Me and Vincent Van Gogh

I said to Van Gogh "why'd you cut off your ear
If I knew you were depressed I would have bought you a beer
Or you could have phoned the Samaritans instead
You can't just go hacking off bits of your head"

"I think you're painting some decent stuff
It's just that you don't push it round enough
That one of the cornfield was bloody good
That could earn a few million at Christies
It could"

"Now Vinny" I said "I don't wanna lecture you
But to have just one ear could adversely affect you
Think positive man, look at the talent you've got"
And he looked round at me, paintbrush in hand and said
"WHAT?"

Football Fan

I’m a football fan
That’s what I am
A slave to the round ball
Been obsessed since I was at school
I’m in it for the long haul
I’m a football fan

It’s the game to excite
A flame that I ignite
It’s got body
It’s got bite
From August through to May
Every Saturday
I’m kicking every ball
Studying each replay
When June and July’s got the sun
My days are grey
They take my football away
I’m a football fan

The beautiful game
Keep it simple
Keep it plain
It stimulates my brain
It eases my pain
When I see the ball go in the net
I’m as happy as I get
It’s my drug
It’s my bug
I’ll never be a football thug
That game’s for mugs
That’s not my game
What’s my name?
Mr football fan

From 3 to 5
I’m on the edge of a knife
This is a marriage for life
I don’t need a wife
I don’t need a spouse
I ain’t even got room for God in my house
I’m already living with a giant
Not a mouse
With a capital F
I love it to death
Always welcome as a guest
It’s got me possessed
Gonna say it with my last breath
I’m a football fan

I’m a Slob

I live to watch telly
Got a huge beer belly
I’m sweaty and smelly
My brain’s turned to jelly
I’m all mouth and trousers and gob
What am I?
I’m a slob

I ain’t got not grace
Can’t keep up with life’s pace
I’m in yer face
Invade your personal space
I’m allergic to every job
What am I?
I’m a slob

I’m overweight
I wanna vegetate
I’ll eat off your plate
Healthy food I hate
Gimme burgers not corn on the cob
What am I?
I’m a slob

I try and look hard
I’m a tub of lard
I’ve never read the Bard
Don’t need a Travelcard
‘Cause I’ll just sit on my bum all day
Till a forklift truck carts me away
I am a human blob
What am I?
I’m a slob

My Lollipop

This is
My lollipop
Don’t lick it
Don’t nick it
I picked it
From the shop
So you can’t have it
Don’t grab it
Or nab it
Please stop
Or I’ll call the cops
‘Cause this is
My lollipop

If you take it
You might break it
Or cover it in slop
Or even drop
My lollipop

No!
I don’t want to do a swap
With your chocolate bar
Or your Lego car
‘Cause it’s
My lollipop

Just buy your own
Then I won’t have to moan
Or groan
Like a dog who’s lost its bone
You can take yours home
And leave mine alone
So I can enjoy my time
Tasting lemon and lime
That’s a flavour
I can savour
The flavour that’s top
The yummy in the tummy taste of
My lollipop

Gutted

One hand was on the FA Cup
Ninety minutes were almost up
We’d nearly done it
We’d nearly won it
But the whistle then blew
It couldn’t be true
A penalty - awarded to the Blues!
Their striker shot, scored
And it was 2-2
I was GUTTED

We were robbed
Then in extra-time our goalie was lobbed
Final result: 2-3
My world had fallen in on me
From ecstasy
To misery
I was sicker than the sickest parrot could ever be
I was GUTTED

Oh so close to touching a dream
As sweet as the sweetest strawberry ice-cream
But now so far away
I would have settled for a replay
Next week
I couldn’t speak
No words left to say
I was GUTTED

I was shattered
Winning the Cup was all that mattered
In my life
I’d been stabbed in the back by the sharpest knife
Depression was rife
I was GUTTED

