THE DARK SIDE OF THE TARN

LYRICS

Giro  

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

Giro! Hip-hooray!

Lay in bed, there’s no need for work today

Giro! It's a gas!

Get thissen to t’pub with tax payers’ hard

earned cash

Got a car on mobility for the family

Claim a dodgy back… and get thissen a blue badge

 

Giro! It’s great!

I’m alreight mate, got it courtesy of the State

Giro! Outta sight!

Dun’t need none-of-that “You’ve got an interview” shite

I’m in the unworking class, so kiss my ass

Watchin’ Trisha on me brand new plasma-screen

 

Giro! What a crime!

But if the neighbours shop me

Then it looks like I’m doin’ time

Giro, so they say… is the root of unfairness today

But to genuine folk it’s no big joke

That they’re giving none away 

 

 

Digging The Roads Up 

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

You’d only just sped it up

‘afore you had to slow it darn

There’s a tonne of traffic

And it’s tailing back a mile or two frum t’Tarn

But soon you find when you pass the sign…

They’re digging the roads up

So then you quickly turn it off

Before you burn your new clutch art

You’re running late already

And it’s just thing to mek you scream and shart

‘cos you find that it’s t’Council’s time…

For digging the roads up

 

It says ‘Delays expected

Until the end of June’

But when they end in August,

The new sign says ‘more coming soon’

 

But there is just a gret big hole

And a brokken traffic light

There’s one fella diggin’

While the rest are watchin’ him, that’s abart right

There’s loads of fuss, but there ain’t a rush…

They’re digging the roads up

And then to mek it worse

The lazy buggers cun’t care less

When they’re likely to finish mekkin’ people late

Is anyone’s best guess

So now you know where your council tax goes…

On digging the roads up

 

You’re sat bumper to bumper,

On Sunday it’s a farce

If only there were workmen,

You’d stick them cones right up their arse!

 

Eventually they clear it up

And start to tek the cones away

And the bloke with the sign lettin’ two at a time out

Isn’t here today

The digger’s gone ‘cos they’ve finally done…

With digging the roads up

But soon they tear it all back up

Because there’s summat else to do

You would’ve thought

That they could’ve done two jobs at once,

It isn’t hard to do

Yet more expense, there’s no common sense…

They’re digging roads up

 

 

You Give Tarn A Bad Name   

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

A baseball cap is what you wear

You think you’ve got style but there’s clearly none there

Chains of bling, star of CCTV

You should be in prison but you’re walkin’ free

 

Woah, with all the drugs that you sell

Woah, you’ve been on ‘Neighbours From Hell’

Electronic’ly tagged with a curfew as well

 

From Jump to Locke Park, it’s such a shame,

Chavs give Tarn bad name

You give them an ASBO and they think it’s fame

You give Tarn a bad name

 

You Burberry hoodies, hide your faces away

To stop you from starring on Crimewatch UK 

Wearing cheap nylon sportswear,

Just a quick sudden move

And the whole National Grid could be powered by you

 

Woah, your DNA’s on police file

Woah, you've been on Jeremy Kyle

Your mother’s your sister; you’ve only known for a while

 

From Pilley to Wuz’bro, it’s such a shame,

Chavs give Tarn a bad name

You claim that that pit-bull is perfectly tame

But you give Tarn a bad name

 

All through t’borough, it’s such a shame,

Chavs give Tarn bad name

Stop acting like Westwood ‘cos he’s just as lame

You give Tarn a bad name

 

From Hoyland to Kendray, it’s such a shame,

Chavs give Tarn a bad name

You can act like you’ve done nowt,

But you’re allus to blame

You give Tarn a bad name

 

 

Arse On Fire  

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

It’s 1 o’clock in the morning

And you’ve been rarnd the Tarn

And you’ve now got the munchies… you’re hungry

Like bees around honey, like a moth to a flame

You stagger off for a curry… no worries

Your legs work like a Sat Nav and tek you to the K2

You stumble in lookin’ plastered,

“I’ll have pork vindaloo”

They don’t hold back on the chillies,

They don’t hold back on the spice

And you wolf it darn quickly… so quickly

 

Bugger! Your mouth is on fire!

Woah! Can’t help but perspire!  

 

Now it’s early next morning,

You could drink a tap dry

Your mouth’s like Ghandi’s flip-flops,

But you cannot think why

And your head it is pounding and you can’t stop the pain

You’re feelin’ so dehydrated… so wasted

But your gut’s feeling jippy, you know it ain’t right

And then you remember... what you ate last night

And you push back the bedsheets, and you race to the bog

And you only just make it... you made it

 

Bugger! Your arse is on fire!

Woah! Now the temperature’s higher

 

Yes, your bum’s like a cherry, it’s red and it’s raw

You daren’t move from the toilet…

It feels incredibly sore

‘cos it seems that it’s hotter on the way out

Than going in in the first place,

You have good reason to shout

The toilet-roll’s on the fridge shelf,

Yes, you need some relief

But your Ring of Fire… it beggars belief

As your Khyber Pass suffers from Ghandi’s Revenge

It smelt so bad I could taste it… taste it

 

Bugger! Your arse is on fire!

