Travelling Tinker Man and Other Rhymes

by David Essex

  Did you read it yet? No, not really, Mum,

  It looked a bit boring. Please hurry up, son.

  Now here is your lunch and I’ve put in a drink.

  I can buy me a jubbly, I’ve got money, I think;

  They sell them frozen, they’re really nice.

  You should try one, Mum, it’s like orangey ice.

  I love you, Mum. I love you, son.

  Now give us a kiss and off you run.

  Be good and careful. I will. Don’t forget –

  The key to get in is under the step.

  The boxer

  Rolling with the punches, ducking and diving,

  Gladiators, versed in the art of boxing;

  With fury, with skill, with honour at stake,

  Respecting the fighter, but with a point now to make.

  The pre-fight and weigh-in, fight training was tough,

  Both boxers hoping that they did enough.

  The sweat and the blood, the roar of the ringside,

  There’s nowhere to run now and nowhere to hide;

  The smell of the leather, the cut men are poised,

  There in the corner to repair the brave boys.

  The hall full of fans, baying for a knock out,

  Jab, jab and move, the old fighter shouts,

  Clearing his head and using the ropes,

  For pride and the family, for a title hope.

  A left to the body, a right to the jaw,

  The worthy contender folds to the floor,

  Hitting the canvas. The ref starts to count;

  His head in a spin, his legs given out;

  Eight, nine and ten and now it’s done.

  The winner on shoulders, well done, son.

  The fighters embrace, with respect for each other,

  Bloodied and bruised; respect for you, brother.

  Celebrity

  Don’t call me a celebrity,

  I don’t need an A list, B or C,

  I don’t do jungles or cooking programmes,

  I’m only a man, doing what I can.

  I just write songs and sing a bit,

  Sometimes an actor, when I’m legit.

  Music, theatre, film and stuff,

  What I do ain’t all that tough.

  Lucky for me, some people care;

  I’d like to thank you all out there.

  Please don’t call me a celebrity,

  I’m not a Big Brother entity.

  Fame for fame, what’s in a name?

  Translucent emptiness.

  Entourage and chauffeured cars,

  One big pretentious mess.

  I’ve always tried to do my best,

  In case you showed any interest.

  It’s thanks to you that I’ve stayed true,

  Cos you gave me the freedom to create.

  My destiny, my journey too,

  My personal fate was sealed by you.

  But something, someone is looking down,

  To help and guide through Tinseltown.

  Rock on

  Hey did ya Rock ’n’ Roll, rock on, ooh my soul,

  Hey did ya boogie too, did ya?

  Hey shout summertime blues,

  Jump up and down in your blue suede shoes,

  Hey did you Rock ’n’ Roll, rock on.

  And where do we go from here,

  Which is the way that’s clear?

  Still looking for that blue jean baby queen,

  Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,

  See her shake on the movie screen, Jimmy Dean.

  Hey look, the leader of the pack,

  Tattooed smile, leather on your back,

  Rebel, rebel, blackboard jungle,

  Rock on.

  Over the rainbow

  Over the rainbow, run through the rain, good to get back to home once again.

  We looked for a long day, but no pot of gold; we were brave to set forth, braver than bold.

  I did have reservations, I think you had too, but at least we saw grey sky turn into blue.

  Just think if we’d found it, a pot full of gold, a life-changing sum, a life off the dole.

  But money can’t buy happy, money can’t buy love; as it is, we are blessed by something above.

  Family and friends, good health on the whole, a bun in the oven and a contented soul.

  Those older and wiser, when I was a boy, said material wealth does not bring us joy.

  I thought they were wrong, questioned their stance; I’d have money to burn if I had the chance.

  But to see the sun rise, to hear the birds sing is more precious to us than money and things.

  Still I think of that rainbow when the going gets tough,

  But the family and friends are more than enough.

  The boy

  The boy’s got charisma, the boy’s got real charm;

  We could offer a contract, it would do no harm.

  I’ve just got this feeling, he’s gonna go far;

  I think given time he could be a star.

  He can act, he can sing; we could teach him to dance,

  Buy him some clothes, his image enhance;

  Get him writing some songs, some hits would be good.

  With commercial bits in them, I think that we could

  Record a hit single, it wouldn’t take long;

  All that we need is a bloody good song.

  The boy’s really got it, no worries about that.

  If he don’t become big, I’ll eat my mum’s hat.

  He’s a star in the making, a giving cash cow;

  He just needs some guidance, a bit of know how.

  So son, here’s your deal; just sign and you’ll see,

  Your life will be changed if you stick with me.

  Flash cars, houses, ladies galore,

  Just sign this contract to open the door.

  Our office, our staff are all fans of yours;

  My massive percentage – I could ask for more –

  But I believe you can make it, make it in time.

  Take my gold pen and sign on the line.

  No thanks.

