IntroductionYuppie flatsBacklit moshpitThe drunken touristOptions instoreThe old cow diedThe error of my waysUpcountry waltzNo housing benefit, smokers or petsPulling the staples out of my brainSame old worldCrème bruléeWeep in your beerAt the edge of the mapBilly Slag

A compendium of nuggets from 2001-2013, including solo, Ragged Trousered Philanthropists and Icons of Poundland hits, as well as a smattering of new songs and new versions of old ones.

Yuppie Flats

It’s been good to stay here
In your nice country
But before I leave I’ve
Got to make you see
The future’s bleak
And it’s following me
To where currency’s weak
Far over the sea

To build a boring yuppie building made of boring yuppie glass
A boring yuppie rug under a boring yuppie arse
Boring bloody everything it’s just a bloody farce
A boring little world all made of Yuppie flats

No more hippy studios
No places to rehearse
No more filthy amateur art
No fragrant poetic verse
Because what the chough is the use of it all?
There’s only so much stuff you can fit on the wall

Of a boring yuppie building made of boring yuppie glass
A boring yuppie rug under a boring yuppie arse
Boring bloody everything it’s just a bloody farce
A boring little world all made of Yuppie flats

So don’t get me started on the sprinklers and the rubbish bins
And whatever happened to morris dancing, model trains, violins?
What the chough is the use of it all?
There’s only so much stuff you can fit on the wall

Of a boring yuppie building made of boring yuppie glass
A boring yuppie rug under a boring yuppie arse
Boring bloody everything it’s just a bloody farce
A boring little world all made of Yuppie flats

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2007

Backlit Moshpit

I didn’t toil for years to save up for
This sodden smart-price literature
With a woodcut banjo print on it
It looks like mud but it don’t stick

So put your phone down next to mine
We’ll post it up some other time
Maybe we don’t have to preserve it
The world can do without it
Maybe we’ll do something with the time that we have

So there’s nothing to see round here
Only politics and hope and fear
But are these bare bones going to be enough
In a world of spectacle and fluff

So put your phone down next to mine
We’ll post it up some other time
Maybe we don’t have to preserve it
The world can do without it
Maybe we’ll do something with the time that we have

I can’t muster words to swear or curse
Since someone stole the books from us
Can we memorise or re-create
Find our own way or just deviate

So put your phone down next to mine
We’ll post it up some other time
Maybe we don’t have to preserve it
The world can do without it
Maybe we’ll do something with the time that we have

And though you’ve thought great things and flown on wings
You never find the time to sing
About somebody or something
Outside your chunky knitted mumbling

So put your phone down next to mine
We’ll post it up some other time
Maybe we don’t have to preserve it
The world can do without it
Maybe we’ll do something with the time that we have

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2012

The drunken tourist

Pity the drunk tourist, with nowhere else to be
He sees the sights but don’t listen, can’t argue but doesn’t agree
Pity the drunk tourist, negotiating strange currencies
Attempting strange words at first, mumbling incomprehensibly

Pity the drunk tourist who puts aside for once his fear
To say something worthwhile, profound and clear
Pity the drunk tourist and put aside for once your fear
Put your hands in your pocket and order one more beer

Some kind words from home
Could lift use away
Carry us away for a while
Some kind words from home
Could lift us away
But this road is where we always stay

Pity the drunk tourist, smiling with all his teeth
For trailing cheap beer and dental care round the world is his belief
Pity the drunk tourist, a stranger to this class
Casting a net for a comforting glance but catching his face in a glass Pity the drunk tourist who puts aside for once his fear
To say something worthwhile, profound and clear
Pity the drunk tourist and put aside for once your fear
Put your hands in your pocket and order one more beer

Some kind words from home
Could lift use away
Carry us away for a while
Some kind words from home
Could lift us away
But this road is where we always stay

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2011

Options instore

Send the mules, winter fuels, put horses in cans
Stack em high, don’t bring, buy, unload the vans
Reduced for quick, brick by brick, saved pound by pound
I’ll laugh and I’ll spit on your sale when I see you closed down

I want more than the options instore
Give me more, give me more, give me more than these options instore
I’ll take more than these options instore
Give me more, give me more, give me more than these options instore

Delegate or dictate, but show who’s in power
When judgement’s left by the door, paid by the hour
But it waits for us when we swipe out one very last time
It’ll laugh at us, spit on our timesheets and send us on down

I want more than the options instore
Give me more, give me more, give me more than these options instore
I’ll take more than these options instore
Give me more, give me more, give me more than these options instore More, more more etc…

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2004

The old cow died

The old cow died (sail around)
The old cow died (sail around ladies)
The old cow died (sail around)
The old cow died (sail around ladies)

Well did you bring her any water?
Yes ma’am
Did you get her any soda?
Yes ma’am
Did you call for the doctor?
Yes ma’am
Did the doctor come?
Yes ma’am

How come the old cow died (sail around)
The old cow died (sail around ladies)
The old cow died (sail around)
The old cow died (sail around ladies)

