Buddy

I really didn’t like him But what the heck He was a fellow Yorkie And he had a lot of neck He played the piano by ear And that’s just how it sounded You couldn’t say his technique Made notes in any way rounded He churned out the favourites Notes here there and everywhere But in a Friday night squaddie mess Who was in a state to care As loud voices belted out The old favourite songs All comradely joined In Buddy’s sing along Just keep buying him a drink He may not get many notes right But in his own peculiar style He would play with verve all night And he would beam at all and sundry But I’m sure that in his head He wasn’t in that mess But another place instead Maybe the Albert Hall Not a Joanna under his hand But his fingers gently caressed Instead a concert baby grand He was too big a character For even army ways And he just wasn’t there One particular day Just an empty locker Just a bare bed space And the next day Another was in his place I saw him five years later Both back in civvie street Buddy dressed in a suit Looking sharp and neat He tried to borrow some money In typical Buddy bent And when I refused He just turned and went The last time I saw him But I’m sure he’s still around Maybe tickling the ivories In a shady part of town