  Upton Park

  Gotta go now, Dad, gotta go; line up, gotta line up for the game.

  I think we’ll win, with Keeble and Dick, but I think it’s going to rain.

  Can I have two bob for the bus and a hot dog? I’ll pay you back real soon.

  The Hammers are playing Newcastle, Dad, I think they’re called the Toon.

  You should see it there, Upton Park, thousands in claret and blue,

  And the blokes let kids in down the front, dockers just like you.

  They sing and cheer with their fags and beer, blowing bubbles to a man;

  When a goal goes in you should hear the din, East London, our West Ham.

  There’s magic in the stadium, there’s magic in the air,

  Is it true that once upon a time, Anne Boleyn lived there?

  I bet she’d be a West Ham fan, if she was here today;

  But her castle’s gone, she must have moved, so the boys could get to play.

  I saw some players in the cafe, when I was in Green Street,

  John Bond, Ken Brown and Noel Cantwell, sitting in their seats.

  They signed my book and said hello; it was great, Dad, really good.

  I’ve gotta go, I can’t be late; we’ll win today, we should.

  The sea

  Standing out at the water’s edge, the waves kissing the shore,

  Looking out to sea, you see, for a ship or maybe more.

  A great white whale, a shoal of fish like diamonds in the sun;

  Neptune’s crown, a pirate ship, armed with swords and guns.

  A water world, strange, unknown, Atlantis fathoms deep;

  Davy Jones’ locker, locked with secrets there to keep.

  To think that this same rolling sea will reach America,

  My message in a bottle, would it get that far?

  The driftwood on this empty beach could come from anywhere,
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  Hong Kong or Greece, Africa, among the fruits de mare.

  The stories that this sea could tell, of battles won and lost,

  Of those that perished in its wake, those lost at such a cost;

  Of battleships, of sailors’ lives, sunk without a trace,

  Explorers just like Captain Cook, floating round the place.

  The lighthouse, with its guiding light, beckons us to shore,

  Through sea mist, storm and tempest rage, to reach the land once more.

  What secrets does this sea withhold, what bounty in its keep?

  A watery world of mystery, below the ocean deep;

  Treasure, shipwrecks, mariners lost, as widows gently weep.

  Cowboy

  This is weird, this is strange, riding across the vast prairie range,

  Under a big hat, on top of a horse, hanging on for dear life;

  I’m a cowboy, of course.

  Rootin’ and tootin’, just like that John Wayne,

  Whose real name was Marion; there’s a lot in a name.

  My revolver is cocked and I’m ready to shoot;

  When I finds me a stagecoach, I’m taking the loot.

  I’m mean and I’m bad and dangerous to know,

  A bit like Lord Byron from years long ago.

  I’m gonna fill ya with lead, gonna shoot it all out;

  Gonna swing that lasso, gonna holla and shout;

  Gonna build a camp fire and cook me some chow,

  Gonna chew some tobaccy, gonna round up a cow.

  I like baked beans for breakfast, some black coffee too.

  My horse is a palomino, but I call him Blue.

  A pioneer in this country, this brand new frontier,

  Heading west with the rest, riding out without fear.

  OK, it’s a movie, just a few frames,

  The Wild West is broken, broken and tamed,

  But there’s a wolf on the prowl still,

  And a horse with no name.

  Cut, very good, but let’s try that again.

  Are you still my true love?

  Girl, you say your love is strong,

  Stronger than an oak tree,

  But I feel there’s something wrong,

  Your eyes no longer look to me.

  The pale moon high in the autumn sky,

  Don’t seem to give an answer.

  Is your love still strong?

  Is there something wrong?

  Are you still my true love?

  When we walked in the summer sun,

  You smiled your smile so sweetly.

  Hand on hand, I was the one,

  You’d always run to meet me.

  With your dancing eyes, was your truth a lie?

  How could you betray me?

  See the pale moon high in the summer sky;

  Are you still my true love?

  When winter brings its icy winds,

  Love, will you be leaving?

  When the robins fly in the cold grey sky,

  What will I be seeing?

  A love still strong, or a love gone wrong?

  Only you can answer.

  See the pale moon high in the winter sky,

  Are you still my true love? Are you still the one?

  See the pale moon high in the winter sky,

  Are you still my true love?

  My three sons

  My three sons, handsome boys, take after their mums;

  My three sons,

  Sharp and quick, strong and bright, up to tricks,

  From noon to night.

  If I said I was proud, that’s an understatement;

  If I told them I loved them, there’d be a hint of embarrassment.

  But I do, you see, I do very much,

  From cradle to football pitch, from boy to man.

  Just a very proud father, that’s what I am.

  Like my father before me, they carry my name;

  With their own sons now, do they feel the same?

  What a blessing they’ve been, my three sons,

  For me, their dad and their beautiful mums.

  We have had our moments, with this spirited three;

  When it comes down to it, they’re a lot like me.

