CPL. KIPPER'S BARNSLEY TRADES CLUB TURN 

LYRICS

Cpl. Kipper’s Barnsley Trades Club Turn

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

It were a couple of years ago today,

Cpl. Kipper got locked away

And his singing’s never been in style,

But he’s guaranteed to raise a smile

So may I introduce to you,

The act you’ve known for all these years…

Cpl. Kipper’s Barnsley Trades Club Turn

 

It’s Cpl. Kipper’s Barnsley Trades Club Turn

He’s the greatest Karaoke King

Cpl. Kipper’s Barnsley Trades Club Turn

You’ll love him ‘cos he loves to sing

Cpl. Kipper’s Barnsley, Cpl. Kipper’s Barnsley,

Cpl. Kipper’s Barnsley Trades Club Turn

 

It’s champion to sithee

Sit back, enjoy the show

You’re such a lovely audience

I love to sing in public, but if I do I’ll breach me ASBO

 

I dun’t really wanna stop the show,

But I thought you might like to know

That the lad’s are gonna sing their songs,

And we want you all to sing along.

So let me introduce to you,

The one and only Bar-Steward Sons

With Cpl. Kipper’s Barnsley Trades Club Turn

 

Doo-ni-cans!

 

 

Darn Tarn 

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Danny Doonican / Amanda White

 

It’s seven o’clock, the taxi’s honkin’ his horn

He’s here to take you there… rarnd Tarn

Your best floral shirt and you’re covered in Brut

And now you’re on your way… rarnd Tarn

You’re thinkin’ ‘bout your big night out

And all the classy totty

And drinkin’ half your weight in beer

To piss it darn the potty

We’ll all be there

 

The lights are much brighter there

You can forget all your troubles - forget all your cares

 

When you’re rarnd Tarn

Things’ll be great when you’re rarnd Tarn

You and your mates are off rarnd Tarn

The ladies are waiting for you  

 

Hitting the bars and having too many jars

The lads are art in force… rarnd Tarn

Trying to flirt when you’ve got beer down yer shirt

The ladies aren’t impressed… rarnd Tarn

Girls with skirts that look like belts,

And bouncers seeking trouble

“Yer names not darn, you can’t come in,

So piss off on the double”

This pavement’s quite hard

 

Everyone’s a fighter there

You’ve lost all your mates; you’ve got sick in yer hair

And you’re rarnd Tarn

Can’t get in the club, you’re stuck rarnd Tarn

You go for some grub somewhere rarnd Tarn

The kebab-shop is waiting for you

 

It’s quarter past three and your tekkin’ a wee

Against a shop window… rarnd Tarn

Kebab in yer hand, you think it tastes grand

Until you throw it up… on t’ground

You stagger to the taxi rank,

Your legs they feel like rubber

No money in your wallet, you’re a paralytic bugger

You get in the queue

 

You’ve not got a single care

You’ll forget your address, lose your taxi fare

 

When you’re plastered

Everyone stares when you’re plastered

All the girls think you’re a numpty

Nobody cares about you

 

Wath-On-Dearne Blues

Lyrics: Mike Harding

 

Well I wok’ up this mornin’,

Din’t feel reight grand tha knows

I wok’ up this mornin’,

Din’t feel reight greatly tha knows

Got so drunk last neet,

Fell in love wi’ a big garden gnome

 

Well I put me arms ararnd him

Laid him on the grass

Well I put me arms ararnd him

Laid him on the grass

But I got reight worried

When he started kissin’ me… back

 

Tha knows I play all them blues

By Blind Lemon Jefferson and Booker T.

Tha knows I play all them blues

By Blind Lemon Jefferson and Booker T.

But it sounds like Burt Weedon strangling Gracie Fields

 

I said I met a lass in Barnsley

So I thought I’d tek a chance

I said I met a lass in Barnsley

So I thought I’d tek a chance

I put Brut in me socks

And self-raisin’ flour down me pants

 

She said “Lad take off thy underpants,

I tell thee this is it”

She said “Lad take off thy underpants,

I tell thee this is it”

I says “You can tek ‘em off and yer welcome,

But I doubt if they’ll bloody well fit!”

 

She said “Let’s get some baby oil

And tek it up to bed with us”

She said “Let’s get some baby oil

And tek it up to bed with us”

Well I drank that baby oil,

But it just made me throw up

 

She said “I want to feel the earth move

When tha meks love to me”

She said “I want to feel the earth move

When tha meks love to me”

I said “At this time of night,

Where am I going to find a JCB?”

