I WRITE THE SONGS

This month's Watford Writers' challenge was to write new lyrics to a song.  Please see below for the entries. Superb high standard of writing as always.

It's congratulations to Louise Welland who took first place by 1 point from joint second placed:

1st Place: Louise Welland Goodbye Child

Joint 2nd Place: Helen Nicell Avenue Charisma and Marion Witton The Nurse

4th Place: Helen Nicell My Cake Has Risen 

(To the tune of Yellow Submarine)

In the place where I was born

There lived all my family

And we tried to get away

Because we wanted to be free

So we sailed into the West

Till we found a sea of grey

And we rowed upon the waves

And we starved from day to day

We all sail in a tiny little boat

tiny little boat,  tiny little boat

We all sail in a tiny little boat

And we try to keep afloat, try to keep afloat

And our friends are all on board

Though sadly some of them have died

And the boat begins to sway  ….

We all sail in a tiny little boat

 tiny little boat,  tiny little boat

We all sail in a tiny little boat

And we try to keep afloat, try to keep afloat

And we live a life that’s tough

Because none of us have got enough

But there’s a land that’s far away

And we will get there some day

We all sail in a tiny little boat

tiny little boat, tiny little boat

We all sail in a tiny little boat

And we try to keep afloat, try to keep afloat.

So many hands to shake, speech after speech to make

God save our Queen

Papers of state to read, letters to sign at speed

Thinking of who will succeed

God save our Queen

Hosting each Head of State, hero or reprobate

God save our Queen

Meeting with each PM - what did she think of them?

Her lips are sealed – ahem !

God save our Queen

She was a naval wife, looked for a simpler life

God save our Queen

But this was not to be, she has made history

Will she make the century?

God save our Queen

Author’s note: 

It seems that the usual words and music of the National Anthem are anonymous and may date back to the eighteenth century.

(Based on Ralph Vaughan Williams’ 1923 adaptation of the traditional English folk song, Greensleeves. Vaughan Williams called his: Fantasia on Greensleeves)

My rose I tell is my love now lost,

To a time of old to a time of old,

My rose I tell is my love now lost,

Though my rose continues to bloom.

Greensleeves is my love for you,

Is my love for you, is my love for you,

Greensleeves is my love for you,

And I know this will last forever.

Greensleeves is your love for me,

Is your love for me, is your love for me,

Greensleeves is your love for me,

And I know this will last forever.

Dark shadows may appear though my heart will stay near,

And the turn of the tide will bring you closer to me,

The bright stars that shine will enlighten your path,

And any doubting shadows will be lost from the start.

Oh shadows may appear, but there won’t be any tears,

And the turn of the tide will bring you closer to me,

Above us in the sky the Moon will guide your path,

And any doubting shadows will be lost from the start.

Lost love I will be yours once more,

In a time untold, in a time untold,

Lost love I will be yours once more,

And our rose will flower and bloom.

Greensleeves is my love for you,

Is my love for you, is my love for you,

Greensleeves is my love for you,

And I know this will last forever.

Greensleeves is your love for me,

Is your love for me, is your love for me,

Greensleeves is your love for me,

And I know this will last forever.

(To the tune of A Hard Day's Night)

He was a bored old man

Needed a hobby, ‘cos he was sad 

So he ran and he climbed and he swam

And he found it made him glad

Then he bought a new bike

Which he really did like

The best he’d ever had

He was a bored old man

But he’s left that, all behind

He’s got a kayak and a tent and a van

And if you meet him, I think you’ll find

That he looks like a boy

That has found a new toy

No more flamin’ grind.

Chorus

Watch him go!

No-hands, wheelies and back-flips

Never slow

Nothing’s making him

Back…

Track

No!

He was a bored old man

Who drank his cocoa and liked a snooze

But he finds whenever he can

He now does dancing, drugs and booze

But riding home half-pissed

He fell and fractured his wrist

His backside one great bruise

Chorus

Watch him go!

No-hands, wheelies and back-flips

Never slow

Nothing’s making him 

Back…

Track

No!

