1. |
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Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
It were a couple of years ago in Tarn
Cpl. Kipper went and got sent darn
And his singing’s never been in style,
But he’s guaranteed to raise a smile
So may I introduce to you,
The act you've known for all these years…
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn
It's Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn
He’s the greatest Karaoke King
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn
You’ll love him ‘cos he loves to sing
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley,
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley,
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn
It's champion to sithee
Sit back, enjoy the show
You're such a lovely audience
I love to sing in public,
But if I do I'll breach me ASBO
I dun't really wanna stop the show,
But I thought you might like to know
That some lad’s are gonna sing their songs,
And we want you all to sing along.
So let me introduce to you,
The one and only Bar-Steward Sons
With Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn
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2. |
Darn Tarn
02:48
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Darn Tarn
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Danny Doonican / Amanda White)
It’s seven o’clock, the taxi’s honkin’ his horn
He’s here to take you there… rarnd Tarn
Your best floral shirt and you’re covered in Brut
And now you’re on your way… rarnd Tarn
You’re thinkin’ ‘bout your big night out
And all the classy totty
And drinkin’ half your weight in beer
To piss it darn the potty
We’ll all be there
The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles - forget all your cares
When you’re rarnd Tarn
Things’ll be great when you’re rarnd Tarn
You and your mates are off rarnd Tarn
The ladies are waiting for you
Hitting the bars and having too many jars
The lads are art in force… rarnd Tarn
Trying to flirt when you’ve got beer down yer shirt
The ladies aren’t impressed… rarnd Tarn
Girls with skirts that look like belts,
And bouncers seeking trouble
“Yer names not darn, you can’t come in,
So piss off on the double”
This pavement’s quite hard
Everyone’s a fighter there
You’ve lost all your mates; you’ve got sick in yer hair
And you’re rarnd Tarn
Can’t get in the club, you’re stuck rarnd Tarn
You go for some grub somewhere rarnd Tarn
The kebab-shop is waiting for you
It’s quarter past three and your tekkin’ a wee
Against a shop window… rarnd Tarn
Kebab in yer hand, you think it tastes grand
Until you throw it up… rarnd Tarn
You stagger to the taxi rank,
Your legs they feel like rubber
No money in your wallet, you’re a paralytic bugger
You get in the queue
You’ve not got a single care
You’ll forget your address, lose your taxi fare
When you’re plastered
Everyone stares when you’re plastered
All the girls think you’re a numpty
Nobody cares about you
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3. |
Wath-On-Dearne Blues
04:57
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Wath-On-Dearne Blues
(Lyrics: Mike Harding)
Well I wok’ up this mornin’,
Din’t feel reight grand tha knows
I wok’ up this mornin’,
Din’t feel reight greatly tha knows
Got so drunk last neet,
Fell in love wi’ a big garden gnome
Well I put me arms ararnd him
Laid him on the grass
Well I put me arms ararnd him
Laid him on the grass
But I got reight worried
When he started kissin’ me… back
Tha knows I play all them blues
By Blind Lemon Jefferson and Booker T.
Tha knows I play all them blues
By Blind Lemon Jefferson and Booker T.
But it sounds like Burt Weedon strangling Gracie Fields
I said I met a lass in Barnsley
So I thought I’d tek a chance
I said I met a lass in Barnsley
So I thought I’d tek a chance
I put Brut in me socks
And self-raisin’ flour down me pants
She said “Lad take off thy underpants,
I tell thee this is it”
She said “Lad take off thy underpants,
I tell thee this is it”
I says “You can tek ‘em off and yer welcome,
But I doubt if they’ll bloody well fit!”
She said “Let’s get some baby oil
And tek it up to bed with us”
She said “Let’s get some baby oil
And tek it up to bed with us”
Well I drank that baby oil,
But it just made me throw up
She said “I want to feel the earth move
When tha meks love to me”
She said “I want to feel the earth move
When tha meks love to me”
I said “At this time of night,
Where am I going to find a JCB?”