 

 

When We’re Playing Pub Gigs

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

When we go entertaining to earn an honest bob

For a nosy Bar-Steward it’s an interesting job

Now it’s our job and you’d agree,

A Bar-Steward Son is fun to be

If you could see the things we see

When we’re playing pub gigs

 

In our profession we will play until you make us stop

We’ll never bother the hit parade or make it to the top

 

A local bloke, he dun’t look swell,

He likes a pint, it’s plain to tell

I bet he’d drink his bath as well, if it was full of Guinness

He staggers drunk, props up the bar,

He’s had a few too many jars

He sets off home but he won’t get far,

‘cos he’s chucked-up in his taxi

 

In our profession we will play until you make us stop

We’ll never bother the hit parade or make it to the top

 

Friday night at the Big Pub Quiz,

The local know-all, he’s the biz

But he didn’t win ‘cos we copied his

Answers from his quiz sheet

The Sat’day night Karaoke King,

Has ten pints then shakes his thing

Thinks he’s James Brown, but cannot sing

A note in tune for toffee

 

In our profession we will play until you make us stop

We’ll never bother the hit parade or make it to the top

Football on the plasma screen,

Lads gather drunk to cheer their team

“Come on England!” goes the scream,

And “The referee’s a wanker!”

While the girls wear belts instead of clothes

If she’s selling those puppies, I suppose

I’ll have the one with the small pink nose

‘cos you can’t go blind from looking

 

In our profession we will play until you make us stop

We’ll never bother the hit parade or make it to the top

 

So when we’ve been entertaining to earn an honest bob

For a knackered Bar-Steward it’s a dead exhausting job

Now it’s quite clear, it’s plain to see,

I’m not Tom Jones, won’t ever be

‘cos they throw pints, not pants at me,

When I’m playing pub gigs!

 

But it’s a laugh and you’d agree,

A Bar-Steward Son is fun to be

If you could see the things we see

When we’re playing pub gigs

 

 

No Fillin’ In Me Pie

Lyrics: Danny Doonican

 

I nipped to Terry’s butty van for a belly bustin’ treat

There were a picture of a massive pie

With about half a pound of meat

I parted with me £2.10, ‘twas cheap at twice the price

But when I cut the crusty top, I couldn’t believe me eyes

 

Bloody hell mate! Hold the gravy!

There’s no fillin’ in me pie!

 

I delved around inside the crust to try and find me meat

But all I found were onions

And they don’t agree wi’ me

I found a bit of carrot, and half frozen pea

And then to top the bugger off… no sugar in me tea!

 

Bloody hell mate! Hold the gravy!

There’s no fillin’ in me pie!

 

I marched back to the butty van,

Me patience wearing thin

Slammed the tea upon the counter

And I chucked the pie at him

I said “This pie has got no meat,

There’s no sugar in me tea”

He said “You want some filling, cock?

That’s another 80p”

 

Bloody hell mate! Hold the gravy!

There’s no fillin’ in me pie!

 

 

Tarnlife

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

Competence is summat

That ain’t really goin’ on in what is known as (Tarnlife!)

And a Barnsley Chop can be avoided

If tha teks t’long route rarnd what is known as (Tarnlife!)

Fred’s gorra ferret darn ‘is keks

It’s not intimidated by t’smell o’ black puddin’

It loves a bit o’ it! (Tarnlife)

Who’s that skinny bugger o’er there?

Tha could do wi’ some snap young ‘un,

Git thissen t’ t’chip oil!

 

All the people - so many people

They all go cap in hand

Cap in hand through their Tarnlife

 

Does tha know worra mean?

