Dodgy Ditties

by Tony Morris

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1.
A TAX ON HEALTH Chorus Don’t go to the doctors’ The surgeries full of snot, Lots of folk with coughs and colds, You’ll catch the blooming lot. In days gone by the doctors Came to you at home; Saw you in your sick bed. You didn’t have to roam. But now you have to crawl along On your hands and knees To the doctors’ surgery Where everyone’s got a sneeze. All packed in together, Fellows in misery, Sharing the germs between them Where everything is free. Chorus When you’ve staggered to the surgery, It’s full of tiny tots Running wild and hollering. You don’t know what they’ve got, Nits or the measles, Chicken pox or mumps. When you’re at home next week You’ll be scratching And coming out in lumps. Chorus Surgeries are social, Communal, no rank, It’s good to share your germs When that’s all you’ve got in t’bank. It’s part of the doctors’ business plan. It’s good to share your wealth. It keeps their business going, A sort of tax on health! Don’t go to the doctors’ The surgeries full of snot, Lots of folk with coughs and colds, You’ll catch the blooming lot.
2.
OLD WHITBY HARBOUR When Cook and when Scoresby were answering the call, Old Whitby Harbour was a place of dark waters No place for fine noses, no bunch of roses, A place barely swilled by the tides ebb and flow. At Sandsend, on beaches, great brush fires were burning, Roasting the shale from which alum was gained, All mixed with urine brought into the Harbour In ships that from London so frequently sailed. The Harbour was humming with mud and raw sewage, Fish guts were rotting as screaming gulls fed. In the light of the lamps, glowing softly with whale oil, The rats would be scurrying when folk were abed. Up past the Bridge where the boatyards were busy, Wood smoke and oakum scented the air, Fragrance of fish glue and blood from slaughterhouse Mingled together in the damp evening air. As the gentle South Westerly blew down the River, The odour was blubber, boiling in vats, In the factories of Larpool, the wealth of old Whitby, Whale oil financing the Scoresbys, the Cooks. In Waterstead Lane, all stagnant and marshy, The tanners were working and walking the hides In tubs filled with excrement gathered from kennels And urine from cities all over the land. Old Whitby Harbour, the days of romance, Of discovery and whaling, the days of James Cook, The days of the Scoresbys, the days of prosperity, Old Whitby Harbour with ‘Brass’ and with ‘Muck’.
3.
REVOLUTION’S FAREWELL Chorus Heading out of Kingston, See the Revolution sail, Heading North for London Town, For snow and ice and gale. Bob Marley is our Captain, Of wailing men the best, Our lookout’s up the main mast Lighting a spliff in the nest. In a barrel with tar and canvass, A Wailer’s free from cold, It’s Captain Marley’s gift, Better than silver and gold. Chorus When we get to London Where the Babylon all dwell And hear that cry, a freedom call, We’ll be celebrating well, Dancing to the drum beats, Lighting another spliff, For there’s no second chance With guitar and prance When you dream another riff. Chorus Towing back in the morning Is wearisome and long And the Band will stow the blabber Before we get along. For making ladies adore us, We’ll sing a freedom song And dream of days to come When a man can do no wrong. Chorus When we get back to Kingston, We’ll be in the money then, Our honeys they will love us, Hard singing wailing men. When we get back to Kingston, We’ll have ourselves a fling; We’ll prance with all our women, Make all the Rastas sing, Make all the Rastas sing.
4.
YELLOW AND RED Red lights block the way, Sorry for delay, sorry for delay, We’re fixin’ t’gas today, Fixin’ t’ gas today, So sorry for delay. Chorus Marked on a yellow sign In letters plain as day, “Sorry for delay. So sorry for delay” Red lights block the way. Sorry for delay, sorry for delay, We’re mendin’ t’power today. We’re mendin’ t’power today. Chorus Red lights block the way. Sorry for delay, sorry for delay, We’re fillin’ t’oles today, Fillin’ t’oles today. So sorry for delay. Chorus Stuck in a traffic queue, Turning the air blue With diesel fumes from motor cars and trucks, Remember that, when you complain, In the bar or on the train, Jobs are hard to come by nowadays, That there are working men out there, With pick and shovel mending all that’s broke. So you should think again, Your epithets restrain, Remember that some poor sod, Made in the imagine of some god, Is working down that hole, Protected by lights as red as Hell, With a sign to clearly say, In most apologetic way, “Sorry for delay, So sorry for delay.” Red lights block the way. So sorry for delay, So sorry for delay.
