A Tidy Pair of Trainers

[A respectful parody of British rapper Mike Skinner aka The Streets. Contains authentic bad language]

Squeaking through the room like a vampire bat
In high-heeled shoes and a funny hat
I said to the barman who the fuck's that?
Oh it must be the bird from Fleetwood Mac.
Well we'd had a few drinks but we wasn't pissed.
More chimps on the pull than gorillas in the mist.
And though finding some talent was high on our list.
This weird witchy woman was easy to resist.

All I want is a big bag of cash
And a tidy pair of trainers.
The chance to offload about girls and drugs
And the pressures of being famous.
A decent spliff and a can of beer
For a moment of contemplation.
'Cos three whole albums down the line
I'm running low on inspiration.

Saw her again at some music awards.
Sitting with Seal looking well fucking bored.
I gave her a wave, which was blindly ignored
So I went back to flicking fag butts at Shayne Ward.
Downed two bottles of corporate champagne
Then stumbled right over and asked for her name
It's Alison Goldfrapp she said with disdain
Now fuck off back to the streets whence you came.

All I want is a bit of respect
And a tidy pair of trainers.
A welcome letter from America
Like that song by The Proclaimers.
A sponsorship deal from a high-street brand
And a Mr Men lunchbox and flask
Some photos of me looking moody but hard
I mean come on is that too much to ask?

Purple Rinse: Grandma's Lust For Prince

[God knows which dark recess of my mind this came from but it's a bit rude. But then so is Prince...]
"He seems nice," my grandma said
When Prince had left the house
"Perfect manners, lovely smile
And quiet as a mouse.
Tell him to pop round again
He's welcome any time.
There are several new positions
That I'm curious to try."

"Whatever would the neighbours say"
I asked her with a grin.
"If they knew his Purple Highness
Was your latest sexual plaything?
They'll stare at you in Tesco
When you're buying fresh whipped cream.
And claim they saw you on the bus
Masturbating with a magazine."

"I don't care what people think"
She mumbled through her cupcake.
"No-one raised an eyebrow
When I was humping Justin Timberlake.
Or when I placed that advert
In the second-hand shop window
Offering my expert services
On Tuesdays after bingo.

Prince knows how to treat
An open-minded geriatric
He'll set us up for foursomes
With a drummer and a fat chick.
His nimble hands will work
My wrinkly body like a pro
While his naughty tongue
Gently works its magic down below."

Unfortunately for Grandma
Prince declined her kind relief
He prefers much younger women
Who still have their natural teeth.
But she seems quite optimistic
That she'll land another lover
Preferably a sandwich between
Morrissey and Usher.

Paul McCartney Must Be Stopped

[Not a very nice sentiment admittedly, but enough's enough]

Remember mad Russian Rasputin?
They had to poison, drown and shoot him.
Of course these things don't happen now
Under President Vladimir Putin.
But if such executions
Should resume, then I insist
That old Sir Paul McCartney
Be the first name on the list.

It's true the man is talented
And has written some classic songs.
But he threatens to tarnish his legacy
By insisting on carrying on.
His music has been irrelevant
Since 1984 at least.
That cartoon with the singing frogs
Or maybe Pipes of Peace.

I have no need to hear more tunes
About birds and days of yore.
Nor double-length live albums
With the same tracks as the one before.
Drones on about going back to his roots,
As far as I'm concerned he can stay there
The only roots he needs to worry about
Are the ones from his badly-dyed grey hair.

I'm sure that he and Heather
Both deserve a longterm break.
They can live off all those
Millions in royalties he rakes.
Take a holiday indefinitely
And think proudly of the past.
Just ensure his latest album
Is most certainly his last.

tags: mccartney heather beatles rasputin hair poems

Podcast Poetry with Oasis

[A fictional transcript of Noel Gallagher's first foray into the exciting world of podcasting, on behalf of his Big Brother label.]

Hello world and welcome
To our first exclusive podcast.
As usual in the race to set
The trends it seems we've come last.
But now we've overcome
Initial doubts and techno fears
To make this feast of fun
And crazy content for your ears.

Let me start by slagging
Damon Albarn off for once.
Oh he thinks he's hip and clever
But he'll always be a ponce.
Now he hides behind some idiotic
Monkey-faced cartoon.
Singing in a strained falsetto like
A castrated Looney Tune.

Coldplay, they're another
Soggy slice of middle class
Wouldn't know a rock and roll vibe
If it bit them on the arse.
Radiohead, now what the hell
Is that rubbish they churn out?
Write some proper songs you freaks
And stop noodling about.

Now lets plug our album
'Cos it hasn't sold enough.
Go tell all your friends to buy it
They can skip through Liam's stuff.
There's at least three decent tracks
And the production's pretty slick
Shame my talent has been on the wane
Since 1996.

Oh hang on, Conor McNicholas
From the NME just arrived.
Seems that every poxy podcast
Must be checked and verified.
Well I don't have time to justify
My genius to some git.
I'm off for a beef Pot Noodle
Let Liam finish this shit.


tags: oasis noel gallagher podcast guardian liam gallagher

Spirits of Rock

[Inspired by the recent dubious attempt to contact John Lennon in a TV seance]


"Speak to me Kurt," the medium said.
But the signal was as flat as Keira Knightley.
I guess it's hard to talk when you don't have a head.
Not to mention looking rather unsightly.
So she moved on, to Jim Morrison
Who we thought would be good for a laugh.
But no-one replied with a lizard-based song.
I suppose he was stuck in the bath.

No talk on the line from the late Johnny Cash.
Michael Hutchence wasn't hanging around.
I guess Buddy Holly must already have crashed.
George Harrison didn't make a sound.
Mama Cass may have been choking on something.
Elvis didn't rise from his seat.
Either Sid Vicious was busy shooting junk in
Or forcing Karen Carpenter to eat.

After two hours of nothing but silence
A voice from the other side spoke
It said "What's the point of this farcical seance
Is it meant to be some kind of joke?
You're messing with things that you don't understand
And I strongly advise you to stop.
And curse this crappy cable channel In Demand
For charging ten dollars a pop."