Monday, January 31, 2011

Grainy Grit

Hey you, simple clover of the sun
Your face so soft like ivory, hun
Dashing, Dashing, smooth as they ever come
Is that tweed, some herringbone, tartan

No, golden buttons tarnished like bronze
Copper that is hit, warm hot cross buns
Earls and Duchess, two silver peas
Talk Mayflowers and an R.M.S.

Is it Liverpool, no I.R.A.
Braveheart the Wallace, Henry the Eight
Spade it, hate it, take it, queens for you
Wild Martin never knew fire burnt

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