But I’ll still wear my United scarf
Re-discover the way to laugh
I’ll focus on next season
Well, it’s all that’s left
And when I look for reasons for our defeat
I’ll just blame the ref
For this fate that’s worse than death
I was GUTTED

When the Music Ran Out

I had a horrid nightmare about
When the music all ran out
When the radio had no sound
When there was silence all around
When the magic that made the melody
Was just a distant memory
A buried treasure underground
Lost and never to be found
When the music ran out

iPods were idle
CDs ceased - all blank
The notes were all stolen
From the musical bank
Concert halls stood empty
Discos deserted and dead
No more songs left to write
Or to stick in people’s heads
So they read
Books instead
When the music ran out

A, B, C, D, E, F, G
Were consigned to history
F-sharp, A-minor, B-flat too
All unemployed with nothing to do
Standing in a long dole queue
On that day
When there were no tunes left to play
They packed the instruments away
Coloured rainbows turned to grey
Rappers were wrecked
DJs in disarray
Buskers broken in dismay
When the music ran out

Whistlers couldn’t whistle
Dancers couldn’t dance
Hummingbirds that tried to hum
Didn’t have a chance…
But when I woke up from my dream
I could feel my heart beat
I began to tap my feet
I switched on my MP3
And everything came back to me
My ears enthralled in ecstasy
Elton John, Sugarbabes, Beatles, Rolling Stones
Robbie Williams, Girls Aloud, Abba, Norah Jones
Oasis, Eminem, Queen, Elvis, U2
Franz Ferdinand, Green Day, Madonna, Blur and Muse
Left me without a doubt
That there will NEVER be a day
(I’m sooooooo relieved to say)
When the music runs out

When the Music Ran Out

I had a horrid nightmare about
When the music all ran out
When the radio had no sound
When there was silence all around
When the magic that made the melody
Was just a distant memory
A buried treasure underground
Lost and never to be found
When the music ran out

iPods were idle
CDs ceased - all blank
The notes were all stolen
From the musical bank
Concert halls stood empty
Discos deserted and dead
No more songs left to write
Or to stick in people’s heads
So they read
Books instead
When the music ran out

A, B, C, D, E, F, G
Were consigned to history
F-sharp, A-minor, B-flat too
All unemployed with nothing to do
Standing in a long dole queue
On that day
When there were no tunes left to play
They packed the instruments away
Coloured rainbows turned to grey
Rappers were wrecked
DJs in disarray
Buskers broken in dismay
When the music ran out

Whistlers couldn’t whistle
Dancers couldn’t dance
Hummingbirds that tried to hum
Didn’t have a chance…
But when I woke up from my dream
I could feel my heart beat
I began to tap my feet
I switched on my MP3
And everything came back to me
My ears enthralled in ecstasy
Elton John, Sugarbabes, Beatles, Rolling Stones
Robbie Williams, Girls Aloud, Abba, Norah Jones
Oasis, Eminem, Queen, Elvis, U2
Franz Ferdinand, Green Day, Madonna, Blur and Muse
Left me without a doubt
That there will NEVER be a day
(I’m sooooooo relieved to say)
When the music runs out

Don’t Tread on Me Trainers

Don’t tread on me trainers mate
You wouldn’t like me when I’m irate
Don’t you dare get them in a state
DON’T TREAD ON ME TRAINERS

Don’t tread on me trainers kids
You’ll soon regret you ever did
These Nike’s cost me two hundred
DON’T TREAD ON ME TRAINERS

Tread on me dog’s tail
Tread on me cat’s
Tread on me carpet
I can handle that
But I don’t want me trainers
Scuffed, tatty or flat so
DON’T TREAD ON ME TRAINERS

If you tread on me trainers buster
I’ll bash you with all the strength I can muster
Have you seen the size of me knuckle duster?
DON’T TREAD ON ME TRAINERS

Don’t tread on me trainers – please!
Or you’ll end up like grated cheese
If you don’t want hammers on your knees then
DON’T TREAD ON ME TRAINERS