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4. |
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When We're Playing Tough Gigs
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White)
Well, we gig at the weekends
After working hard all week
Some nights are good some nights are grand,
And every one's unique
But, some nights they are are tough as hell
The horror stories we could tell
Of Barnsley's chronic clientele
When we’re playing tough gigs
In pubs in Tarn you have to play two sets of 45
But there are nights we watch the clock
Hopin' we get out alive
Playing Dodworth Club for Working Men
We're on from 9 til quarter t' 10
They talk over every song but then
They're deathly quiet for bingo
The meat raffle's drawn, and Deidre wins
Some offal and a pound of mince
While you're playing Purple Rain by Prince
She's distracted by a sausage
Each nauseating second
Is more painful than first
But once you're done, they shout for more
to get their money's worth
The nightmare gig, you've just arrived
The football's on, on Sky Sports live
On a massive screen on the stage behind
The place you're meant to set up
Knuckle dragging blokes watch you
As you try hard not to block their view
And to mek it worse they're losing too
And the bar's run out of Stella
You wonder why they've booked you
But you see the ends in sight
Til a last minute equaliser teks it into extra time
A wedding with a family feud
You're background noise, an interlude
While guests catch up and wait for food
They'll only dance for t'DJ
A hour in things escalate
A drunken lass, she dun't look great
Shouts "Play Adele for my best mate"
"And she'll sing it, if you let her"
I've seen it all, so not a lot will make this lad see red,
Ask one more time for Skyfall
And this uke's wrapped round your head
So when we’ve been entertaining
To earn an honest bob
For a knackered Bar-Steward
It’s a dead exhausting job
Now it’s quite clear, it’s plain to see,
I’m not Tom Jones, won’t ever be
Coz they throw pints, not pants at me,
When we're playing tough gigs!
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5. |
No Fillin' In Me Pie
02:58
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No Fillin’ In Me Pie
(Lyrics: Danny Doonican)
I nipped to Terry’s butty van for a belly bustin’ treat
There were a picture of a massive pie
With about half a pound of meat
I parted with me £2.10, ‘twas cheap at twice the price
But when I cut the crusty top, I couldn’t believe me eyes
Bloody hell mate! Hold the gravy!
There’s no fillin’ in me pie!
I delved around inside the crust to try and find me meat
But all I found were onions
And they don’t agree wi’ me
I found a bit of carrot, and half frozen pea
And then to top the bugger off… no sugar in me tea!
Bloody hell mate! Hold the gravy!
There’s no fillin’ in me pie!
Well I marched back to the butty van,
Me patience was wearing thin
I slammed the tea upon the counter
And I chucked the pie at him
I said “This pie has got no meat,
There’s no sugar in me tea”
He said “You want some filling, cock?
That’s another 80p”
Bloody hell mate! Hold the gravy!
There’s no fillin’ in me pie!
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6. |
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7. |
Tarnlife
03:10
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Tarnlife
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White)
Competence is summat
That ain’t really goin’ on in what is known as (Tarnlife!)
And a Barnsley Chop can be avoided
If tha teks t’long route rarnd what is known as (Tarnlife!)
Fred’s gorra ferret darn ‘is keks
It’s not intimidated by t’smell o’ black puddin’
It loves a bit o’ it! (Tarnlife)
Who’s that skinny bugger o’er there?
Tha could do wi’ some snap young ‘un,
Git thissen t’ t’chip oil!
All the people - so many people
They all go cap in hand
Cap in hand through their Tarnlife
Does tha know worra mean?
I gerrup when I fancy,
‘cept on Thursday when I go to collect me Giro
I put me flat cap on, have a pint o’ smooth,
And then think abart goin’ rarnd t’Tarn
I feed me whippets; I sometimes feed me ferrets too
It meks me feel full t’ t’brim wi’ Barnsley pride
Then I feel champion fo’ t’ rest on the day
Knowin’ you can tek the lad art o’ t’Tarn
But yer can’t tek t’Tarn art on t’lad
All the people - so many people
They all go cap in hand
Cap in hand through their Tarnlife
It’s got nowt to do wi’ yer Yorkshire Pud
And Roast Beef physique thannus
And it not abart all you chavs
That drive rarnd and rarnd and rarnd
All the people - so many people
They all go cap in hand
Cap in hand through their Tarnlife
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8. |
The Tarn Pub Lament
02:41
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The Tarn Pub Lament
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
Scott: Now in Barnsley, pubs have allus been the talk of the Tarn But within my short lifetime, loads have been shut darn
There used to be loads, but they’re now like yetis
But it’s Tarn, and we’re proud of it,
‘Cos we come from Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley
‘Cos it’s Tarn, and we’re proud of it, we come from Barnsley
Alan: Now in Tarn there were a boozer called the Tut & Shive And it was there ‘til the 90s, when it took a nose-dive
And you’d be walkin’ in manpiss, if you went for a wee
But it’s Tarn, and we’re proud of it,
‘Cos we come from Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley
‘Cos it’s Tarn, and we’re proud of it, we come from Barnsley
Björn: Now in Tarn there were a boozer they called Tommy Wallocks On Sat’day neet it wa’ good craic, but on weekdays it wa’ rubbish
But they changed its name to Chambers, and no more will it be
But it’s Tarn, and we’re proud of it,
‘Cos we come from Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley
‘Cos it’s Tarn, and we’re proud of it, we come from Barnsley
Dave Burland: Now in Tarn there were a grand pub, The Alhambra Hotel Home to Barnsley’s first Folk Club, which has served Barnsley well But it were knocked darn for good, in the early 70’s
But it’s Tarn, and we’re proud of it,
‘Cos we come from Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley
‘Cos it’s Tarn, and we’re proud of it, we come from Barnsley
Scott: Now in Tarn there were an O’Neill’s chain pub that’s long gone It’s been The Shambles and The Londoner but nothing’s lasted long
It’s been Soul Bar and The Underground, but one thing’s guaranteed...
