Roger McGough - Lily the Pink 1968

I’m a nooligan
dont give a toss
in our class
I’m the boss
(well, one of them)

I’m a nooligan
got a nard ‘ead
step out of line
and youre dead
(well, bleedin)

I’m a nooligan
I spray me name
all over town
footballs me game
(well, watchin)

I’m a nooligan
violence is fun
gonna be a nassassin
or a hired gun
(well, a soldier)
 
I’m a nooligan
dont give a toss
in our class
I’m the boss
(well, one of them)

I’m a nooligan
got a nard ‘ead
step out of line
and youre dead
(well, bleedin)

I’m a nooligan
I spray me name
all over town
footballs me game
(well, watchin)

I’m a nooligan
violence is fun
gonna be a nassassin
or a hired gun
(well, a soldier)
I never realised that was the same guy who was part of Scaffold.

We tortured my brother Tony with the words of that song and especially when he wouldn't eat his meals. Up until reading the lyrics I always thought the words were 'Brother Tony' and not 'Robert Tony.' 🤣 🤣 🤣


Robert Tony was known to be bony
He would never eat his meal
And so they gave him medicinal compound
Now they move him round on wheels
 
And to any of the 70s/80s Whinney Banks lads, Tommy (the) Hammer (had a terrible stammer) could often be seen traipsing around Bruce Avenue in his donkey jacket and 3 sizes too big wellies.
 
Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death

When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party

Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides

Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one

Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death.
 
A stranger called this morning
Dressed all in black and grey
Put every sound into a bag
And carried them away

The whistling of the kettle
The turning of the lock
The purring of the kitten
The ticking of the clock

The popping of the toaster
The crunching of the flakes
When you spread the marmalade
The scraping noise it makes

The hissing of the frying pan
The ticking of the grill
The bubbling of the bathtub
As it starts to fill

The drumming of the raindrops
On the windowpane
When you do the washing-up
The gurgle of the drain

The crying of the baby
The squeaking of the chair
The swishing of the curtain
The creaking of the stair

A stranger called this morning
He didn't leave his name
Left us only silence
Life will never be the same
 

Chaos ruled OK in the classroom​

as bravely the teacher walked in
the nooligans ignored him
his voice was lost in the din

'The theme for today is violence
and homework will be set
I'm going to teach you a lesson
one that you'll never forget'

He picked on a boy who was shouting
and throttled him then and there
then garrotted the girl behind him
(the one with grotty hair)

Then sword in hand he hacked his way
between the chattering rows
'First come, first severed' he declared
'fingers, feet or toes'

He threw the sword at a latecomer
it struck with deadly aim
then pulling out a shotgun
he continued with his game

The first blast cleared the backrow
(where those who skive hang out)
they collapsed like rubber dinghies
when the plug's pulled out

'Please may I leave the room sir? '
a trembling vandal enquired
'Of course you may' said teacher
put the gun to his temple and fired

The Head popped a head round the doorway
to see why a din was being made
nodded understandingly
then tossed in a grenade

And when the ammo was well spent
with blood on every chair
Silence shuffled forward
with its hands up in the air

The teacher surveyed the carnage
the dying and the dead
He waggled a finger severely
'Now let that be a lesson' he said
 
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