Tread on me car
Tread on me bed
Tread on me new suit
I’ll buy another instead
But if you tread on me trainers
I’ll tread on your head so
DON’T TREAD ON ME TRAINERS

It’s Poetry

There’s a dictionary buzzing round inside my head
Full of all the words I’ve ever heard
And all those I’ve ever read
It nags at me
“Don’t do that Neal - write a poem instead”
It’s three o’clock in the morning
I’m all tucked up in bed
But it’s got its hooks in me
It’s not reading books for me
Or playing my CD
Or my DVD
Or my PSP
Or Liverpool FC
What’s my hobby?
It’s poetry

Poems about football fans
Poems about smelly fish
Poems about corned beef
Poems about anything you wish
Poems about the Prime Minister
Poems about school
Poems about poems
Poems about anything at all
What’s it gonna be?
Pick a category
It’s poetry

I hear rhythms
I hear rhyming
It’s the gold that I am mining
It’s my dark cloud’s silver lining
And you can join me too
All you have to do
Is grab a pen or your computer
Write or type whatever suits ya
Set your mind free
Find creativity
Easy as ABC
On the count of three
Just follow me
It’s poetry

Sid the Cyclist

Sid is a man with a mission
A cyclist obsessed
He cycles all around the world
In just his shorts and vest
At two years old he sat and passed
His Cycling Proficiency Test

Now he cycles all round Sainsbury’s
He cycles upstairs to bed
He cycles just across the road
To get a loaf of bread
People say “there’s something seriously wrong inside his head”

The Red Sea parted and he cycled through it
He cycles through time and space
He has that `I was born to cycle’ look etched upon his face
Question: Where has Sid not cycled to?
Answer: There isn’t such a place

One day he went to Serbia
The next day he was back
The Tour De France he won along the way was just a snack
When it comes to cycling Sid surely has the knack
Some say he’ll die exhausted or through a heart attack
But he don’t care if people criticise or take the Michael
He says, “My motto is:
I live therefore I cycle”

He cycles up the M1
He cycles to the South Pole
In last year’s FA Cup Final he cycled through the goal
You can’t stop him when he’s on a roll
He cycles up escalators
Over mountains and though valleys
And (ignoring the `no cycling’ signs) illegally down alleys

Sid is an eco-warrior
He says “I cycle ‘cause I like it
You can keep your trains
Buses, cars and planes
‘Cause me
I’d rather bike it”

Me and City

Me and City
We’re tied together for eternity
I treat you like royalty
Give you blind loyalty
But it’s not much fun
‘Cause when you score one
The other team scores two or three
Or four
Or even more
Our relationship’s
Not in the Premiership
‘Cause when I look at you
I see the bottom of League 2
I’m full of frustration
Life’s a constant battle against relegation
I want you to be first in our footballing nation
But it’s not meant to be
For me and City

I wanna get excited
I wanna hammer Man United
I wanna win the Champions League that would do
But instead
You play like you’re dead
Like you ain’t got out of bed
So every game for me
Is sheer agony
I shut my eyes when you’re live on TV
But despite regular humiliation
I put aside disappointment and aggravation
To follow those who play in blue
My love is constant and true
I’m a devotee
It’s still me and City

So don’t laugh
At the sight of my scarf
Or tell me I’m daft
To support this team
‘Cause I can dream
That one day we’ll be the cream
Of the crop
No more will we flop
We’ll dodge the drop
We’ll come out on top
But the bubble won’t pop
The trophies won’t stop
We’ll beat Liverpool six-nil in front of the Kop
But till then I’ll say `whatever’
‘Cause I’m stuck with you forever
Divorcing you never
Till beyond infinity
It’s me and City

My Computer is Taking Me Over

I have two legs
But I don’t need ‘em
A library of books
But I don’t read ‘em
My mum says “go play in the garden”
But I don’t use my freedom
‘Cause there’s a ball and chain
Pulling hard at my brain
My computer is taking me over