5.
ALUM MINER’S SONG CHORUS Blue shale, blue shale, running up and down. Blue shale, blue shale, running up and down. Fill the barrow, empty. Fill the barrow, empty. Blue shale, blue shale, running up and down. On the sands brushwood burns, Shale is roasting till it turns. Nine months, babbies born, Waters flush it into vat, Barrel in a load of piss, Boil it up in that. CHORUS Float an egg, float an egg, See if ‘mothers’ done, Float and egg, float an egg, See if Alum’s come. Run it off, cool it down, See the crystals form. Alum for the dyer, For pretty colours worn. CHORUS Alum makes the colours stick, Red or blue or green, A pretty girl, a pretty coat, Finery all clean. All clean from mucky work, The ladies never know What they’re wearing on their backs Started in the Po. FINAL CHORUS Blue shale, blue shale, running up and down. Blue shale blue shale, running up and down. Fill the barrow, empty. Fill the barrow, empty. Blue shale, blue shale, running up and down. Blue shale, blue shale, running up and down. Blue shale, blue shale, running up and down. Blue shale, blue shale. Running up and down.
6.
VIRGIN PURR LIKE DRIVEN SNOW With a loud purr, the driven snow Was dispursed from the cats whiskers Into a small purse on the flower. The cat with green eyes, all neatly dotted, Was called ‘Gin Vert’ Or ‘Vert Gin’ if you pre-fur Or just fur a laugh, ‘Vert’ meaning green And ‘Gin’ meaning ‘trap’. It was a trap for little green mice Should they ever invade from Mars. It would bar the Milky Way With white chocolate As purr as the driven snow That the cat had just purred off its whiskers. The cat had been created By a spell of wood from an old chair. It had been intended that it should be A virgin, ‘Vir’ meaning ‘man’ And ‘gin’ meaning, I repeat, ‘trap’. Trap, trap. But the spell had been monkeyed with By a jumped up frog on a cold run So, instead of a ‘Mantrap’, Or even a ‘mantra’, It turned into a ‘Green Trap’. Now this may mean something to golfers And other hole-in ones But for those who do not know That a cat is not just for Christmas, They may mistake one For a vert gin Driven purrly By snorting snow.
7.
BOOZERS FROM THE BORO’ Chorus Look at the boozers from the Boro’. They’ve come on the bus to the town, Down the coast to Whitby. They’ve lots of sorrows to drown. A sad place is the Boro’ With lots of industries gone, With folk on the dole, A place without soul, So they’ve got to get out to have fun. Chorus You can tell the boozers from the Boro’, There noses outshine the Sun. As they saunter from one pub to t’ other, They never break sweat in a run. Chorus The boozers from the Boro’ are cheery. They are beery and noisy and bright And sometimes, on the way home, Well, they have a bit of a fight. Chorus Sometimes they frighten the lasses; Sometimes they pee in the yards But, there’s that much sorrow the Boro’ You cannot be too hard. Chorus
8.
HARPER’S FALL Heading for the wall, Heading for the wall, One step, two step, Tripped and fell, Heading for the wall. Ambling home from the Pub, Harp and keys in hand, Down the Back Lane, Down the black lane, Not a care in the land. Tripped against a step, One step too many, Launched into space When I wasn’t ready. Heading for the wall, Heading for the wall, One step, two step, Tripped and fell, Heading for the wall. Ambling back to the Pub, Harp still in hand, Up the Back Lane, Up the black lane, A bleeding, messy Band. Ambulance rides and stitches Till the break of day, For one step too many, Head banging all the way. Heading for the wall, Heading for the wall, One step, two step, Tripped and fell, Heading for the wall. The moral of this story, It is ringing clear, Don’t stay sober down the Pub, Keep on drinking beer, For walls they will attack you And steps will trip you up, So, remember when you’re singing, Have another sup. Heading for the wall, Heading for the wall, One step, two step, Tripped and fell, Heading for the wall.