Were the seagulls flying high?
Yes ma’am
Were the seagulls flying low?
Yes ma’am
Did you call the methodists round?
Yes ma’am
Did you make them tea and cakes

Yes ma’am

When the old cow died…

Trad/Arr.Julian Gaskell ©2009

The error of my ways

No one could pick apart the error of my ways
No one could pick apart the error of my ways
I’ve been hanging out the washing
Over stagnant drains to dry
Nobody know the fool I’ve been
As well as I

Why overcomplicate and go on for too long?
Why overcomplicate and go on for too long?
I’ve been making meals from things
I don’t know how to eat
Nobody knows like me
The things I won’t repeat

I cycled for miles
I should have got a cab
Drove a van for miles
I could have got a cab
Been refining the craft
When I could cut and paste
Nobody knows as well as I
The time I waste

When I say what I mean you say you’ve heard it all before
When I try to be true you say it’s all been done before
But when I think on how I listened
When you bankrupt fools had your day
I realise the error of my ways
I realise the error of my ways
I realise the error of my ways

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2005

Upcountry waltz

My heart is like a creaking, wheezing, pumping joke at best
But my love is gaining value like an antique in a chest
You might have to sell the things you need
For that hungry mouth to feed
But please don’t flog me off so cheaply

Cos I know, yes I know
There’s better places you could go
Where you’ll want for nothing and always get the things you need
But if your heart should ever wander
To a life we’ll never lead
Your dreams are always welcome here
Your dreams are always welcome here

Well the world is full of trouble, sorrow and pain
Since you packed up your suitcase and got back on the train
You make it pretty upcountry
But round here is where I remain
You see I can’t just get out so cheaply

And I know, yes I know
There’s better places you could go
Where you’ll want for nothing and always get the things you need
But if your heart should ever wander
To a life we’ll never lead
Your dreams are always welcome here
Your dreams are always welcome here

You can chat all you want and you can like all my links
But there’s more to married life than this I can’t help but think
So many ways to interact, but lonesome is still a fact
That I can’t just get away from so cheaply So I’ll keep taking the piss where I cant take the bills
You keep taking the tube where you can’t run up the hills
I don’t have nothing to give
Except the life that I live
But I’d have promised it to you so cheaply

Cos I know, yes I know
There’s better places you could go
Where you’ll want for nothing and always get the things you need
But if your heart should ever wander
To a life we’ll never lead
Your dreams are always welcome here
Your dreams are always welcome here

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2011

No housing benefit, smokers or pets

The place that I live in is called the UK
Nice enough to live in if you got a place to stay
But until that day when I know where it is I’ll be keeping
The same dull programme just keeps on repeating
The landlords must have too much money
Cos it’s offered up to them but all they can say is

No housing benefit, smokers or pets
No children, no sharing no DSS
If you want to rent it you better forget it
No housing benefit smokers or pets, no

In the place that I live its a crying shame
They turned the whole thing over to one great board game
If you can raise a deposit you can ride the boom
complain through the bust though you’ve still got your room
Though that place is too big for their cash to fit in
Cos when it’s offered up to them all they can think is

No housing benefit, smokers or pets
No children, no sharing no DSS
If you want to rent it you better forget it
No housing benefit smokers or pets, no

Put yourself on a plate, but they’ll turn you away!

I ain’t that big or clever, just trying to put in a song
The way we got it in this country, we got it all wrong
And while it’s given away before the day’s even done
There’s still some of us with two homes, some of us with none
Maybe we’re just too good for their poxy holes
They’re just saving the guilt from rusting their souls by saying

No housing benefit, smokers or pets
No children, no sharing no DSS
If you want to rent it you better forget it
No housing benefit smokers or pets, no

Put yourself on a plate, but they’ll turn you away!

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2009

Pulling the staples out of my brain

I had my paperwork sorted, arranged in piles
Thought I could leave it for a moment put my feet up for a while
But there was just one nagging item on my to do list
One thing that would not add up, a blot that would not desist

This discrepancy could drive a man insane
girl, you’re pulling the staples out of my brain
Out of my brain

My fragile sense of equilibrium
Held together by gaffer tape and chewing gum
Is broken into pieces, flying on the breeze
Organisation is the cure to which you are the disease

This picture can no longer be contained in a frame
girl, you’re pulling the staples out of my brain
Out of my brain

I stand accused by myself of complacency
For mistaking craft for standing stationary
For filing every feeling, every word I might say
But now my systems fallen in a state of disarray

Is it freedom or just chaos, I can’t ascertain
girl, you’re pulling the staples out of my brain
Out of my brain

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2011

Same old world

I could wait forever for one little word more
To drop down from your smile to my grey lino floor
I’d let it stay for ever, never wipe it clean
Trip on it every day , slip on the stains

But I’m not lost in this world
I don’t care how the story unfurls
I won’t be down on my luck
Knowing I’m passing through the same old world as you

Your eyes could see through and out the back of my head
To the small print distant neon things we never said
‘cause my cracked pavement lips
Couldn’t put the words to this
That you repeat every day but are never the same