 

I gerrup when I fancy,

‘cept on Thursday when I go to collect me Giro

I put me flat cap on, have a pint o’ smooth,

And then think abart goin’ rarnd t’Tarn

I feed me whippets; I sometimes feed me ferrets too

It meks me feel full t’ t’brim wi’ Barnsley pride

Then I feel champion fo’ t’ rest on the day

Knowin’ you can tek the lad art o’ t’Tarn

But yer can’t tek t’Tarn art on t’lad

 

All the people - so many people

They all go cap in hand

Cap in hand through their Tarnlife

 

It’s got nowt to do wi’ yer Yorkshire Pud

And Roast Beef physique thannus

And it not abart all you chavs

That drive rarnd and rarnd and rarnd

 

All the people - so many people

They all go cap in hand

Cap in hand through their Tarnlife

 

 

Where Do You Go To My Lovely

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Joseph Anthony Capstick

 

You talk like her that played Mandy Dingle

And you dance like a pissed Fred Astaire

Your clothes they are all made by Kappa

And there’s yesterday’s soup in your hair

(Yes there is, quite a lot)

You live in a shed darn in Kendray

Off the Boulevard Hunningley Lane

Where you keep your pigeons and ferrets

And you once cadged a cig from Paul Shane (yes you did)

 

So where do you go to my lovely,

When you’re alone in your shed?

Tell me the parts that surround you,

I want to look inside your head

(Yes I do, but not for nits!)

 

I’ve seen all your lengthy convictions

That you got from Barnsley Magistrates’ Court

And your ASBO for glassing a barman

And the knocked-off TV that you bought

When you go on your summer vacation

To Ibiza: San Antonio Bay

With your carefully designed crotchless swimsuit

You can tan, while all the blokes run away

(You’ll never see them for the dust!)

 

And by nightfall you’re found darn the boozer

With others who drink to forget

And you sup your tenth Red Bull and Vodka

And moan about all of your debts

 

So where do you go to my lovely,

When you’re alone in the shed?

I know all the smells that surround you

Would have any man wish they were dead (yes I do)

 

Your name it is heard in high places

By the bouncers in all of the clubs

As they drag you out kicking and screaming

After being barred from all of Tarn’s pubs

(Oh yes, Pub Watch know your name)

And they say that when you get married

He’ll deserve a medal as big as a bin lid

‘cos he’ll have to put up with you farting in bed

And how you kick off at your seven kids

(Chantelle, Nathan, Chlamydia, Tyler and t’others…

you can’t be arsed to remember their names)

 

I remember rarnd t’back of the Netto

Two children playing innocent games

I saw some things playing ‘Doctors and Nurses’

And me life’s never been quite the same

(No it’s not, it never will!)

So look into my face Donna Clegg

And remember just who you are

Then go and leave me forever

But I know that you won’t get that far

(With that mattress on your back)

 

I know where you go to my lovely,

When you’re not frequenting Greggs

I know nowt but trouble surrounds you,

So I don’t want to get in your keks

 

 

Strong Arm Of The Law

Lyrics & Music: Peter Rodney Byford / Steve Dawson / Peter Gill / Graham Oliver / Paul Quinn

 

I was listening to the music on the radio

I had a feeling that something’s not right

The music was loud, we could still hear the crowd

From the gig that we played that night

We pulled into a motorway restaurant

Stopped a while and fooled around

I still had a feeling that something’s not right

As we started out homeward bound

 

Stop! Get out! We are the strong arm of the law

 

Into the night came a blue flashing light

A blast from the siren to make sure

That we came to a stop behind the motorway cop

Who’d been trailing us for more than an hour

He pulled us out of the car at the side of the road

He questioned us one at a time

“Where is the gear that we know that you use?”

We said “The only speed we use is our car”

 

You should’ve seen the stupid smirk drop from his face

It was a negative exercise

The way that we dress and the things that we do

They thought it was an easy bust

I was listening to the music on the radio

I had a feeling that something's not right

The music was loud, we could still hear the crowd

From the gig that we played that night

 

 

The Tarn Pub Lament 

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

Now in Barnsley there’s a boozer called The Grogger’s Rest

And it was home to Kipper Jackson, till they said “You’re a pest”

So they put him on Pub Watch, an outlaw soon to be

But it’s Tarn and we’re proud of it,

‘cos we come from Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley

‘cos it’s Tarn and we’re proud of it, we come from Barnsley

 

Now in Barnsley there’s a boozer called the Tom Treddlehoyle

Named after Charles Rogers, another local fool

He rode backwards from Pogmoor on a horse for all to see

But it’s Tarn and we’re proud of it,

‘cos we come from Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley

‘cos it’s Tarn and we’re proud of it, we come from Barnsley

 

Now in Barnsley there’s a boozer, in Bodegas things are bad

Serving underage rockers since God wa’ a lad

And on metal neet you could mosh, till your head went all dizzy

‘cos we come from Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley

‘cos it’s Tarn and we’re proud of it, we come from Barnsley

 