9.
Our Gang 01:20
OUR GANG A knife, a shiv, a blade. You’ve got to carry to make the grade In Our gang. There’s Wes and Naz and Charlie Boy, Gozza, Chuck and Roots And Jellyroll Jon whose getting it on With a chick called Angel Boots. A knife, a shiv, a blade. You’ve got to carry to make the grade In Our gang. About our ground we’re lairy So other gangs are wary. We’ve got our beat around our streets So, don’t come near us, “Fairy!” A knife, a shiv, a blade. You’ve got to carry to make the grade In Our gang. It’s wicked to be into crime. There’s excitement every time And when we’re bored We’ll not be ignored. A knife, a shiv, a blade. You’ve got to carry to make the grade In Our gang.
10.
Road Rage 03:02
I’ve got road rage, road rage. I’m sitting shouting, “Asshole! Asshole!” I’ve got asshole hassle. I’ve got road rage. I’m a mild mannered man Till I get into a car Then I’m mean, I mean “mean”, Even not going far. I hate all other drivers And women are the worst. I hate the quick. I hate the slow. I’ve got to be there first. I’ve got road rage, road rage. I’m sitting shouting, “Asshole! Asshole!” I’ve got asshole hassle. I’ve got road rage. I’m a softly spoken woman When I’m looking after kids; I’m a caring kind of person Till I get into a car Then I curse and I blaspheme Like a drunk in a downtown bar. I hate all other drivers And men, they are the pits, The ones in hats are old and slow, The young are arrogant and so macho And all of them are “Shits!” I’ve got road rage, road rage. I’m sitting shouting, “Asshole! Asshole!” I’ve got asshole hassle. I’ve got road rage. I’m a stressed out urban driver And I’m murderous and mad. If anyone just looks at me, I’ll kill them and be glad. I’ll crunch their car And punch their face; I’ll kick them in the head; I’ll beat them with a wheel brace Until they’re dead, dead, dead, dead! And then I’ll sit at my office desk And gently work away or, Arriving home, I’ll kiss the kids, Rejoicing as they play. I’m not really a bad person, Evil through and through, I’m just ordinary woman or man Like you. Like you. Like you. Except when I’ve got road rage, road rage And I’m sitting shouting, “Asshole! Asshole!” I’ve got asshole hassle; I’ve got road rage. Just ordinary And sweet and neat, Kind and caring, Loving, sharing, Kind of complete Except when I’ve got ROAD RAGE! Asshole! Asshole! Asshole!
11.
There wus an old farmer of Hutton-le-Hole. He went ti the market to find a young foal. When he got ti market he started to think, “I’m feeling thirsty, I’ll find me a drink.” The farmer he went to the Market Inn. He sits himself down and he rattles his tin. Noo a young lass she spies him , Says, “What is your pleasure?” He says, “ If I tell thee will the gi’ me full measure?” Whey, she tilts up her nose and gies him the ee She says, “ Eeee, Mother would kill me And I don’t want to dee.” Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol role. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol day. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol role. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol day. Whey, Farmer, he blushes, says, “It’s not what I mean.” “I’m from Hutton-le-Hole, do ye think that I’m green. “I came in here wi’ a thirst ti quench.” “ Whey, she says, here are two jugs and I’ll sit on your bench.” Whey, she puts the jugs down and she sits on his knee. She says, “ Your bench, it is hard, shall I cushion thee. Well, I could sing you more, right through the night. But I’ve sung you enough to give you the sight. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol role. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol day. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol role. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol day. Well, the Farmer went back ti Hutton-le-Hole. And nine months later up turns mare and foal. So noo the old farmer has to find more hay. For after the market there’s settlin’ day. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol role. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol day. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol role. Sing folderol riddle, sing folderol day.
12.