My IT
Has a hold on me
I’m losing touch with reality
My friend’s are computer generated boys and girls
Living inside my virtual world
Endless games
Main frames
And too much hi-tech
Are turning my mind and body into a wreck
My computer is taking me over

Every day and every night
I sit alone at my screen
Whether dark or light
When I’m hungry I don’t need food
But ten kilobytes
To eat
I’m selling my trainers
‘Cause I don’t need my feet
My computer is taking me over

I once talked to my parents
I once talked to my mates
Now I sit in a hypnotised mesmerised state
And with no exercise
I’ve put on four stone in weight
There’s no exiting this cybernetic fate
My computer is taking me over

My PC and me
Are in harmony
I’ve even started talking binary
My computer is taking me
Into a robot it’s making me
My computer is taking me over

Old Superman

His hair is grey and every day
A little more strength slips away
He's not so brave, he's not so bold
Yes Superman is getting old

His x-ray vision once was good
Now it can't help him see through wood
His laser eyes are just a spark
That flicker dimly in the dark

No superbaddies are around
They're in the graveyard underground
So unemployed he'll have to stay
Although he’s proved crime doesn't pay

He never faces kryptonite
He never has to have a fight
He lives with superhero mates
Who also near their sell by dates

To keep fit he might take a jog
Or choose to walk with Superdog
Who's aging too and rather fat
Unable to chase Supercat

Each week he'll buy some flowers to send
To Lois Lane who's still his friend
(Though not reporting anymore
As she's approaching eighty-four)

And when the weather’s warm and dry
He zooms about up in the sky
A crowd will shout from down below
“He's ninety-five but watch him go!”

His super costume’s thin and worn
He wears it when he mows the lawn
For gardening takes up his time
Tackling weeds instead of crime

So things have changed and people gone
But Superman goes on and on
Continuing to be the best
To help you if you’re in distress

My Teacher’s Got Eyes in the Back of Her Head

My teacher’s got eyes in the back of her head
So you’d better listen to what she said
She probably knows what you’re doing
Even when you’re in bed
If you muck about
Don’t you know she’ll catch you out? 
It’s one false move and you’re dead

You’re never out of her sights
So watch out where you tread
Where’s my teacher got eyes?
In the back of her head

My teacher’s got ears in strange places too
If someone talks on assembly then she always knows who
She gave me detention because I spoke to you
If you say a word
Don’t you know that you’ll be heard?
But how she does it I haven’t a clue

She’s got x-ray vision
She’ll fill you with dread
Where’s my teacher got eyes?
In the back of her head

My teacher knows when I’m telling lies
I think she’s employing an army of spies
I say “Dog ate my homework Miss” but she’s too wise
When you tell any fib
Don’t you know she’ll know you did?
She’ll say “Stop telling porky pies”

So don’t mess with my teacher 
Pick another instead
Where’s my teacher got eyes?
In the back of her head

Maria Sharapova

Maria Sharapova, Maria Sharapova
Just give me five minutes 
In the back of my Vauxhall Nova
You wouldn’t even have to remove your pullover
Maria Sharapova

I watch you play tennis
In the hope that you bend over
And pick up the ball
If I scored with you would it be love all?
(It’s a shame that you look like you’re still at school)
Maria Sharapova

You can beat me on synthetic
Grass and clay
It would give me great joy
To be your ball boy
Any day
So why don’t we make a getaway
In your Lada
In my wallet I keep a photo of you
From page three of Pravda
Maria Sharapova

Lyndsey Davenport – not my sort
Jennifer Capriati – much too tarty
Martina Hingis – always whinges
Boris Becker – tiny pecker
Martina Navratilova – prefers Anna Kournikova
Or Hana Mandlikova
Or Betty Stova
Or you to me
Maria Sharapova

I can’t get you out of my head
I wish you were the red under my bed
On the Russian Steppes together we could be wed
I’d like to ask you round for coffee
But I’m afraid you might say
“Nyet”