Tag Archives: song

Nothing means nothing (from a song that I am working upon).

Nothing means nothing to some people,

And some people mean nothing to me.


There’s a hole in my sock –

yes, there is.

I don’t know how it got there –

but, there it is.

I’ll hide it with a shoe

if it’s all the same to you –

there’s a whole,

lot of explaining,

unless I do.

Tether – a song

So, there I was

at the end of my tether

looking backwards

no more forwards

and not concerned about

the weather.


Now it may rain

or the Sun might shine,

the skies become the colour

of elderberry wine;

but, I don’t care

what is up there,

I’ve reached the end of the line …

the end of my tether.


And at the very end

I’ll turn to you, my friend,

as you watch me cry,

and I’ll say ‘Goodbye.’


“Big plonk,

Little plonk,

Cardboard box

Looks like a goose,

And smells like a fox.”



Clin Jinz

I put my Clin Jinz on for you;

wanted to be a smarty

for the people party;

where we will bop

until we drop

drink lashings of Soda Pop,

and hop


hop hop hop;

because, that’s what you do

at the hop – isn’t it?

Rage, Rage against My Age? (Bob Thomas’s 80th Birthday celebration)

Eighty years have gone since when

my mother fussed like a brooding hen

my father, who rather liked my style,

said I’d grow up

in a short pants while.

And I would rage, rage, upon the page,

against the years that span my age

against the cake of candle light,

against the dying of the night.

so, happy birthday to me

happy birthday to me

happy birthday, Bobbie Thomas,

happy birthday

to me.

(I’m only a) Kimono Salesman

I’m only a Kimono Salesman,

selling them in my spare time;

kimonos for sale,

kimonos for rent,

buying one of my kimonos

is kimoney well spent.

(I see) Ukraine in the Rain

I see

Ukraine in the rain,

getting soaking wet,

and yet getting wetter yet

is all you’re going to do

I don’t have a better bet.

But, what has upset you?

I don’t like to see Ukraine,

is there anything I can do?

Can I get you a tissue?

Bless you!

“There’s a Triffid in our Garden.”

There’s a Triffid in our garden,

and I don’t know what to do.

I asked it’s leave, ‘Beg pardon!’

but it refuses to let me through.

It ‘clacks’ all day,

and through the night,

and it’s a great big ugly brute,

I don’t know what it’s up to,

and it seems to bear no fruit.


His mate came round this morning,

they ‘clacked’ about the weather,

the football results, the price of fame,

the day they broke the tether;

then they sang a song,

a Triffid song,

all ‘boom!’ and ‘bash!’ all ‘chorus’,

it went on for hours,

made wilt my flowers,

and, personally, did bore us.


There are ‘two’ Triffids in our garden,

soon there will be eight,

I should have complained to the council,

but I may be a little late.


Well, if you can’t beat them,

join them;

I’ll sing them a jolly song,

perhaps, ‘Tubthumping’ will be just their thing

if I sing it a little long.

My jeans (I fit them) – a song!

I got into my size 34 inch jeans

and you know what that means

I lost a bit of weight

I’ve gone from a 9.7 to a 7.8

whatever that means.


But, I got into my jeans

I got in to my jeans

and I’m singing a song

singing it all so well and so wrong

but I won’t be singing

a song if the weight goes back on.


I got Into my size 34 inch jeans,

And you know just what that means

I lost a bit of weight

Down from a 9.7 to a 7.8

Whatever that means


I’ve still got a muffin tap

so I know that I just can’t stop


oh, too much cake,

too many candles,

I’ve still got some lovely love handles on me

I’m not getting any younger, you see.