He was a bored old man

Needed a hobby, ‘cos he was sad 

So he ran and he climbed and he swam

And he found it made him glad

Then he bought a new bike

Which he really did like

The best he’d ever had

It was the best he’d ever had 

Yes,  the  b-e-s-t  h-e-’d  e-v-e-r had!

Lyricist’s Note: 

This is not autobiographical, and I don’t have a kayak. 

(To the tune of Ombra Mai Fu (Never Was A Shade) composed by Handel in 1737, and first performed in London on 15 April 1738. This piece is an aria from his opera, Xerxe. Last recorded by Andreas Scholl in December 1998).

Heaven I call,

Call for divine light

God’s hand there is no fight

Only 

Heaven I call

Lead me into your heart

Open thy garden

The fountain 

Playing a harp of love

Heaven I call again

Forgive my unworthiness 

I come in peace for angels 

I come in peace for angels

Blessed the Lord.

(with apologies to Gilbert and Sullivan – I am the very model of a modern major general)

I am a very stable genius, a modern politician

I’m the only person who has an important mission

Build the wall, lock her up, the truth is evident

I have done more than any other President

My button is much bigger, powerful and works

Not like North Korea’s and that little squirt

I give myself an A+, I won by more than anyone

Make America Great Again – you know I’m the only one

Nobody has a better respect for my supporters

The vote was rigged, they came from every quarter

With my big beautiful brain I defy the lies, fake news

With my big beautiful brain I defy the lies, fake news

With my big beautiful brain I defy the lies, fake news

He shines a light on idiocy and speaking out of turn

Even though he lost the election, this modern politician

(Inspired by the rhythm of the hymn Lord of the dance by Sydney Carter) Pub. 1963 , 2001. Stainer and Bell).

I queued in the morning when the sun came up

And I queued at the station and then for a cup

Of coffee at the café, where I queued some more

A flat white and waffle I just love this store.

Queue, queue wherever you may go

I loathe queuing, so darn slow.

And I’ll always avoid wherever I may go

The crowded places and the queues I know.

 I queued at the gates of dear old London Zoo

But when I got in I had to queue for the loo.

I queued to see the reptiles another queue for bears

And to see the penguins wobble on their beach in pairs.

Queue, queue wherever you may go

I loathe queuing, it’s so darn slow.

And I’ll always avoid wherever I may go

The crowded places and the queues I know.

I queued on a Sunday the worst day of the week

The tigers and giraffes I needed to take a peek.

I queued for an ice cream the weather was so hot 

I queued again to find a quieter spot.

Queue, queue wherever you may go

I loathe queuing, so darn slow.

And I’ll always avoid wherever I may go

The crowded places and the queues I know.

I sat by the fountain and ate a picnic lunch  

Now I was worried, another long crunch

A queue for the exit, what a crying shame.

I must get out before I go insane!

Queue, queue wherever you may go

I loathe queuing, so darn slow.

And I’ll always avoid wherever I may go

The crowded places and the queues I know.

I once was in Italy, Rome to be precise

And wanted to catch a bus, so sought some advice.

At the tabaccai  I bought a city pass.

Then looked for a bus stop, no one to ask.

Queue, queue wherever I may be

I needed a queue to help guide me

But here in Rome no queue could I see

Which way I’d be going, little lost me.

Then all of a sudden the bus arrived

And out of nowhere a crowd appeared

Push, shove and crush like peas in a stew

I shouted out “I’m British where is the queue?”

Queue, queue wherever I may be

I needed a queue to help guide me

But here in Rome no queue could I see

Which way I’d be going, little lost me.

Author's Note:

The original lyrics by Sidney Carter were inspired by both Jesus and the Hindu God Shiva in a statue of him in dancing pose. They were also intended as a tribute to Shaker music.

I have always adored the rhythm of this hymn and having researched the lyrics and Sidney  Carter’s explanation I embrace his inclusiveness and acceptance of all religions.

My words having nothing to do with the original lyrics just came to my mind out of the blue one morning as I woke with the tune in my head.   A gift perhaps, from a passing early morning muse ?