And I’m not lost in this world
I don’t care how the story unfurls
I won’t be down on my luck
Knowing I’m passing through the same old world as you

Waited round forever chucked every coin down every well
Faced my sign from the bridge to the sea but I never, never tell
If every ageing joke
Will get a laugh someday
While my streetlamps burn brighter than dust speck stars on a screen

And I’m not lost in this world
I don’t care how the story unfurls
I won’t be down on my luck
Knowing I’m passing through the same old world as you

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2011

Crème brulée

Ma femme et moi dans un voyage
ver les pâtisserie
“en fait je voudrais une tarte aux fruits frais
avec peut être de la crème anglais”
Ou de la crème fouette
Et un gâteau pur six personnes
“Mange tout mon amour!”
Mange tout mon amour!
Le monde est un grande crème brulée

Ma femme et moi dans un voyage
A la boucherie
“en fait je voudrais le bouf sil vous plait
Avec peut être saucissons anglais”
Ou de les escargots
Et jambon pour sept personnes
“Mange tout mon amour!”
Mange tout mon amour!
Le monde est un grande crème brulée

There is no end in sight to this voyage
No words to speak for the lines
“put a sock in it man, stop whingeing if you can
there is only but the one life you understand”
When all around us speak in tongues
Garcon une bouteille pour six personnes
“Mange tout mon amour!”
Mange tout mon amour!
Le monde est un grande
Est un grande crème brulée

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2010

Weep in your beer

The weather’s all gone funny, the water’s on the rise
They said that this would happen, but we didn’t realise
That the flowers would wilt and die before our very eyes
And the words we quoted only seem to over-emphasise
That the world’s gone down the toilet
We sent it round the bend
The era that we thought we knew is coming to an end
But before the last bell tolls upon us
Listen up, my friends
We have but little time before us and so much to mend so…

Weep in your beer with me, my friends
Weep in your beer with me
The world is full of things that I’d rather forget
I got my eyes set on the glory but I ain’t seen it yet so
Weep jn your beer with me, my friends
Weep in your beer with me
Laugh and be content with the court summonses and rent
And weep in your beer with me

If I had my time back over it wouldn’t be like that, it’d be like this
I’d be looking down over happy days all overcome with bliss
And I’d dance a merry tango through the situations there
Instead of terminating everything that made us what we dared to be
And flush it down the toilet
We sent it round the bend
The misery I’ve caused for you, will it never end
But before the last boat leaves, just listen up my friends
We have but little time before us and so much to mend So, na zdrowie…

Weep in your beer with me, my friends
Weep in your beer with me
The world is full of things that I’d rather forget
I got my eyes set on the glory but I ain’t seen it yet so
Weep jn your beer with me, my friends
Weep in your beer with me
Laugh and be content with the court summonses and rent
And weep in your beer with me

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2008

At the edge of the map

You won’t find me by the home fire, ain’t no warmth in life I seek
I follow time, and faded rumours, to some distant mountain peak
You may search the world over
From the beginning to the end
But still I’ll be an absent friend

And despite what they say
Despite what they say
One day I’ll see you at the edge of the map
Despite what they say
Despite what they say
One day I’ll see you at the edge of the map

You won’t find me where we grew up
Just prevailing winds and salt sprays
And pebble dashed hopes, damp basements and shit PAs
You can climb through every window
In every closed down school
But still I’ll be an absent friend

And despite what they say
Despite what they say
One day I’ll see you at the edge of the map
Despite what they say
Despite what they say
One day I’ll see you at the edge of the map

Outside the backdoor of the world beside a disused branch line
Lay your head in the long grass, we’ll neck the last bottle of wine
I’d walk this whole world over just to hold you in my arms
Until then you’ll be an absent friend

And despite what they say
Despite what they say
One day I’ll see you at the edge of the map
Despite what they say
Despite what they say
One day I’ll see you at the edge of the map
One day I’ll see you at the edge of the map…
One day we’ll sail off the edge of the map

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2011

Billy Slag

Could you save a bit for me
At work at nine, but now it’s three
Come home Billy, come home Billy Slag
The rows of desks defining me
Don’t fire me up to sell BT
So come home Billy, come home Billy Slag

I tried to make it but I failed
I’m packing up now I’m for sale
Please, Billy, please
Take my basic but please don’t put commission on my soul

If Elvis ran this agency
I’m sure he’d find some work for me
I’d sell some to ya, to ya, Billy Slag
I’d make cold calls, lead my team
Treat them mean to keep them keen
Come home Billy, come home Billy Slag

I tried to make it but I failed
I’m packing up now I’m for sale
Please, Billy, please
Take my basic but please don’t put commission on my soul

All I can do is stay awake
And make it to the next fag break
This dark satanic headset’s such a drag
So take the matches from my eyes
Burn the office
Kill the ties
Come home Billy, come home Billy Slag

I tried to make it but I failed
I’m packing up now I’m for sale
Please, Billy, please
Take my basic but please don’t put commission on my soul

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2000