ROBIN'S BIG BANG "It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang," bold Robin sang. When he was at school he liked to be cool So he made a bomb, a bloody big bomb, An old tea chest, a fuse and flour. He kicked it about for over an hour. He lit the fuse and ran. "It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang," bold Robin sang. The blast it blew the windows out For more than half a mile about But no one ever caught the brat That holed the holy hockey pitch And killed the Headmasters cat. "It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang," bold Robin sang. Well, the years soon past from that grand blast. He joined the SAS And he blew here and he blew there Till he blew the General out of his chair And he was a civvy again. "It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang," bold Robin sang. The last I heard, he was doing fine. He'd taken up gardening, at the time, And blew up his Mother's apple trees, All in a line, Boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom! "It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang," bold Robin sang. "It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang. It's all in the bang," bold Robin sang. Boom! Boom!
13.
Little Amanita Phalloides, Lingering under the trees. Little Amanita Phalloides, Smelling of roses in the breeze. La-la-laa Tempting and pale though she be, Do not pluck her in the wood. It will do you no good. Her skin may be lustrous and shine But a kiss or a bite, Your health will decline, La-la-laa Little Amanita Phalloides, Lingering under the trees. Little Amanita Phalloides, Smelling of roses in the breeze. La-la-laa You may think she’s magic But to make soup would be tragic, A nibble or lick and you’ll get very sick, A night on the toilet And bereavement cards, violet, Will drop through your door very thick. La-la-laa Little Amanita Phalloides, Lingering under the trees. Little Amanita Phalloides, Smelling of roses in the breeze. La-la-laa Claudius and Charles fell under her spell, Emperors, each, they’ve a lesson to teach, Don’t tango with this Amanita, Forest Drag Queen Her perfume so sweet, you could eat her But, a horrible death you will meet, aah! Yes, a horrible death you will meet, aah! If you tango with this Amanita. La-la-laa Little Amanita Phalloides, Lingering under the trees. Little Amanita Phalloides, Smelling of roses in the breeze. La-la-laa
14.
RAFFLE CHICKEN Have you got your chicken for the raffle?” I heard the man say. The prize is a battle of wine. Oh, I thought, this reminds me of A lice in Sunderland, As the wine grows And the veg table shrinks. I was never any good at tables, Two or ten, they never grew, They were always stunted in some way. Anyway, I got my chicken for the raffle, Still living and feathered. It clucked off As soon as I put it down. I said, “That was my chicken. What happens when it’s drawn?” No, it’s clucked off To avoid being drawn. Chicken’s don’t like that. So, my raffle chicken lived to be sold again And the man kept the battle of wine, Which was now only a bottle And had grown to normal size As the table sank. I left right away, Turning right on the road on the left. I met my chicken Playing chicken with the traffickers Trading in old money, Lack of dosh, Which was the cause of A lice in Sunderland Creeping about having been dealt by old Doc Side Who needled everyone. Needless to say, That’s how my raffle chicken Got off its perch.
15.
Bit of Skirt 02:15
A BIT OF SKIRT A young woman went walking down the town In a skirt so short it made the elders frown, The elders frown, the elders frown, In a skirt so short it made the elders frown. This skirt it barely covered her thigh. It made the young men to ogle and cry, Ogle and cry, ogle and cry. It made the young men to ogle and cry. This skirt it barely covered her seat. It made the young mens’ hearts to beat, Hearts to beat, hearts to beat. It made the young mens’ hearts to beat. At the door of a bar the young women went in. The elders said it was a place of sin, A place of sin, a place of sin. The elders said it was a place of sin. The young men followed, hoping for more, Than the sound of music that came from the door, Hoping for more, hoping for more Than the sound of music that came from the door. They entered the bar and found out then It was full of women that didn’t care for men, Didn’t care for men, didn’t care for men. It was full of women that didn’t care for men. The women they all did laugh and shout While the young men ran as in a rout, As in a rout, as in a rout While the young men ran as in a rout. The men came out their hopes all dashed Out in the street both hard and fast, Both hard and fast, both hard and fast. Out in the street both hard and fast. The elders all laughed at their distress For following a young woman partly dressed, Partly dressed, partly dressed For following a young woman partly dressed. “Let that be a lesson,” the elders said, “A short skirt and a flash of thigh Don’t mean she’s ready to sell What you want to buy, What you want to buy, what you want to buy, Ready to sell what you want to buy.”
