you’re just the kind we need,
Yes indeed
You’ll be better off in khaki than in tweed.”

It’s the bomb disposal unit for you, Dublin Bill,
Bomb disposal will suit your steely eye.
Soon you’re shaken to the core,
Can’t do the job no more
When you see your new best mate blown sky high,
God, you cry,
Jesus Christ that ain’t no bleedin way to die.

You’re settled down in Ashford, so it seems, Dublin Bill,
And showing fillums at The Flea Pit keeps you calm.
You’ve wed your Chislet girl,
Got one young Patrick, one young Pearl,
But you’re a tearaway so now your winning charm
(Or is it smarm)
Don’t belong at home but down the Denmark Arms.

Dublin Bill - Paul Carbuncle

"If Harry Don't Go" (© Alun Parry 2013, mangled by Paul Carbuncle 2017)

If Harry don't go then I don't go
If Harry don't go then I don't go
If Harry don't go then I don't go
The docks were at a standstill

His mother was of Irish stock
His dad and granddad worked the dock
To hear him speak the men would flock
Harry was no traitor

Every docker filled with pride
When they had Harry on their side
In London or in Merseyside
No honour could be greater

The bosses grew into a sweat
This Harry is an awful threat
When you're hiring don't forget
Leave Harry in the pen

If Harry don't go then I don't go
If Harry don't go then I don't go
If Harry don't go then I don't go
The docks were at a standstill

They were smart in how they fought
They waited first until the port
Was crammed with cargo to import
Then demanded Harry

Did you think we'd go ahead
And take your coin and bow our head
As you rob our brother of his bread
You'd better bring back Harry

The bosses knew they must agree
Their game was up and they could see
There's no beating unity
And all because they said

If Harry don't go then I don't go
If Harry don't go then I don't go
If Harry don't go then I don't go
The docks were at a standstill

If Harry Don't Go - Paul Carbuncle (Alun Parry cover)

Their Front Pages - Paul Carbuncle (October 2017)

What’s the latest front-page lie?
What packs a tabloid punch?
700,000 “foreign” kids are claiming free school lunch!
They demonize the weak and poor,
There’s no empathy, there’s no shame,
And when they call this Austerity it’s a cull by another name.

Let’s have Princess Di and Maddie stories
From your wretched servile hacks
And never mind the foodbanks, never mind the bedroom tax.
They’ll means-test this, they’ll means-test that
And then reject your claim
Cos when they call this Austerity it’s a cull by another name.

Give us “Rule Britannia” headlines
And then call us lazy shirkers.
Blame Europe, blame the unions, and let’s blame the migrant workers.
Make the old and sick jump through endless hoops
In a twisted hopeless game
Cos when they call this Austerity it’s a cull by another name
And when they call this Austerity it’s a cull by another name.

Their Front Pages - Paul Carbuncle

Where Are You Going, My Pretty Maid? - Paul Carbuncle

Henry Russell's Last Words - Paul Carbuncle (Diana Jones cover)

King Herod And The Cock - Paul Carbuncle

Shellshock (© Paul Carbuncle 2018)

Sent back from the front to the children and me,
There’s a twitch around your mouth where your smile used to be.
Cramps and groans but no broken bones.
Oh my love.

Too haunted to speak and too angry to eat,
You’re clinging to the bed as I change the wet sheet.
Strange yelps and moans but no broken bones.
Oh my love.

Are they old friends that you stare at all night?
Or the enemy impaled, rising up for a fight?
So many unknowns but no broken bones.
Oh my love.

I must endure and pretend to be glad
For these daughters and this son who can’t fathom their dad.
Broken men, broken homes, but no broken bones.
Oh my love.

One summer’s day and you’re off to the shed.
Here’s to regimental pride! Seven swigs till you’re dead.
Lying cold as the stones but no broken bones.
Oh my love.

Paul Carbuncle

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