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Frank Hovis

Bit a' cultcha' - poetry lyrics

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I wandered lonely as a cloud. Oer hosts of golden daffodils. Zzz snore. WHACK pay attention at the back or you're in detention.

I was immunised against poetry when I was about 12. It's all middle-class bullshit by the way. 

And don't get me started on Chaucer, yes I know it isn't poetry exactly it's some other shit. 

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Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

 

Cargoes by John Masefield. Which I remember from my junior school, that was situated in Masefield Road, Hartlepool.

I lived in Cowper Grove, but he's shit.

And anyone calling me a poof gets nutted...

 

XYY

Edited by The XYY Man

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1 minute ago, The XYY Man said:

And you can fuck off, you hammerer of the golden rivet...!

 

XYY

 

Fake Navy Sir! Nothing to do with the sea. Keeper of the Large Stapler on HMS Filing Cabinet.

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A spider wanders aimlessly within the warmth of a shadow
Not the regal creature of border caves
But the poor, misguided, directionless familiar
Of some obscure Scottish poet

The mist crawls from the canal
Like some primordial phantom of romance
To curl, under a cascade of neon pollen
While I sit tied to the phone like an expectant father
Your carnation will rot in a vase.

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56 minutes ago, mooncat69 said:

A spider wanders aimlessly within the warmth of a shadow
Not the regal creature of border caves
But the poor, misguided, directionless familiar
Of some obscure Scottish poet

The mist crawls from the canal
Like some primordial phantom of romance
To curl, under a cascade of neon pollen
While I sit tied to the phone like an expectant father
Your carnation will rot in a vase.

Sadly, i know this.

Party, 1986. I drank my first - and last - half bottle of vodka.

I spent 5 hours puking my guts out as some fat arsed hippy 6th form girls played the alum. Repeatedly.

Ive not touched vodka since. Or fat arsed 6th form girls.

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1 hour ago, spygirl said:

Sadly, i know this.

Party, 1986. I drank my first - and last - half bottle of vodka.

I spent 5 hours puking my guts out as some fat arsed hippy 6th form girls played the alum. Repeatedly.

Ive not touched vodka since. Or fat arsed 6th form girls.

I love that album and have played it far too many times. It's not pretentious at all, honest.

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The bloody pies are bloody old
The bloody chips are bloody cold
The bloody beer is bloody flat
The bloody flats have bloody rats
The bloody clocks are bloody wrong
The bloody days are bloody long
It bloody gets you bloody down
Evidently chicken town
The bloody train is bloody late
You bloody wait you bloody wait
You're bloody lost and bloody found
Stuck in fucking chicken town

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