That the beer’s been crap in all of them
Yes consistently, ‘tently, ‘tently
Yes the beer’s been crap in all of them, yes consistently
Alan: Now in Barnsley there were more pubs, within a square mile
Björn: Than any other town in Europe, which med Tarnsfolk smile
Scott: Still it’s better than Sheffield, Roth’rum or Donny
‘Cos it’s Tarn, and we’re proud of it,
God Bless old Barnsley, Barnsley, Barnsley
‘Cos it’s Tarn, and we’re proud of it, God Bless old Barnsley
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9. |
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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 Barnsley 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 knickers and condoms ararnd
Dangling from the most famous finger in t’Tarn
Lift Dickie Bird where he belongs
Move him from harm’s way and he’ll be okay
Please lift him up where he belongs
Yes we know he’s a fart, but you can’t do that to fine art
So listen up folks... a joke ain’t a joke,
When Dickie’s had it up to here...
Raise him up five feet, yeah!
They made a plinth where he belongs
Now you won’t need barbed wire, protecting this umpire
Much safer up where he belongs
Pointing way up high, to Barnsley’s bright blue skies
He’s lifted up where he belongs
Raised him up five feet, lookin’ darn on t’street
He’s lifted up where he belongs
No crisp bags or bras left on his outstretched right finger
Who knows what the morning brings...
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10. |
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The Curious Tale of Danny Rabbit
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
Danny Rabbit he went to t’Tarn, a-ha
Danny Rabbit he went to t’Tarn, a-ha
Danny Rabbit he went to t’Tarn
Had ten pints, yeah he necked ‘em darn, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha
Danny Rabbit, well he had a few more, a-ha
Danny Rabbit, well he had a few more, a-ha
Danny Rabbit, well he had a few more
Then went to t’club with the hope that he’d score, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha
Danny Rabbit din’t have a care, a-ha
Danny Rabbit din’t have a care, a-ha
Danny Rabbit din’t have a care
Fell asleep in t’club in t’toilets there, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha
Danny Rabbit got locked in the club, a-ha
Danny Rabbit got locked in the club, a-ha
Danny Rabbit got locked in the club
It was five in the mornin’ when the bugger wok up, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha
Danny Rabbit had a good look rarnd, a-ha
Danny Rabbit had a good look rarnd, a-ha
Danny Rabbit had a good look rarnd
Saw the club was empty
And he got himself a round at the bar, a-ha, a-ha
Danny found a gorilla suit behind the bar
Danny found a gorilla suit behind the bar
Danny found a gorilla suit
Put it on and he looked reight cute, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha
Danny Rabbit brok art of the club, a-ha
Danny Rabbit brok art of the club, a-ha
Danny Rabbit brok art of the club
In a gorilla costume and without a fuss, walked home, six miles, a-ha
Yes, he walked home dressed as a gorilla
And old Danny Rabbit
Never felt a pillock, a-ha a-ha, a-ha
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11. |
Comin' Home
03:11
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Comin' Home
(Lyrics: Joseph Anthony Capstick)
I’ll nivver forget that first day at t’pit. Me and me father worked a seventy two hour shift and then walked home forty-three miles through t’snow in us bare feet. Huddled inside us clothes made of old sacks. Eventually we trudged over t’hill until we could see t’street light twinklin’ in ‘ar village. Me father smiled darn at me through t’icicles hangin’ off his nose.
“Nearly home nar lad” he said.