Woah! With the flames burning higher!

 

 

Doonican’s Dog  

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

Alan’s mother had a terrier and Penny was its name

She’d take it for a walk to spend a penny up the lane

He volunteered to walk it to the park in Matlock Bath

She said okay, but didn’t know it would be such a faff

He fetched the lead and he hooked it to her collar

And then his mam said “Don’t forget a bag”

“A bag?” he said “What on earth do I need that for?”

And Penny looked at Alan and she gave her tail a wag

She said “Alan, it’s for pooing in.

What d’you think you’d do with it?”

“I’ve been already!” replied Alan to his mum

“You really can’t be serious, it’s for picking up her business.

You can’t just leave it dangling from the poor dog’s bum”

So he set off down with it, strolling into town with it

Through the gates, past the trees and kids and larks

The dog it were loving it, couldn’t get enough of it

The day that Alan took the dog to Matlock Park.

 

The dog was looking ready,

Alan quickly thought it through

He’d get the dog to go inside the bag to do its poo

But Penny saw it different, in fact she just thought ‘no’

She was buggered if the bag was the place she was going to go

Alan clearly must have under-rated it

He thought he’d train it to get inside the sack

He thought it, brought it, and then, without apology,

The dog just buggered off as if it wasn’t coming back

There was Alan pushing it, shoving it and shushing it,

Fighting and struggling; he’d almost given up

Stood there whacking it, shoving it and smacking it

He might as well have tried to pick the Town Hall up!

Penny she was eyeing him, openly defying him

Growling and snarling, she gave a nasty bark

He stood there reversing it, swearing and a-cursing it

The day that Alan took the dog to Matlock Park.

 

The muscles of the mighty, never known to flinch

He couldn’t shift the terrier a quarter of an inch

Alan lay exhausted, hanging round its throat

With a grip just like a Scotchman on a five pound note

Other dog walkers crowded round to stare at him

They couldn’t believe what they’d saw him do but then

Penny backed into the bag and left a proper whopper

And Alan gave a cheer

But quickly changed his mind again

‘cos he was left there dragging it,

Tying up and bagging it

The bag was so full that he thought it might explode

It was too big for his pocket,

But the dog went like a rocket

And it legged it off contently having dropped its load

But Alan kept on pulling it, dragging the bag full of it

He took it home despite the trouble and the strife

His mam looked mad when she looked down,

Her face it dropped into a frown

And said

“Alan, why on earth d’you use me Bag For Life!?”

 

 

If I Could Punch A Face…  

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

There’s a fever sweeping ‘cross the country now

It’s even worse than all the fans of Glee

He’s on every bloody cover, of every magazine

Irritating normal folk like me

 

If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s

There’s not a trace of doubt in my mind

He’s a chuff - can’t stand Justin Bieber,

I hope he gets fever or even hives

 

He’s only twelve and he wrote his own biography

(in crayon)

His face adorns the shelves of every shop (it’s sickening)

All the girls go crazy; he’s the prince of pop

But what will happen when his bollocks drop?

 

If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s
There’s not a trace of doubt in my mind

He’s an arse… I hate Justin Bieber singing “Baby-Oh”,

Like, a billion times

 

He’s got a stupid haircut, and his music’s crap

You couldn’t tire from giving him a slap

If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s

There’s not a trace of doubt in my mind

Switch his music off…

Destroy ‘Bieber Fever’ and poke Justin Bieber in the eye

 

If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s

Seek medical advice if you’ve got Bieber Fever

‘cos it’s worse than clap!

 

 

Lift Dickie Bird Where He Belongs  

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

Who knows what the morning brings,

In the Tarn after folks have been art

All I know is when they’re on the lash,

They leave gifts on his finger when dark

Their deeds are wrong

There are times when I sit and pray

For the council to shift him art o’ t’way

 

Lift Dickie Bird where he belongs…

Just a couple of feet from yobs on the street

Please lift him up where he belongs …

Far from his street-level home, where the drunks do roam

 

They dangle things on his finger-tip…

He’s a target, and you can see why

From the minute Graham Ibbeson broke his mould,

He became a joke, night after night

How low can they go?

They leave crisp bags and condoms ararnd

On the most famous finger in t’Tarn

 

So listen up folks… a joke ain’t a joke,

When Dickie’s had it up to here!

 

Just lift him up where he belongs…

Dickie Bird won’t cry from a platform high

Just lift him up where he belongs…

Up from the world below where the Tarnsfolk folk roam

 

 

Born To Get Riled  

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

Get your motor runnin’, head out on the highway

But sometimes road-rage grips me if things get in me way

You could fit a chuffin’ tank in that gap

You turned the road into a parkin’ space

Why don’t you put yer foot darn granddad,

Or else I’ll get in yer face!

A flaming’ learner driver doin’ 30 in the fast lane

I’m sat behind a tractor and it’s driving me insane

Hey pal, where’ve you left yer white stick?

