And I'm pleading with the powers, yeah the ones who love their state.
Where its profits before the marginalised in this strata'd play of fate.
And I'm screaming at the mongers, selling a malingerers parade.
Where its bombs before oor bairns in this warhorsed "social" state.
First past the Post... Equities of disease..
Living wage infractions..
Become this bourgois wet dream...
Carnivorous cancers...
Form vitos of class.
Still the price of a pound...
See who's first and fears who's last…
Tik tok goes the clock
With each set of time
Her energetic vibrant being
turns frail
She who i'll never call by her name
In retrospect,she raged
Against this decadent diabolical world
She raged to give her bairns the best of life,
The tenderness of her infinite love
In equal measure we give our allegiance
Albeit in absence of economic strength
We never went to sleep with growling tummies
Neither did we walked bare and unstitched
And the coldest of the nights went by unperceived
Even in her recurrent nostalgia phase
I still see her
The sailor who weathered the storms for me
The soldier who fought my unseen battles
The angel that brougt tranquility within in the dead of the night
In all eternal divine
Through her brisk and lethargic life
I hold her in my warm embrace
My fourth god
My begetter.
Layla's face is a map of Ireland grandma McCormick says
or Scotland Shawn McDougall adds hopefully
Look at those freckles, they are irish insists Brigid
You can tell the difference between irish and Scottish freckles?
Layla’s groom does not care about her heritage
Or her genes or teeth or her parents or anything else
He is looking at her the way most of us look at a chocolate cake
She is a gorgeous Celtic bride, and he is mesmerized.
Seeing her all over again for the first time on their wedding day.
Not caring whether she hails from Scotland or Timbuktu.
They make a most handsome couple.
Their bairns will be lovely
Also most probably have a hint of fey.
...And I'm pleading with the powers, yeah the ones who love their state. Where its profits before the marginalised in this strata'd play of fate.
And I'm screaming at the mongers, selling a malingerers parade. Where its bombs before "oor" bairns in this warhorsed "social" state.
First past the Post... Equities of disease..
Living wage infractions..
Become this bourgeois wet dream...
Carnivorous cancers...
Form Vito's of class.
Still the price of a pound...
See's who's first and fears who's last…
Has anyone seen my Nun?
Because she was the one..
Who Split me up from my Mum
But Hey, Nuns are just there
To look after us and for them to scare
Mums with tums and little bairns
Who had fallen out their chairs...
So has anyone yet seen my Nun..
But better Still
Has anyone seen my Mum?
DAMO x
I was born in a M&B Home in England.. and my parentage is a mystery..
Wound up tight like a bobbin
ready to spin into action
Sewing lines for those to walk in
the footsteps of her and hers
Taking charge to ensure we have everything
its second nature and is her reason to breathe
Nurture and protect the kin of own skin
her resilience, inspires and motivates
The long term gains
Will run through veins
of Mothers bairns
and theirs and theirs
So here I am again
Waiting on a deadly train
Facing raw elements freezing rain
Storming in heart and brain
I want time to go away
And blackness to soothe
I wish I could hit replay
And erase the memory of the day
We met,
Pray let me forget.
You wrecked my heart and soul in vain
Going round and round in circles
Dropping crumbs to be found
Going in going out
Of sanity and of doubt
You talk about your death
And where I'd find your will
I may not survive you
Leave it on the window cill
I'm hiding in the dark
In the dungeons in my mind
Safer there from all the demons
in you I find
Not even the bairns
Have refuge from your rage
You crushed us all
With your iron boot
For intrigue on your stage.
Barefoot hunter stands on sand
A young man leaves a troubled land
On sand and water travels wide
Searching for that peace inside
And as he looks around the world
He learns to know the cost
Of women loved and friendships lost
He passes on his love of stone
With friends and family makes a home
And to the earth he gives what can't be owned
And though they try to wrap his feet
His heart stays strong, will not be beat
And walls that stand a hundred years
Through life and laughter, death and tears
Moors,mountains, rivers ,fun and snow
The world spins round ,the wee bairns grow
TESTOSTERONE the women groan
Us kids we laughed"we're not alone"
And hearts were broken,mended,life's defended,upended
Then gloriously sunshine, lived fast and hard
Fine wine and dancing, life at best and worse
And now this hunter he stands proud
His sons and daughters in the crowd
The friends he lost amongst the fight
The embers of their love burn bright
And from afar in heavens bar
They drink and laugh and fight
And he looks UP this Irish rover and laughs and loves and gives thanks.
The gooseberry bush, a thing of beauty,
bow to my lady, bow to my lord
The homely hearth and sty for stock,
Bread for my bairns, fat for their chins
The cottage loom, silks for my lady,
Breeches for my lord
Work and sweat for those without land,
Bow to my lady, bow to my lord.
I will tell a funny story of a bear that's hunkydory
How 'e lives a life of comfort in a pickle on a tree
When the summer comes 'e fishes, an' 'e eats 'em off o' dishes
Till the day 'e ran in 'orror from 'is shadow on the sea
So 'e trundled of gallumphing, till 'e couldn't run for 'uffing
And 'e settled down in Puddington where honeyed puddings grow
There 'e lived a life so royal, till his dream began to spoil
For 'e longed to have a mamma bear with cubby bears in tow
'E trotted to the pickle-tree, that shady spot beside the sea
An' asked about if any knew his fav'rite childhood chum
'Is special bear at last 'e found, and knelt upon the berry-ground
An' there besought if she would be a wifey bear and mum
A mummey bear she'd gladly be, she'd mend 'is clothes and make 'is tea
And have as many fuzzy bairns as God saw fit to bless
So off they went to Pudding Town, the bear and wife, now Mrs. Brown
Which place they 'ad their little bairns, and lived in 'appiness
First place in Nursery Rhyme contest.
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