So Much To Lose

Still paying for the jet and the rest of the debt, left over from last year's holiday?
And it's a pretty even bet, that the mail order threat will carry you into the deep water, out of the bay.
You've got the freedom to pay your bills any way that you choose.
So, you'd better behave and be a good slave. 'Cos you know you've got so much to lose.

Ah! You've got so much to lose,
you can afford to be abused,
if you want to pay for that cruise.
Ever felt you're being used?

Despite attempts to pretend that you've got so many friends. How does it feel to be alone?
And at the week-end, working overtime again, slurring and slumping and falling asleep on the 'phone.
You find it convenient to wear that made -to-measure stare.You know, public opinion point of view.
And it's totally against the grain, on the bus, or the train, for someone to make an example out of you.

Because you've got so much to lose,
you can tell me, do you feel confused?
Sort of, battered and bruised.
The Anglo American blues?

Strollin' down the street, make sure you're casual but neat. Never know who you might impress.
Wouldn't it be so complete, if you were to unexpectedly meet that project that answers your calls in American Express?
Does it tingle your conscience, to read all the nonsense in the headlines and the news?
Being bourgeois, eating pomme de terre and petit pois. Can you ever explain these virtues?

No. You've got so much to lose,
you know that you stand accused.
Tell me, how many pairs of shoes,
have you got, but never use?




CapabilityRed aprox 1987

Sign Up Today

They'll give you a chance and they'll give you a gun.
And they'll give you a licence to shoot anyone
In the name of freedom, St George, or the queen.
And you can learn to drive a tank if you're really that keen:

So; sign up today,
sign up today,
step right this way,
and sign up today.

They'll make it sound simple if you don't understand.
Why are you here, on somebody else's land?
You'll learn about NATO and the Warsaw Pact.
And Sargent will watch to note how you react:

So; sign up today,
sign up today,
step right this way,
and sign up today.

You'll get full military honours if you get blown to hell.
Your folks can feel proud of you, your neighbours as well.
Join up for your country, it's a brave thing to do.
But if there's a war, Lord have mercy on you:

So; sign up today,
sign up today,
step right this way,
and sign up today.


CapabilityRed aprox 1982

GARBAGE

I'm staying in tonight, but there's garbage on the screen,
like a technicolour yawn, it creases up my spleen.
There's garbage in the Express and more garbage in the Sun,
I avoid the Daily Mail, but I've heard it's not much fun.
If I go down to my local, stick my head inside the door,
the bar's a graveyard of broken glasses, and there's garbage on the floor.
Garbage on the underground, garbage on the bus,
you get garbage across your head, if you bother to make a fuss.

Next door's cat's in the garbage, he's hunting for last night's skate.
Unless he keeps his whiskers out of my garbage, he'll end up being served on a plate.

You listen to a load of garbage, in the canteen, at work.
If you try to raise the tone of conversation, they label you some sort of jerk.
I like the word Garbage. I's relevant to everyday life.
The obvious common label, for anxiety, strain and strife.
It's all garbage when you think about it. From the cradle to the coffin.
The garbage they carry you into, and the garbage they carry you off in.

It's the same at the Job Centre, the garbage they try to spill ya.
They send you to work for a boss, and he almost tries to kill ya!
Garbage, garbage, garbage. What else is there to say?
To waste my time writing about garbage. I ought to be locked away!



CapabilityRed aprox 1986

Going to Mortlake ?

Meatloaf, Maltloaf, Mortlake, Saltlake.
Saltlake, Swanlake. It's too late.
We've missed the Eighty Eight.
Got to walk to Mortlake.

Stagnate, Germinate, wake up, Agitate.
The Eighty Eight is running late.
We'll never get there at this rate.

Mortlake, Maltloaf.
You trod on my toe,
you clumsy oaf.
Nothing much to celebrate.
We've got to walk to Mortlake.

Mortlake, Malteze.
More teas? Yes please.
My bus pass is out of date.
Got to walk to Mortlake.

Mortlake, Mortify.
I could cry. I want to die.
It's bad enough being late.
But turning up in this state!

Going to Mortlake?




CapabilityRed aprox 1990

The Ballad of the Poisoned Dwarf

There once was a lad named Richard, who wasn't very quick.
He was a bit slow on the uptake, so his friends all called him'Dick'.
He got a job on the buses, but he wasn't very tall.
So he applied to be an inspector, 'cos he couldn't drive a bus at all.
He thought he'd grow a beard, to make himself look tough.
But he looked more like a 'Poisoned Dwarf', he just wasn't big enough.

He booked crews for running early, or taking over late.
Or; leaving a bus unattended, he really thought it was great.
The Poisoned Dwarf had power, he told the crews who was boss.
But what he couldn't comprehend, was that nobody gave a toss.
He applied to become a 'Gold Badge', and it really caused a commotion.
When he started booking crews, 'cos he couldn't get his promotion.

He wasn't wanted at the top, they could do without the likes of him.
He was advised 'he wasn't suitable', but the Dwarf just didn't fall in.
The saga reached a climax, one murky east end night.
When the Dwarf booked a crew, for running a bus back 'light'.
The Driver leapt from his cab, and woke up his mate with a prod.
And declared "come one Floyd, I've had enough of this little sod".

They stood there face to face. The Dwarf went for his book.
The Driver gave him a 'Glasgow handshake', the Conductor swung a right hook.
It was all over in a flash, the Dwarf got what was comming to him.
But despite the presence of several crews, 'nobody saw a thing'!
So, ask the Poisoned Dwarf, this story has a moral:
A lesson for roadside inspectors: Co-operate. Don't quarrel!



CapabilityRed aprox 1983

Marriage on the Rocks ?

She wakes me up,
hands my letters to me,
says; "there's only three",
she doesn't look at me.

The same every morning,
so regularly,
she speaks to me,
but doesn't look at me.

And I go downstairs,
she says; " I fancy coffee",
but I've already made tea,
she doesn't look at me.

I leave for work,
say 'I'll be home by three',
she kisses me,
but doesn't look at me.

She 'phones me up;
"what d'you want for tea?",
any fool can see,
she doesn't look at me.

We watch the evening news,
on the BBC,
and, although we agree,
she doesn't look at me.

Her Sister calls,
it's a warning to me,
I'm an Uncle to-be,
she doesn't look at me.

She closes her eyes,
as she makes love to me,
what can the matter be?
She doesn't look at me.



CapabilityRed aprox 1980

Door

I've got a door, it was there before, I moved into my house,
and it squeaks like a mouse.
But it opens and shuts, there are no if's and buts.
When it lets me in, I tell it where i've been.
If I want to go out, I never hang about,
I just open my door and go......
Outside.
To the outside world. Where I see:

Bad doors, good doors,
glass doors, wood doors.
Silly aluminium doors.
Grained doors, plain doors,
mad doors, sane doors.
Georgian doors, awful doors,
double doors, troubled doors.
Car doors, bar doors,
near doors, far doors,
the bus driver won't open the doors.
Who'se got a new TV show?
Bloody Diana Dors!

I used to open, I used to shut, but that wasn't good enough.
I let them out, I let them in, you'd have thought I'd commited a sin.
They took me down,
and hung a new Georgian door in my place.
Can't you see, there's nothing I can do,
technically it's an open and shut case.
Oh where did I go wrong?
Perhaps I was too good for too long.

You know; I've got a door,
because I told you before.
Just the same as a ceiling,
a door has feelings.
I hope I've put it to you,
from a door's point of view.
Spare a thought for your door.


CapabilityRed aprox 1977