16.
HARD TIMES ON TYNE “What’s the matter with you ma lad? Why ’re you such a dismal Jimmy? Your lookin’ dooncast a’l the day Noo then ya can’t deny it. Tell me a’l your troubles lad And listenin’, a will try it.” “Way the Labour put me on the dole, Noo Tories will na gi me any. They say that I must try ti wark Or benefit they’ll deny me But a prefer ti stay back yam All day awatchin’ tele. The Labour let me sign the book And put me on the Sick. Tha Tories say I’m better noo An I must wark right quick. If there war jobs roond heor Theor sum would gan an try it But theor a none;theor a’l lang gone Theor’s none that can deny it. Tha dole’s becum me way o’life, A way that wor me da’s After last Tory lot claesed al the pits So wark there was na any. The shipyards gone, the factories too, Though call centres there are plenty, Na proper jobs for me an’ you Just a few for the young and trendy. Sa if ya listenin’ ,Labour lot, I may not have gone an voted But come back soon, restore ma dole For I am so doonhearted. That’s the matter wi’ me ma lad And why I’m a dismal Jimmy. Theors na wan heor can put it right Until tha next election An by that time it’ll be too late I’ll be dead from natural selection”
17.
Faded Star 01:30
FADED STAR Ma mother’s a creeple in Nashville, With one leg, ma brother can’t dance But he’s practising the hoppy hoedown, Say sister, give us a chance. Ma mother’s a creeple in Nashville, She’ll sing you a song on one lung; She’ll cough you up Country and Western And spit it out “where eet belong”. Ma mother’s a creeple in Nashville, She’s crawled up and down Tenessee Before that sad day when her voice trailed away She’d starred at the “Graand ole Opree”. Oh, she’d put a lump in your throat with her singin’, A voice to bring tears of pure joy, Now she whispers for dimes on street corners, “Sir, show me you’re a good ole boy”. A mother’s a creeple in Nashville, She’s having to beg for her breead. She’s a one legged son an’ her daughters a nun But she’s trying to hold up her heead, Yeas, she’s trying to hold up her heead.
18.
DANGEROUS DOG I'm a rotweiler, name of Jake. I've got a job to do, make no mistake, But I'm sick of arse and trouser pie. The Governor keeps me on a chain all day And even when I get a walk it's,"Heel.Stay." Sodding orders all the time. Other dogs, They're running free sniffing backsides but No, not me, I don't even get to pee up lamp posts, Security risk, you see, and as for anything else, Can't get caught with my trousers down. CHORUS At night I get to go on building sites, round Banks and offices, superstores and such And as soon as there's trouble it's me That shoots it. "Go kill!" the Governor shouts And I'm off after the louts. I don't enjoy it much. Why do they do it! If only they could run faster But no it's always the same when the crunch comes. CHORUS I'd like to retire to a good home, a kindly cuddle, A loving pat, stretched out on the mat Before the fire but it'll never be. No use for rotweilers too old for work, No brown envelope just death, I'm dangerous you see. Well, I'd not Have been bred if I was not so, Don't you weep for me. I'm a rotweiler, name of Jake. I've got a job to do, make no mistake, But I'm sick of arse and trouser pie.

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This Album is a collection of unaccompanied song and songs with harp and lyre. It has been a way of collecting and presenting songs that Tony Morris sings in performance but which some people hearing them may regard them as 'Dodgy' or improper for some reason. So, here they are as a Collection.

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released November 13, 2014

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Tony Morris Whitby, UK

TONY MORRIS is an Own Brand Performer and Entertainer who performs his own songs and music.".
Currently running Covideo Folk Club Facebook Group.
About 200 rough and ready warts and all videos on his Facebook Profile Site, Be amazed.
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