Now in Tarn there war a Courthouse, it’s now a Wetherspoons

And on match days it’s packed to the rafters with loons

Who have come to cheer the Reds and show their loyalty

‘cos we come from Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley

‘cos it’s Tarn and we’re proud of it, we come from Barnsley

 

Now in Tarn there was a boozer they called Tommy Wallocks

On Sat’day neet it wa’ good crack, but on weekdays it wa’ rubbish

But they changed its name to Chambers and no more will it be

But it’s Tarn and we’re proud of it,

‘cos we come from Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley

‘cos it’s Tarn and we’re proud of it, we come from Barnsley

 

Now in Barnsley there are more pubs within a square mile

Than any other town in Europe, which makes Tarnsfolk smile

And it’s better than Sheffield, Roth’rum or Donny

‘cos we come from Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley

‘cos it’s Tarn and we’re proud of it,

We come from Barnsley

 

 

The Curious Tale of Danny Rabbit

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

Danny Rabbit he went to t’Tarn, a-ha

Danny Rabbit he went to t’Tarn, a-ha

Danny Rabbit he went to t’Tarn

Had ten pints, yeah he necked ‘em darn, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha

 

Danny Rabbit, well he had a few more, a-ha

Danny Rabbit, well he had a few more, a-ha

Danny Rabbit, well he had a few more

Then went to t’club with the hope that he’d score, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha

 

Danny Rabbit din’t have a care, a-ha

Danny Rabbit din’t have a care, a-ha

Danny Rabbit din’t have a care

Fell asleep in t’club in t’toilets there, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha

 

Danny Rabbit got locked in the club, a-ha

Danny Rabbit got locked in the club, a-ha

Danny Rabbit got locked in the club

It was five in the mornin’ when the bugger wok up, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha

 

Danny Rabbit had a good look rarnd, a-ha

Danny Rabbit had a good look rarnd, a-ha

Danny Rabbit had a good look rarnd

Saw the club was empty

And he got himself a round at the bar, a-ha, a-ha

 

Danny found a gorilla suit behind the bar

Danny found a gorilla suit behind the bar

Danny found a gorilla suit

Put it on and he looked reight cute, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha

 

Danny Rabbit brok art of the club, a-ha

Danny Rabbit brok art of the club, a-ha

Danny Rabbit brok art of the club

In a gorilla costume and without a fuss, walked home, six miles, a-ha

 

Yes, he walked home dressed as a gorilla

And old Danny Rabbit

Never felt a pillock, a-ha a-ha, a-ha

 

 

The Bar-Stewards Come Home

Lyrics: Joseph Anthony Capstick

 

  I’ll nivver forget that first day at t’pit. Me and me father worked a seventy two hour shift and then walked home forty-three miles through t’snow in us bare feet. Huddled inside us clothes made of old sacks. Eventually we trudged over t’hill until we could see t’street light twinklin’ in ‘ar village. Me father smiled darn at me through t’icicles hangin’ off his nose.

  “Nearly home nar lad” he said.

  We stumbled into t’house and stood there freezin’ cold and tired out, shiverin’ and miserable in front o’ t’meagre fire. Anyroad, me mam says,

  “Cheer up lads, I’ve got you some nice brown bread and butter for yer tea”

  Eee me father went crackers. He reached out and gently pulled me mam towards him by t’throat.

  “You big fat idle ugly wart,” he said. “You great useless spawny-eyed parrot faced wazzock!”

  He had a way wi’ words me father. He’d been to college you know.

  “You’ve been out playing bingo all afternoon instead of gerrin’ some proper snap ready for me an’ this lad!” he explained to me poor little purple faced mam. And turnin’ to me he said, “Arthur…”

  He could nivver remember me name.

  “Here’s half a crown. Nip darn t’chip oil and gerrus a nice piece of haddock for us tea. Man cannot live by bread alone”.

  He war a reight tater me father. He said as how workin’ folk should have some dignity and pride and self-respect, and as how they should come home to summat warm and cheerful… and then he chucked me mam on t’fire.

  We din’t have no tellies or shoes or bedclothes. We made us own fun in them days. D’you know, when I were a lad, you could gerra tram down into t’Tarn, buy three new suits and an overcoat, four pair o’ good boots, go an’ see George Formby at Palace Theatre, get blind drunk, have some steak an’ chips, a bunch o’ bananas and three stone of monkey nuts, and still have change art on a farthing.