How you got a license isn’t clear

Get off yer bloody mobile phone and get into fifth gear

 

You can say that I act like a child

But I was born, born to get riled

Despite how hard I try, they mek me wanna cry

Born to get riled

 

Get your motor runnin’, head out on the highway

Pedestrians and cyclists, just get art of me way

I’m not clairvoyant, use yer indicators

Get off me bumper, you don’t own the road

How’s your driving?

Well I’ll tell you when you’ve shifted your heavy load

 

You can say that I act like a child

But I was born, born to get riled

Despite how hard I try, they mek me wanna cry

Born to get riled

 

 

I Shopped At Asda  

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

I shopped at Asda and it nearly put ten years on me

When I do the Big Shop it’s always a catastrophe

 

It’s Friday neet, and I’m doin’ the Big Shop…

Got that trolley wit’ dodgy wheels

It’s tekking me places I dun’t wanna go

Don’t need Lillettes or Vagisil

At the deli counter, got a ticket there…

It was number fifty five

It was like a meat and cheese-based lottery…

No bugger’s getting out alive

 

I shopped at Asda, ‘cos I needed some snap for me tea

You always spend a fortune

‘cos there’s loads on ‘buy-one-get-one-free’

 

I couldn’t move for all the obstacles,

That were blockin’ every lane

Can’t get to t’shelves for t’staff restacking them

It’s enough to drive a bloke insane

Kids running wild in the confection’ry…

It meks me wanna shout

They’re screaming “Mam! Why can’t I have no sweets?”

What they really wants a bloody clout.

 

I shopped at Asda and I got me quid stuck in t’trolley

I only went for t’paper, but bought a Blu-Ray DVD

 

All of a sudden, t’final aisle’s in sight…

I’m almost home and free

Head for t’counter, but my path is blocked

By a chuff on shop mobility

The checkout girl looked bored and looked through me

She said “D’you want a Bag For Life?”

I said “I’ve got one here already love”...

And got a reight clout off me wife

 

I shopped at Asda, but I did not take me mam with me

Me mam shops at Iceland

‘cos that’s where mums are meant to be

 

Frustration came my way one day,

At the self-service check-out

Unexpected item in the bagging area,

Before I’d started scanning owt

The barcode scanner said my Toblerone

Was a plasma-screen TV

I looked around, but no one could be found,

It wasn’t looking good for me

One spotty kid was running fourteen tills,

It took ages to sort the farce

He said “Do you need a hand with your packing sir?”

I said “You can pack self-service up yer arse!”

 

I don’t like Sainsbury’s, no no! Or t’Netto

I don’t like Waitrose, oh no! Or t’Tescos!

I hate Morrisons, I do! And t’Co-Op

I can think of a few more reasons to shop elsewhere

I can’t stand shopping, no no! I hate it!

But I’ve solved that problem... I send the missus

She prefers Lidl, she does! Or sometimes Aldi

She buys in bulk there... that’s much more handy

I can’t stand shopping!

 

 

Shine On You Crazy Bar-Steward 

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

Remember when it was fun, we were Bar-Steward Sons

Shine on you crazy Bar-Steward

But your sudden goodbye tore a hole in the sky

Shine on you crazy Bar-Steward

You were caught in the cross fire

Of knit-wear and good times

And it brought you right down to your knees

I thought you were kidding, you had to be joking,

Now don’t be a stranger,

You long-lost half-brother of mine!

 

And then you didn’t want to hang around

On the dark side of town

Shine on you crazy Bar-Steward

Brave face every night, but exposed in stage lights

Shine on you crazy Bar-Steward

Well you hung up your tank-top with random precision

Be careful you don’t want to freeze

You washed off the greasepaint, you made your decision,

And turned off the showman,

Just as it was our turn to shine!

 

Nobody knows where you are... how near or how far

Shine on you crazy Bar-Steward

It doesn’t feel like it should…

Two out of three ain’t as good

Shine on you crazy Bar-Steward

And we’ll bask in the shadow of yesterday’s triumph

And exhale that icy cold breeze

No-one’s a winner… we all end as losers

Last orders are here,

Take your glass to the bar ‘cos it’s time

 

 

Barnsley Birds

(Lyrics: Chris Sammon)

 

Well the Gawber Girls on Pitt Street

Neck their vodka darn in one

And the Darton Girls never hang ararnd

Just one kiss and then they’re gone

The Pogmoor Girls are teasers

They say they will but that I doubt

And the Thurnscoe lasses say they surely would

But their dads'd knock you art

 

I wish they could all be like the Barnsley

I wish they could all be like the Barnsley

I wish they could all be like the Barnsley Birds

 

The Brierley Birds have got big houses

They’ve got a bob or two

And the Hoyland Girls are a friendly bunch

‘cos there’s sod all else to do

I’ve been all rarnd the borough

And I’ve seen girls of all types

But a chat-up from a Darfield lass

I’m like a rat up a drainpipe

 

I wish they could all be like the Barnsley

I wish they could all be like the Barnsley

I wish they could all be like the Barnsley Birds

 

Birds, birds, birds, yeah I love the birds…

(I wish they all could be like the Barnsley Birds)

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

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

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