(To the tune of ‘Morning has Broken ‘ – Cat Stevens)

My cake has risen, high in the oven

No disappointment, light as a pin

Praise to the Kenwood, praise to the oven

Praise for it springing fresh from the tin

Sweet shortbread biscuits, golden and shining

Delia’s finest, straight from the tray

Serve with a coffee, when one is dining

Dunk in your cuppa, to finish the day

Mine is the Brownie, mine’s the pavlova

Mine is the croissant, or custard tart

Praise for elastic, praise for Lycra

Praise for cholesterol straight to my heart

Sweet the spun sugar, sweet the doughnut

Calorific value, figure unknown

Just keep on baking, stretching your gut

Until Christmas when scales are blown

(To the tune of Jambalaya by The Carpenters)

Morning Sun, alarm clock sounds, a brand new day, oh

No lying in, no, not for me, I’ve got them kids, oh

Every morn, it’s the same, from day to day, oh

The morning rush, well, it’s no fun, when you’re a mum, oh

“Mum, where’s my tie?” and “Where’s my bag”

For goodness sake, boy

You know you’re nearly seventeen, not going on four

“What’s for lunch?” “I can’t eat that.” “I’m going vegan.”

The morning rush, well, it’s no fun, when you’re a mum, oh

Breakfast first, pack the lunch, do the washing,

Walk the dog, sweep the floor, the shelves need dusting,

Fold the clothes, plan the meals, do the shopping,

All before I settle in to Zoom work meetings.

Home from school, bags on floor, shoes at the front door,

More tidying for me, I’ve got them kids, oh

“I need a lift,” “What’s to eat?” “What time is dinner?”

The evening rush, well, it’s no fun, when you’re a mum, oh

Fill out forms, iron shirts, and run the hoover,

The sun’s been down for hours, but my day is not over,

“Mum, I feel ill,” says my girl, “I’ve got fever.”

“I feel so bad,” what can I do but relieve her?

I might moan, I might complain, but I love ‘em

I wouldn’t change a thing, they are such true gems,

They make me laugh, they bring me hope, they make my day, oh

They are my joy, my whole world, I’ve got them kids, oh

(To the tune of Knockin' On Heaven's Door)

VERSE 1:

Covid, please take this mask offa me,

I can’t use it any more,

It’s getting’ hard, too hard to breathe,

I just wanna open my front door.

(Door, door, door, door, door)

CHORUS:

Covid, open my front door,

Let the world come in and smile,

I just can’t stand this anymore,

You know you’re crampin’ my whole style.

VERSE 2:

Covid, put my arms by my side,

They can’t go and hug no more,

You know you’ve dented all my pride,

Now kissin’s ‘gainst the law

(Law, law, law, law, law)

CHORUS:

Covid, open my front door,

Let the world come in and smile,

I just can’t stand this anymore,

You know you’re crampin’ my whole style.

VERSE 3:

Covid, now let’s put on a show,

West End’s dyin’ on its feet,

Into London we must go,

Every human needs a treat.

(Treat, treat, treat, treat, treat)

CHORUS:

Covid, open my front door,

Let the world come in and smile,

I just can’t stand this anymore,

You know you’re crampin’ my whole style. 

To the tune of Don't Cry For Me Argentina, recorded by Sarah Brightman)

This is so easy, it’s not hard to explain

You’ll agree with me when I say how I feel

That I hate school dinners however they’re done

You won’t believe me

How bad lunch was at a school I once knew

Although hungry at each dinner time

The smell made us ready to spew

Don’t bring me semolina

The truth is I always loathed it 

The watery cabbage

And lumpy custard

And those spam fritters

They made me vomit

It didn’t have to happen, I needed a change

Couldn’t spend each lunch feeling mortally ill

Staring out of the window, staying out of the sun

So I chose sandwiches

Packed lunches with crisps in them too

My friends impressed by it all

Brought their packed lunches too

Don’t bring me semolina

The truth is those dinner ladies

With grim persistence

They made us eat it

Every last bit

Despite resistance

(A modern take on Billy Joel's We Didn't Start the Fire)

Biden, Hammond, Clarkson, May 

Katie Hopkins, A J, Cristiano Ronaldo

Rees Mogg, Boris Johnson, Tesla, Sky

Taiwan, Dandy Dan, Kim Kardashian

Sergei Skripol, Bosharov, Petrov, Novichok, 

Salisbury spire, Maastricht, Daniel Craig, No time to Die

Tyson Fury, Tim Peek, England’s got a winning vaccine team

Kwame Appiah, Grenfell fire, cladding burning, Cummings turning, 

The Tory’s fan the fire

Empty shelves, no lorry drivers for hire

So how do you know when Boris is lying?