  We had lots of things in them days, they haven’t got today. Rickets… Diptheria… Hitler… and by, we did look well going to school with no backside in us trousers and all us little heads painted purple cause we had ringworm.

  They dun’t know they’re born today.

 

 

The Ballad Of Kipper Jackson

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

Kenneth Jackson, 61,

He once walked free but now he’s gone

And Facebook says “Free the Barnsley 1”,

And that ‘1’ is Kipper Jackson

He walks Barnsley’s streets so broad and fair,

Karaoke-machine in an old push chair

Now Tarnsfolk cry out in despair,

“They’ve locked-up Kipper Jackson!”

 

Kipper Jackson’s t’talk o’ t’Tarn,

And PC Porter took him darn

When he slapped a bun right into his crown

Shout out “Free Kipper Jackson!”

Kipper Jackson ‘Karaoke King’,

Entertains the public, croons and sings

Think of all the joy he brings,

Shout out “Free Kipper Jackson”

 

PC Porter late one night,

Had to nick some lads who got into a fight

And Kenneth Jackson only had two pints,

‘cos of 25 years on Pub Watch.

Armed with a bun and a glint in his eye,

“Ey up, pudding!” the policeman cried

But Kenneth Jackson didn’t walk by,

He sent the cream bun flying

 

The cream bun stuck to the copper’s head,

“That’s it, you’re nicked,” PC Porter said

“You’ll be swapping your bun for prison food instead,

You’re going down Kipper Jackson.”

But he launched another at the panda car

And it’s safe to say that he didn’t get far

Yet people hailed him a super star,

For ‘Mayor’ vote Kipper Jackson!

 

Kenneth Jackson appeared before a Sheffield Court

And Judge Robert Moore

On a red T-shirt he proudly wore,

The plea “Free Kipper Jackson”

The judge said “You’re here to be tried.

A custodial sentence is justified

And you’re off to the cells for two years inside,

Fare thee well Mr Kipper Jackson.”

 

Kenneth Jackson’s in a four foot cell,

The judge sent the poor bugger straight to hell

For chucking a bun he’ll do a two year spell,

God Bless poor Kipper Jackson

The moral to this sad, sad tale,

Will come to light when he gets bail

Don’t celebrate with cake but a pint of ale.

Three cheers for Kipper Jackson!

 

Free Kipper Jackson, poor Kipper Jackson,

Free the Barnsley 1

Free Kipper Jackson, poor Kipper Jackson,

Barnsley’s favourite son

 

Kenneth Jackson was released

And vows that he never disturbed the peace

Or chucked cream buns at the ‘aul Police.

Shout hooray for Kipper Jackson!

 

 

A Day In t’Tarn

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

I read the news today, oh boy,

On t’front page of the Chronic Barnicle

And though the news was rather bad,

Well I just couldn’t help but laugh

At Eric Ilsley’s photograph

He’d claimed well-over 14 grand,

In fiddled expenses for his second home

The local people raged and jeered,

He’d even claimed for his garden gnomes

It’s looking pretty doubtful

That he’ll ever make the House of Lords

 

I saw the news today, oh boy,

The telly said that Eric got sent darn

The crowd of people looked away,

They said he’d shamed the Tarn

All he did was frown - They’re glad that Ilsley’s gone…

 

I wok up inside me cell - life in here’s a living hell

In me pokey room, six foot by ten

The screws come round every now and then

Went to t’shower, dropped me soap

Didn’t really have much hope

Cos they dun’t tek well to a bent MP

There’s a bunch of lads with their eyes on me...

 

I read the news today, oh boy,

Four thousand potholes caused by winter snow

And though the potholes weren’t reight small,

The council’s left ‘em all

They prob’ly didn’t have enough to fill ‘em

After Ilsley’d done - They're glad that Ilsley’s gone…

 

 

Cpl. Kipper’s Barnsley Trades Club Turn (Reprise)

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

We're Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn

We hope that you enjoyed the show
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn

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Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley, Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley

Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley, Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley

Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn

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Cpl Kipper's one and only Barnsley Trades Club Turn

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Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley, Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley

Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn

© All lyrics copyright of Moon-On-A-Stick Records 

© 2019 The Bar-Steward Sons of  Val Doonican. All Rights Reserved.

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