Revenge is Sweet
I'm feeling very vengeful,
I really just can't wait,
Until the kids are older,
And in their married state.
It's then I'll get my own back
For all the things they've done;
For all the grief they've caused me,
And boy will it be fun.
When I am asked to baby-sit
I'll smile and say 'Okay, '
And then as soon as they are gone
I'll have my wicked way.
My evenings entertainment
Won't be to watch the telly;
I'll watch THEIR children daub the place
With yellow paint or jelly.
Of leaving every light on
I'll surely have my fill;
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poem by John Carter Brown
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The Tale of Thomas Fell
Here is a tale that I will tell
About a boy called Thomas Fell,
And of the girl he loved so well,
His dearest darling Jenny.
He knew her from his childhood days,
He knew her thoughts, he knew her ways,
He lived in love's romantic haze,
But didn't have a penny.
To win her was his only thought,
So money therefore must be sought,
And then the flowers could be bought
And Jenny would be happy.
He explored every avenue,
And searched from here to Timbuktu,
His time was short and Tommy knew
He'd have to make it snappy.
If he should fail to raise the cash,
His hopes and dreams would all be dashed:
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poem by John Carter Brown
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I Got Spots
I came out in spots on my body,
I thought 'twas the measles 'n' all;
I scratched 'til I took off a layer of skin,
Just like wallpaper peeled off a wall.
'Bout a week ago, that's when it started,
Up 'til then I was feeling alright;
I just got up one day feeling itchy,
And my legs were a terrible sight.
At first I was blaming the midges,
Or some insect of similar ilk;
It felt like the blighters were sucking my blood
Like a baby would suck for it's milk.
It wasn't too bad in the day time,
I was busy and found I could scoff;
But at bed time I couldn't ignore them,
I kept scratching and couldn't dropp off.
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poem by John Carter Brown
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The Ballad of Ronnie Dunwoody
Ronnie Dunwoody done wrong to his buddy
He done him a dastardly deed;
He killed him one night
In the cold moonless light
In the heat of his passion and greed.
Regardless of all of the danger
Dunwoody had made up his mind;
He knew he'd do time
For his obnoxious crime
If evidence he left behind.
The speak-easy rang out with laughter
The show, Ronnie knew, had begun;
He bagged up his buddy
With fingers all bloody
While those out the front had their fun.
The rear of the joint was in darkness
Hiding well the dead body of Jake;
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poem by John Carter Brown
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The Ballad of Norman Jack and Billy
Summer days in sixty three
Happy carefree hours in play;
Three boys that could in no way know
The folly that would blight their day.
Jack turned out to meet big Norman
Finding bird's nests - couldn't wait;
They also called for smiling Billy,
Or 'Professor' to his mates.
Dusty tattered shoes that stepped
So lightly - not with careful tread,
Down the pebbled pathway, turning
Running through the wheat-field bed.
In the wood, much darker then,
But still they saw the nest on high;
The boy had almost reached his goal
Then from below he heard a cry.
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poem by John Carter Brown
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Learning about chickens
Last year I was given some chickens
Of which I did not know a lot;
I gave them a home in my orchard,
Then read up to see what was what.
The book that I took for instruction
Said that chickens must have some protection
From cold, and the damp English climate,
From foxes and chills and infection.
So an outhouse, I used for the purpose,
And covered the floor with some hay;
Then I sat back to wait for them laying,
Expecting a dozen a day.
But at night they seemed nervous and jumpy
And I knew not for what they did search;
'Til my father-in-law said, 'you nitwit!
Don't you know that a bird needs a perch? '
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poem by John Carter Brown
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