His lips start moving and the fibs keep flying

The world stops listening

How will we fight them?

Vladimir Putin, Litvinenko, Erdogan, Ed Sheeran

Harry Kane, Cameron, Greensill fails, lobbyists hail

Priti Patel, Assad, Lukashenko, Kim Jong Un

Kabul falls, Colstone rolls, Chernobyl, Michael Morpurgo 

Chris Martin, Gwyneth Paltro, Justin Bieber, Bruno Mars

QAnon, Capitol Hill, Trump Towers, Minneapolis, BLM

Prince Andrew, Princess Di, The Crown, still trouble in Palestine

The Tory’s fan the fire

Empty shelves, no lorry drivers for hire

So how do you know when Boris is lying?

His lips start moving and the fibs keep flying

The world stops listening

How will we fight them?

Pope Francis, George Floyd, Mars Rover, Jacinda Arden 

Electric scooters, social media influencers, refugees, no apologies

Xi Jinping, Pakistan, Macron and Sarkozy 

Marcus won’t let poor children starve, Plymouth homicide

Elton John, Dua Lipa, David Bowie, Saint and Greavsie 

Graphene, Roy Keen, says England are still a losing football team

Stephen Hawking, hashtag metoo still talking, Richard Dawkins

The Tory’s fan the fire

Empty shelves, no lorry drivers for hire

So how do you know when Boris is lying?

His lips start moving and the fibs keep flying

The world stops listening

How will we fight them?

Michael Gove, Matt Hancock, Grant Shapps, Rishi Sunak

Osbourne, Rabb, Dowden and Piers Morgan

Brad Pit, Angelina Jolie, Jenifer Aniston, Keira Knightley

Corbyn at Glastonbury, Stormzy, Maya Jama, homes under the hammer

Murdoch, GB news, Andrew Neil peddles his views 

Icky politician sex, where is the country going next?

Gas price hikes, Russian’s help turn out the lights

The Tory’s fan the fire

Empty shelves, no lorry drivers for hire

So how do you know when Boris is lying?

His lips start moving and the fibs keep flying

The world stops listening

How will we fight them?

(To the tune of I Want To Hold Your Hand)

Oh dear Paul, I’ll ask you something

I think you’ll understand

I really , really, I really want to join your band

I wanna join your band

I wanna join your band

Oh please, say to me

That I can join your band.

Oh please say to me that I can join your band

That I can join your bianiand

That I can join your band

Oh, when you spotted me, I felt happy, inside

It’s such a feeling of pride,

I can’t hide, I can’t hide. I can’t hide.

Paul, when I sing with you

I feel really happy inside

It’s such a thrill

That your songs I sing with pride

I love singing in your band

I love singing in your band

I love singing in your band

Yeah, when you found me, I know you understand

When I started singing.

That’s when I came alive

I wasn’t banned, I wasn’t banned, I wasn’t banned.

(To the tune of Ob-la-di, ob-la-da by the Beatles)

Boris used the heavy axe to chop, chop, chop,

And Dom and Gav’s heads rolled in harmony,

Around the land the people voiced a great big ‘Yes’,

With the useless pair consigned to history.

Chorus: Shuffley- dee, shuffley-da thanks to his consort,

The PM stepped up to the plate,

Shuffley-dee, shuffley-da thanks to Carrie S,

The useless pair deserved their fate

Into the hallowed FCO skipped Lizzie Truss,

After signing a trade deal with those in Oz,

The vaccine czar took Gav’s chair at the Min of Ed,

And it will soon seem as if Gavin never was.

Chorus: Shuffley-dee, shuffley-da the karate kid,

Has been unmasked as having feet of clay,

Shuffley-dee, shuffley-da the Frank Spencer clone,

Can no longer lead our schoolchildren astray.