  Rascals sometimes, angels too; it seems that all monkeys

  Are not in the zoo.

  Would I change a thing about Bill, Kit and Dan?

  Certainly not, cos they made me a man.

  Just watching them grow into the young men they are,

  Smiling inside as they follow their star,

  Finding themselves and winning the game;

  My three sons, they carry my name.

  Love after love

  Love will rise like a phoenix from emptiness,

  Love will bring light, where there were shadows.

  Healing hurts with its truth; Love, reaching out with a strength not felt when alone.

  A spark that will light and comfort and lift the lonely soul,

  Love remains pure,

  Love remains true,

  And once more, love has come to you.

  Oh suburbia!

  Just before the day is dawning,

  He comes back, tired and yawning;

  She gets up to make the coffee,

  He kicks the dog and then says sorry.

  Strange the day, the shadows whisper,

  The milkman whistles at your sister.

  Oh suburbia! How I love ya.

  Sunday morning and I’m washing my Cortina,

  Think I’ll turn the radio on

  And listen to my favourite song;

  All the hits and groovy DJs,

  Making me happy, they’re making my day.

  Meet the boys in a pub by the river;

  Super Sunday, will the team deliver?

  The barmaid here is really tasty,

  I will make a move, but don’t wanna be hasty.

  We’re one goal down and the team is looking shaky.

  Oh suburbia! How I love ya;

  Sunday morning and I’m washing my Cortina.

  Opening night

  Well this is it, the opening night, a mix of excitement and nervous fright;

  The dress rehearsal was a mess, fingers crossed, hope for the best.

  An extra week would have been good, under-rehearsed, I think we could

  Have worked that scene to make it tight, but here we go on the opening night.

  Family, friends, are in tonight; let’s tell our story and reach the heights,

  Previews were very strong, they seem to like the closing song.

  Reviews I never read; a critic’s choice is just one voice.

  And after all, what do they know, about the qualities of a show?

  Five minutes please, beginners now, time to take that opening bow;

  Curtain up, lights on stage, the stage manager turns the page.

  So here we go, on with the show, let’s break a leg, yes this is it;

  One big breath, yes this is it; the MD watches from the pit.

  Act One is done, it went so well, Act Two begins, the bar bells

  Summon all into the stalls, to watch again the rise and fall,

  To laugh and cry, to enter in a wonderland; let us begin.

  A pin could drop, there is no sound, the curtain now is coming down.

  We did our best, they’re on their feet; they roar and clap, ovation sweet.

  We bow to say that we thank you, for your warmth tonight,

  It helped us through.

  Painted clown

  Behind that mask, painted clown, lies tragedy, scars of the past,

  Hidden now, away from light, behind that mask painted white.

  They poke you with their knives and sticks, crucify you just for kicks,

  Buffoon, jester, make me laugh; help me kill the fatted calf.

  Son of God you say I am; dance for me, you painted clown.

  Show me tricks, now part the waves; smile for me, you jester knave.

  I see tears
rolling down, did someone steal your thorny crown?

  King of fools, king of clowns, stop your tears from tumbling down.

  Your kingdom came, painted clown, wisdom spoken, wise words said,

  Voices whispered in your head; the king is dead, long live the king,

  Walk upon the water, then

  Let us sing, dance and rejoice; let us speak with just one voice.

  Clown you are, make me smile, amuse me now, show me how;

  Play for me, tumble, fall; give to me your kingdoms all.

  Somersault through purple haze, lead me to your altar blaze.

  Burn your churches to the ground, it’s only bricks, the choir’s sound.

  Noble clown, look now you’re down, down, down in Devil’s Drive;

  Praise to him, begin to sing; the clown is still alive.

  On and on

  You’re like a song,

  A song that comes and goes and then is gone,

  A melody that seems to linger on;

  You’re on and on, you’re my song.

  A magic spell,

  A shooting star that sounds like a silver bell,

  Something out of heaven must have fell,

  You’re on and on, you’re my song.

  A clown can cry, the tears will fill our eyes,

  The memories that you’ve seen, are made of velveteen.

  Your yesterdays have gone, but yesterdays live on;

  You’re on and on.

  Oh let it ring, the magical magician gets to sing;

  Let me be your blue-eyed harlequin,

  Because you’re on and on.

  You’re my song.

  Flamingo

  The pavement shook from the beat below, as I lined up for the Flamingo.

  An all-night show of rhythm and blues, purple hearts, kick off your shoes.

  I didn’t know what to expect, as I went downstairs, circumspect.

  The place was packed, the joint did jump, as the Blue Flames’ music began to pump.

  The walls were wet, wet with sweat; the dance floor jammed, rammed and yet,

  I knew right then this felt like home, as I stood there, watching on my own.

  Like that famous star over Bethlehem, shining in the night,

  This is the way, it seemed to say; Zoot Money’s got it right.