The Salford Crescent Killer

Stepping off the train last week
in the merry month of June.
I felt a blow reign in so hard
from a saucer-pupiled loon.

I dragged myself up on my heels
and dusted off my jeans,
and felt the blood run from my eye
a steady crimson stream.

Not quick enough to make my move
the spineless twat ran free,
but the resonance
of our short embrace,
well it wasn’t lost on me.

I could have been a hero
if I’d only got one back.
One decent crashing blow
would’ve knocked him on his back.

I’m the self styled
Salford Crescent Killer,
and I’m here to put things straight.
No job too big,
no job too small,
no need to fucking wait.

I’m the self styled
Salford Crescent Killer,
against the Salford Crescent Crank
When the papers find out what I’ve done
it’ll be money in the bank.

I can see me there on Parky,
having dinner with the Queen
Telegrams from famous faces,
for the bravery they’ve seen.

1-800 SALF CRES KILL,
advertising shaving foam.
You’ll even get a ding ding ding
Crescent Killer mobile tone.

I’m the self styled
Salford Crescent Killer,
and I’m here to put things straight.
I’ll take on all the scum
for a monthly low cost rate.

I’m the self styled
Salford Crescent Killer,
against the Salford Crescent Crank.
When De Niro plays me on the screen
it’ll be money in the bank.

It is against the law to smoke on these premises

It’s against the law to joke
It’s against the law to breathe
It’s against the law to laugh
It’s against the law to seethe
It’s against the law to speak
It’s against the law to think
It’s against the law to loiter
It’s against the law to drink

It is against the law to smoke on these premises.

The Wigan bridge club swingers

I’ve been up Wigan bridge club
to have a game of bridge
It’s something that I longed to do
so that’s just what I did.
Just what goes on behind those doors
to secrecy I’m sworn
But playing cards is quite surreal
when set to hardcore porn.

Happy birthday Jimmy

He got steaming in the Bluebell,
he got steaming up the Oak
He managed to get steaming
when he was stony fucking broke
Scots Jimmy,
a name known for miles around
Before you’d picked your pint up
he’d put his empty down
A man so soaked in alcohol,
a man too stoned to think
A man who lost his heart and soul,
to the demon that is drink
Today you should have been 62
but it was never meant to be
Alone and drunk you froze to death
in the hills of Lockerbie

Happy birthday Jimmy

Well that's just fucking fine.

Fine me cause my dog shits
fine me cause I smoke
fine me for late payments
fine me ‘til I’m broke.

Fine me for my parking
fine me, if I stand still
fine me if I think it’s fine
to show my fucking will.

Go ahead and fine me
heap your fines on me
fine me ‘til I’ve fuck all left
that’s fucking fine by me.

I coulda been a contender

It’s Friday night and I’m sat alone in my house. Our lass is at her sisters trying on make-up. Not just any old make-up, but make-up for our upcoming wedding. A wedding that will be taking place in less than ???? weeks.

It’s not like we’ve met at the airport and I’ve paid her Mam enough money to feed the family rice for a lifetime, she’s not from Bolton. We’ve been together 11 years, and we’ve got a couple of sprogs into the bargain. Despite this I’m fucking shitting myself and I don’t mind telling you that I’m losing sleep over it.

All kinds of shit is floating through my brain. I keep waking up in the morning mid-dream/argument with people I’ve fallen out with in the past, or people I’m expecting to have disagreements with in the future. It’s supposed to be the happiest time in my life, but I’m struggling to see when the ‘happiest’ bit is going to kick in. I’m failing to see the sense of humour in any of it and quite frankly I’m getting disinterested in the whole gig.

If it aint broke don’t fix it, but I’m involved in fixing something that’s not even got superficial bruising.

In the midst of all this confusion and indefinable paranoia I’m sat here watching Later with Jools Holland, and it’s not helping. I’m sat here watching the young new things and the old were things and thinking to myself, I could have been a contender! That could be me in Jools studio giving it rock all, instead of sitting here bricking it.

Whenever I watch Jools my mind automatically drifts towards memories of New Years Eve or Summer festivals. Invariably my thoughts lean toward pop stardom and the conveyor belt of drugs and nubile women that should have adorned my black satin bed linen. Alas no more, and here I am alone with my worries and my doubts.

So Jools if you’re reading this, leave a comment on my blog to help soothe my troubled mind. Something along the lines of:

“Dirrrrtyoldman you’re doing the right thing. Your Polly is a top lass and you’d be daft to pass up the opportunity to shack yourself up with a top bird like her”

Otherwise get me a slot on your show and let me prove to everyone that I could have been a contender.

Patsy "Chip Butty" Dolan leaves home

There’s been an awful uproar
in the Chip Butty home,
for Patsy Dolan’s up and gone
to move just down the road
She’s gone and moved next door to me
at number thirty nine,
shacked up with Scots Tommy
to have a fine old time
Now Tommy runs a tight ship
in-between the pints,
he used to discipline his ex
almost every night
We never saw his ex that much,
now I come to think
She used to spend her days indoors
and send the kids for drink
As Patsy flashed a smile so sweet
she entered through the door
I hope I see that smile again,
I hope to see once more