More songs written in the seventies ...
1: HOLES IN THE ROAD
2: QUEENS OF THE HIGHWAY
3: LANCASHIRE LASSES
4: THE MARTIANS HAVE LANDED IN WIGAN
5: BLACK PUD STUD
6: THE HALF TIMER
All these songs are written or co-written by me, and registered MCPS/PRS. If you sing them in a club, then do keep to the honourable custom of mentioning the author(s). HAVE FUN!
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1: HOLES IN THE ROAD
Inspired literally by the amount of roadworks near our house at the time. I began to wonder if the different companies ever envied the other workers' holes (so to speak).
(click on the music above for a bigger image in a new window)
The water board and gasmen
There’s a game that they both play
They take on all the council men
You can see them every day
They have no rules to work by
For they know no workers’ code
They all see who can leave the biggest
Holes in the road
Near our house there lies a road
The subject of debate
They came to mend the water pipes
They were only three years late
They struggled on for four weeks
With no bonus, so I’m told
But they left some of the best and biggest
Holes in the road
Now some of these were large holes
And some of these were small
And in one the folks held concerts
‘Bout the size of the Albert Hall
But one bloke filled the biggest hole
With water, so it’s said
And ferried people into town
For 40p a head
The gasmen felt outdone by this
For they’d lose the holemakers’ prize
So they disconnected the gas pipes
Blowing a hole of incredible size
Blaster Bates was envious at this feat
And so he told ‘em
Put some dustbins down the hole
And call the place ‘New Oldham’
When the ‘leccy board heard of this feat
A terrible thing they did
They welded all their wires together
And fused the National Grid
The gasmen saw the hole they made
And trembled at the size
But they’d blown up all the roads they had
And no-one got the prize
The moral of this story’s clear
As you have all been told
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s goods
And most of all, his holes
Or like the workers in this song
You’ll wear a heavy load
They had no place to dig to leave their
Holes in the road
I recorded this on ROUGH & WRIGLEY
Click here to see the tracklisting and listen to MP3 snippets
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2: QUEENS OF THE HIGHWAY
The first co-written song I did with Henry Boot from Chesterfield. Henry was a lorry driver (if it were today he'd be a truck driver) and had lots of related stories. I would pick out the verses I liked and add a few before I wrote the tune. The tune was easy in this case - it's traditional.
(click on the music above for a bigger image in a new window)
I’ll tell you of the Queens of the Highway
And believe me I’ll tell you no flannel
It was told me first hand by the lads on the trucks
It’s as true as I’m riding this camel
A clean girl is Nelly from Salford
She works around number nine dock
And she has a bath every Christmas
That’s whether she needs one or not
And Gladys, the gobbler from Grantham
The Queen of the southbound A1
Had spent far too long on the trailers
And gave birth to a seven pot son
This little ten hundred by twenty
His face was a picture so glum
‘Cause he’d E.R.F. stamped on his belly
And 3-4-REVERSE on his bum
One evening while strolling through Wigan
I bumped into a smart looking wench
Her knickers were down round her ankles
And her tights on a nearby bench
She was leant with her back to a building
Her skirt tucked up way past her hips
Her eyes held a moment of magic
Her hands held some fish, peas and chips
Well, I gave her the usual patter
I chatted the best that I could
When I asked her to look at my etchings
A voice from behind said he would
It was Jimmy, long distance from Glasgow
We both knew that he’d overheard
And he don’t look too kindly on drivers
Who try to run off with his bird
He lifted his hand past his shoulder
He was built like the side of a bus
We heard a strange sound, it was then that I found
He’d bust the supports of his truss
‘Twas this lack of support that had saved me
‘Cause his whole body started to tilt
When he brought his arm down, well, he missed me
And he smacked himself right up the kilt
I didn’t need encouraging further
I legged it clean out of the way
And I must have set up a few records
For there’s scorchmarks on t’pavement today
So if I stay overnight on a long drive
I never move out of my digs
‘Cause each time I hear a scotch accent
It moves me like syrup of figs
I recorded this on the CD: SONGS, STORIES & ELEPHANTS
Click here to see the tracklisting and listen to MP3 snippets
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3: LANCASHIRE LASSES
A traditional skipping song - well, the first verse is. For the other verses I imagined I was back in primary school when I wrote them on the Isle of Man boat (Liverpool - Douglas). A storm caused the trip to take nearly 9 hours, so I had plenty of time to write it, in between being seasick (but that's another story).
(click on the music above for a bigger image in a new window)
I know a girl and she’s called Annabella
She stands on our grid every night with a fella
And how do I know as her knickers are yella?
I go down our cellar for coal
My brother Bongo had a ten foot six dongo
His friends all remarked, saying how it was longo
But Bongo’s long dongo is longer no longo
Since our Rover’s got a new bone
CHORUS: I love them all, all the Lancashire lasses
The fat ones, the thin ones, the ones who wear glasses
The long ones, the short ones, the ones who make passes
It’s Lancashire lasses for me
I once knew a fellow, by name Albert Dooley
Nature endowed him with different sized goolies
One of ‘em was small and it looked rather poorly
But the other two were large and won prizes
The couple next door, whose name it is Kelly
Discovered one night they’d stuck belly to belly
They thought they’d been using petroleum jelly
But our Jimmy had swopped it for Bostik
CHORUS: I love them all, all the Lancashire lasses ...