Nadine was a shoe-in for the Culture job,

Given her performance on TV, 

Her outback fun with Ant and Dec was truly gross,

But it labelled her a real celebrity.

Chorus: Shuffley-dee, shuffley-da for the feisty lass, 

Who’ll soon be warring with the BBC,

Shuffley-dee, shuffley-da for the feisty lass,

With her gritty scouser pedigree.

Chipmunk Jenrick was another shown the door,

As the housing brief was handed on to Gove,

Let’s hope the dodgy dealings don’t return again,

Although the new man is a very curious cove

Chorus: Shuffley-dee, shuffley-da it’s a brand new team,

With a lot to do before the people vote,

Shuffley-dee, shuffley-da let’s hope Covid’s chills,

Don’t grab the new lot by the sickly throat.

Govey is the man who has the hardest job,

For Christmas is not very far away,

Secure supplies of food and toys must be in place,

So the stores will have a full, complete display. 

Chorus: Shuffley-dee, shuffley-da the new Christmas elf

His magic he must weave without delay,

Shuffley-dee, shuffley-da the new Christmas elf,

Must put his raunchy disco moves away.

What will happen when the voters have their say?

A crystal ball is never near to hand, 

If Boris wins there’ll be a big relieving sigh, 

With concrete proof that Starmer was too bland.

Chorus: Shuffley-de, shuffley-da, what a dismal choice,

We voters have to call our own, 

Shuffley-de, shuffley-da, do we want to have,

A Teflon man or shambly, randy clown? 

(To the tune of Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits)

I am a foundling, meaning someone abandoned me

Left alone in a plastic bag, on a bus number sixty-three

Found by a schoolboy, on the back seat

No name, no clothing, no letter no receipt

How ‘bout that?

Taken to a to a police station, then passed from one to another 

hospital and foster homes while they tried to find my mother

What had I done wrong, to deserve this kind of life?

Like an unwanted puppy being left to die

My time on earth was ruined from the start

And I know, my mother simply had no heart

Try to forget, forget, but it’s too deep in my soul

Nothing or no one, can ever fill this gaping hole. Nothing.

-----

The report said I was heading, downwards for a fall

The only way to pass exams, was to stay back after school

The teacher showed me much, taught me what he knew 

But at twelve years old I didn’t need what he put me through

My parents dreamed for me, their dream of my success

yet my life shattered I had nowhere to confess

I had nowhere to run, nowhere to run and hide

No one to share my pain, no one in to confide

Oh my child, when I left you there I cried

I said I’ll miss you ‘til the sun goes cold, and until the day I die

Won’t forget won’t forget, don’t want to give you shame

So I’ll never look for you, and add to your pain, oh my child

I finally realised - when I reached sweet sixteen

That I couldn’t live my life, to fulfil my parents’ dream

And I pray that your life’s full of love and success

I would never want you to know that mine’s such mess

I hope you never think - that I didn’t care my son

and I hope you never search for me, and find your evil mum, 

Just to make sure, that I am never found

I am taking myself underground

Oh my child, when I left you there I cried

I said I’ll miss you ‘til the sun goes cold, and until the day I die

Won’t forget won’t forget, I don’t want to give you shame

So I’ll never look for you, and add to your pain, oh my child

-----

I am a foundling, meaning someone abandoned me

Left alone in a plastic bag, on a bus number sixty-three

Found by a schoolboy, on the back seat

No name, no clothing, no letter no receipt

How ‘bout that?

How ‘bout that?

(To the tune of Penny Lane by The Beatles)

In Ricky Road there is a poet writing poetry,

On every thought that’s come her way of recent times,

She makes sure it rhymes, but it don’t sometimes,

However much she tries.

On the corner, there’s a meeting room with lots of chairs,

Watford Writers swap ideas and say good things,

But no luck does it bring, she’s lonely thing,

She can’t even sing.

But there’s hope despite the tears within her eyes,

She’ll not give in to those teary sighs,

Cos she hopes one day that,

The prize will come to her and make her proud of all she’s penned,

To tell her children that she knelt down for to pray,

She’ll be proud to say, ‘The win came my way,

It’s a happy day’.

