The Vault


Pull us a pint o’ Toby love
and take one for yourself
Me head’s a shed I’m almost dead
cheers all the best and good health

I never thought I’d see the day
when mine and hers roles were reversed
I was a proud working man before that dock closure plan
and now it’s the wife that works
They paid me off and they paid me out
ten grand in the Gorton Tank
But I pissed it all against the wall
and what’s left in me bank ain’t worth a wank

How’s it goin’ how’s your Dave?
no-one’s seen him since he got barred
I always said he was a twistin’ bastard
fiddlin’ that fuckin’ namecard
Alright Terry me old mucker
how’s ya Mam everything alright?
I’m outta collar myself our kid
could do with a few days cash in hand like

I’m out on me Jack tomorra night
she’s off down the bingo wi’ their Mandy
Jimmy’ll lend ya a couple o’ quid
he’s just dropped a ton on the bandit
I see our boys have set sail from Southampton
to sort them fuckin Argies
Had a Ruby Murray for me tea tonight
wi’ rice an’ some nice of onion bhajis

This country’s on it’s knees
what chance ‘ave them young uns got?
There’s Labour Liberal Tory
and they all piss in the same fuckin’ pot
How can that not be a fuckin’ goal
how could that be disallowed?
I’ve just rang the wife to see what’s for supper
she said I’m just warming it up for ya now

My lads run through women
like water through firemens hoses
They could all fall head first in a barrel o’ shit
and still come out smelling o’ roses
That’s our kid on the day he got married
wiv his kipper tie and John Collier whistle
That’s his mother in law there at the back
wiv a face like a fox lickin’ shit of a thistle

That prick there sez he dunt like the Irish
or any foreigners black or brown
But he’s supping Guinness he loves a curry
and he’ll dance to that Tamla Motown
My lad’s on his works doo
free food as much as he can sup
Alright Sheila, new fur coat
has your Graham had a fuckin’ Yankee up?

Lung Cancer at forty six
he sez he ain’t stopping smoking
Lovely fella seen him only last week
stood here wi’ me laughing and joking
Right I’m off that’s me ’til tommora
I’m going ‘fore she gets in a mood
She’ll be alright I’ll stop at the chippy
she dunt moan if I come home wi’ food
Two chips and gravy two buttered barms
and a 2p plastic fork
Wrap one up and leave one open
i’ll eat mine while I walk

© JB Barrington 2013 © words escape me 2013

About JB Barrington

The words & verse of JB Barrington; performance poet from Salford. Lovely stuff, touches heart strings and the odd raw nerve - Johnny Vegas Great poems; great delivery - Terry Christian A warm charm, a rapier wit and a real appreciation of words - Louder Than War
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1 Response to The Vault

  1. mike duff says:

    I liked it jb….the flavour of a time gone by….all the pubs are shut or shutting now….last orders has been called on a generation

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