My brother Billy, who works as a baker
In matters of sex is a little matchmaker
For he’s just invented a dance called the Quaker
Once round then out for your oats
Our next door neighbour is called Mrs. Grover
She come to our door with a bone for our Rover
But Grover bent over, now Rover’s in clover
For he slipped her a bone of his own
CHORUS: I love them all, all the Lancashire lasses ...
I recorded this on the CD: SONGS, STORIES & ELEPHANTS
Click here to see the tracklisting and listen to MP3 snippets
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4: THE MARTIANS HAVE LANDED IN WIGAN
Written in 1979 with Dave Dutton after the Lanky Spoken Here burst of songs. We got a deal with Eel Pie Music, who were going to release this as the first single (PROP 001) on Propellor Records. The label was to be launched in 1980 at High Wycombe aerodrome, and earlier that year we recorded the song. Dixie Dean, the producer, and I had been to Patrick Moore's house in Selsey to record his inserts. We recorded a first mix at Free Range studios, with Pete Townshend's brother Simon on synths .... than it all stopped. After much searching, it seemed Pete Townshend had decided not to have the new record label after all. Thanks, Pete.
(click on the music above for a bigger image in a new window)There are strange goings on in a quaint Northern town
Which the folk there are trying to keep quiet
It’d cause a sensation but they’re playing it down
For they’re frightened of starting a riot
‘Cause they’ve pit men with arms that are thirty feet long
And their heads are as smooth as boiled eggs
And the man who sells pies has got three great big eyes
And the rugby league hooker is green with six legs
CHORUS: For the Martians have landed in Wigan
And they’re wearing flat caps on their domes
And they’ve paid all their subs to the working men’s clubs
‘Cause Wigan reminds them of home
Now the Martians had lost all their bearings one night
‘Cause the compass had gone up the spout
As they landed on t’slag heap the captain said, “Right
We’re home lads, so let’s all pile out”
Well they soon realised that they’d made a mistake
So some digs for the night they all booked
Where they’d trotters and hotpot and fresh Eccles cake
And when they tasted black puddings, those Martians were hooked
CHORUS: For the Martians have landed in Wigan...
Now the Martians play bingo and speak local lingo
Like, “Sithee,” and “Ey up owd flower”
From the pier every day you can go t’Milky Way
Or a UFO trip round Blackpool Tower
So next time you’re passing through Wigan, look out
And remember the things I have said
Beware of the ones who have clogs on their feet
And aerials stuck out the tops of their heads
CHORUS: For the Martians have landed in Wigan...
On the TEN TON SPECIAL CD (& as a bonus track on BUGGERLUGS)
Click here to see the tracklisting and listen to MP3 snippets
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5: BLACK PUD STUD
Another Wrigley/Dutton composition - and very symbolic. Some would say more bolic than sym. I didn't record it until the Buggerlugs CD, then began to sing it with the Fivepenny Piece in 1996 when I joined their reformed line-up for a short while.
(click on the music above for a bigger image in a new window)CHORUS: I,I, I’m the Black Pud Stud from Bolton I like ‘em big and round
I’ve got a tasty handful for the girls all over town
I don’t know what goes in ‘em but I eat ‘em by the pound
I’m the Black Pud Stud and I’ll do you good
‘Cause you can’t keep a good man down
Now every night when I go to bed I get down on my knees
And I thank the Lord for all his gifts like pies and mushy peas
But the thing that packs a wallop, ‘cause it does your love life good
Is a great big steaming, fat and juicy plateful of black pud
CHORUS: I,I, I’m the Black Pud Stud from Bolton.......
Well, Popeye had his spinach, Desperate Dan liked cow pie best
But I stuff myself with black pud till I’m bulging out my vest
I never eat cream crackers, I don’t like fish and chips
I like to feel the black pud juice a-dripping down my lips
CHORUS: I,I, I’m the Black Pud Stud from Bolton....
So be careful of black puddings, they move in mysterious ways
Don’t take them on your honeymoon they’ll set the sheets ablaze
Our barmaid said she wouldn’t, and then she said she would
But then she wished she hadn’t ‘cause she’s in the pudding club
CHORUS: I,I, I’m the Black Pud Stud from Bolton....
On the BUGGERLUGS CD
Click here to see the tracklisting and listen to MP3 snippets
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6: THE HALF TIMER
Henry Boot (Queens Of The Highway) sent me these great verses. Usually I change words, lines, verses, or write extra, but here I think they went down just as he wrote them. I'd sometimes play it live, and it always reminds me of Uncle Bert (who became my dad) telling me that's exactly what he did when he was little.
(click on the music above for a bigger image in a new window)At five o'clock, th'alf timer wakes
He's only just a lad
Then off to t'mill he'll go to learn
A trade just like his Dad
At first he'll fetch and carry things
And maybe oil a cog
And if he dares to show his cheek
He'll feel the minder's clog
At dinner time he takes his bread
And sits down on the stool
His head it nods, but he daresn't sleep
Or he'll be late for school
Th'alf timer sits at t'back o't' class
His head cupped in his hands
His eyes they close and then he feels
The back of teacher's hand
And so he's kept in after school
To learn his ABC
A tellin' off, some lines to write
Then home to have some tea
A clip round th'ear for being late
But t'lad he doesn't weep
'Cause all th'alf timer wants to do
Is to go and have some sleep
So then he's off up wooden hill
And in his prayers he'll say
"God bless the family and give me strength
To face another day"
And in his sleep he'll 'appen dream
Of things to come, and when
Just as a gaffer he's become
It's five o'clock again
On the GOD'S OWN COUNTY CD
Click here to see the tracklisting and listen to MP3 snippets