And then one Monday it came from the blue,

The host she said, ‘The winner it is you.’

And tears they came again

When she got home to the children, they did celebrate

They all knew she was a star, she had the art,

From the very start, she would go far,

She was their ma.

In Ricky Road there is a poet with a beaming smile,

That spreads the love, the happiness, to all around,

Her calling she has found, her feet have left the ground,

She has unwound.

Ricky Road is in her ears and in her eyes,

There she sits with children by her side.

Who smile so full of pride.

Watford Writers they did make that woman proud,

And lifted from her mind that darkened shroud,

In Ricky Road. 

(To the tune of All You Need Is Love by The Beatles)

Fun, Fun, Fun

Fun, Fun, Fun

Fun, Fun, Fun

There’s nothing you can write that can’t be read

Nothing you can think that can’t be said

Nothing you can’t do now there’s free time to learn how 

At sixty

There’s nothing in your loft that can’t be sold

No ball you can putt that can’t be holed

There’s no wine you can’t drink be it white or be it pink

At sixty

Make life fun 

Make life fun

Make life fun, fun

Sixty full of fun

Make life fun 

Make life fun

Make life fun, fun

Sixty full of fun

There’s nothing using google that can’t be known

Nothing you can draw that can’t be shown

There’s always a way to home with sat nav on your phone 

At sixty

Make life fun 

Make life fun

Make life fun, fun

Sixty full of fun

(To the tune of The Eagles Hotel California)

On a dark rainy Friday

He said would I dance?

I never realised

I wouldn’t stand a chance

As he spun and he turned me, 

I saw the glittering ball

He whispered in my ear,

‘I won’t let you fall.’

The world was spinning faster,

Right along with my heart

But there was pending disaster,

From the very start

He ordered us tequila, 

The liquid burnt my throat

Then I heard the voices

As the room began to float

‘Here we go down Avenue Charisma,

He will draw you in 

(He will draw you in)

Let the fun begin!

Plenty of fools in Avenue Charisma

It’s a whole new game 

(it’s a whole new game)

Nothing will be the same.’

Pink Champagne and red roses, 

He knew how to impress.

But little did I really know,

It was just the buttons to press.

I missed all the warning signs, 

On that dark October night

The hints at inflated ego,

His sparkling eyes shone so bright

I fell for his easy chatter, 

Made me feel like a Princess

He later became controlling

The end of all happiness

If only I’d heard them, singing far away,

Voices drifting through the bar, 

Could have heard them say,

‘Here we go down Avenue Charisma,

He will draw you in 

(He will draw you in)

Let the fun begin!

Plenty of fools in Avenue Charisma

They drown in the lake

(They drown in the lake)

‘Cos of one mistake.’

Left alone every evening

Dinner cold on the plate

The loving look from the blue eyes

Quickly turning to hate

The charm and the flattery

Replaced with insult and put-down

He can only love one person

As he wears his golden crown

Last thing I remember,

Was heading for the door

Leaving with my bags packed

Then I hit the floor

‘No Way !’ said the charmer

‘What will you achieve?

This is the place that you must stay,

And you can never leave.’

(To the tune of The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel)

I am just a poor nurse 

With a story to be told

Of blood and sweat and sickness 

For a basketful of grumbles

And broken promises

All toil no rest 

But the nurses hear the calling

And disregard the rest

When I left my home and my family

I was no more than a girl

Being left to care for strangers

In the quiet of the night ward

Feeling scared

Laying out the poor defeated dead people, 

Where the ravaged bodies go

To other places when they didn't make it through

De de dum, de de dum dum, de de dum

De de dum, dum de de dum, de de dum de de dum

Getting only basic wages

At least I got a job

Hoping for a pay rise

Just a mealy thankless pittance take-home wage

I do declare there were times when I felt so tired

It got too much to bear

De de dum dum dum dum dum

At the roadside stands the neighbours

With clapping on their minds 

For nurses who are angels

But that don't feed their kind  

Which makes us want to cry out

In our anger and our pain

"I am leaving, I am leaving"

But the nurse still remains, she still remains.

Author's Note:

Apologies to Paul Simon!