We stumbled into t’house and stood there freezin’ cold and tired out, shiverin’ and miserable in front o’ t’meagre fire. Anyroad, me mam says,
“Cheer up lads, I’ve got you some nice brown bread and butter for yer tea”
Eee me father went crackers.
“Brown bread and butter? Brown bread and butter? What do you mean brown bread and butter!?!” he said incredulously. “You gret spawny-eyed parrot-faced wazzock!”
He had a way wi’ words me father. He’d been to college you know.
“You’ve been out playing bingo all afternoon instead of gerrin’ some proper snap ready for me an’ this lad!” he explained to me poor confuddled mam. And turnin’ to me he said, “Arthur…”
He could nivver remember me name.
“Here’s half a crown. Nip darn t’chip oil and gerrus a nice piece of haddock for us tea. Man cannot live by bread alone”.
He war a reight tater me father. He said as how workin’ folk should have some dignity and pride and self-respect, and as how they should come home to summat warm and cheerful… and then he chucked me mam on t’fire.
We din’t have no tellies or shoes or bedclothes. We made us own fun in them days. D’you know, when I were a lad, you could gerra tram down into t’Tarn, buy three new suits and an overcoat, four pair o’ good boots, go an’ see George Formby at Palace Theatre, get blind drunk, have some steak an’ chips, a bunch o’ bananas and three stone of monkey nuts, and still have change art on a farthing.
We had lots of things in them days, they haven’t got today. Rickets… Diptheria… Hitler… and by, we did look well going to school with no backside in us trousers and all us little heads painted purple cause we had ringworm.
They dun’t know they’re born today.
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12. |
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The Ballad Of Kipper Jackson
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
Kenneth Jackson, 61,
He once walked free but now he’s gone
And Facebook says, “Free the Barnsley 1”,
And that ‘1’ is Kipper Jackson
He walked Barnsley’s streets so broad and fair,
A karaoke-machine in an old push chair
Now Tarnsfolk cry out in despair,
“They’ve locked-up Kipper Jackson!”
CHORUS:
Kipper Jackson’s t’talk o’ t’Tarn,
And PC Porter took him down
When he slapped a bun right into his crown
Shout out, “Free Kipper Jackson!”
Kipper Jackson ‘Karaoke King’,
He entertains the public, croons and sings
And think of all the joy he brings,
Shout out, “Free Kipper Jackson”
PC Porter, late one night,
Had to nick some lads who got into a fight
And Kenneth Jackson only had two pints,
‘Cos of 25 years on Pub Watch.
Armed with a bun and a glint in his eye,
The embodiment of how to be dignified
He didn’t turn the other cheek and he didn’t walk by,
No, he sent the cream bun flying!
The cream bun stuck to the copper’s head,
“That’s it, you’re nicked!” PC Porter said
“You’ll be swapping your bun for prison food instead,
Yeah, you’re going down Kipper Jackson.”
But he launched another at the panda car
And it’s safe to say that he didn’t get far
And people hailed him a super star,
‘For Mayor vote Kipper Jackson’
Kenneth Jackson appeared before
A Sheffield Court And Judge Robert Moore
And on a red T-shirt he proudly wore,
The plea “Free Kipper Jackson”
The judge said, “You’re here to be tried.
A custodial sentence is justified
And you’re off to the cells for two years inside,
Fare thee well, Mr Kipper Jackson.”
Kenneth Jackson’s in a four foot cell,
Yeah, the judge sent the poor bugger straight to hell
And for chucking a bun, he’ll do a two year spell,
God Bless poor Kipper Jackson
The moral to this sad, sad tale,
May come to light if he ever gets bail
Don’t celebrate with cake, but a pint of ale.
Three cheers for Kipper Jackson!
Free Kipper Jackson, poor Kipper Jackson,
Free the ‘Barnsley 1’
Free Kipper Jackson, poor Kipper Jackson,
Barnsley’s favourite son
Kenneth Jackson was released
And he vowed that he never disturbed the peace
Or chucked cream buns at the ‘aul Police.
Shout HOORAY for Kipper Jackson!
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13. |
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Cpl. Kipper’s Barnsley Trades Club Turn (Reprise)
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
We're Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn
We hope that you enjoyed the show
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn
We're sorry but it's time to go
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley, Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley, Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn
We'd like to thank you once again
Cpl Kipper's one and only Barnsley Trades Club Turn
It's getting very near the end
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley, Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley
Cpl. Kipper's Barnsley Trades Club Turn
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14. |
A Day In t'Tarn
09:29
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A Day In t’Tarn
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
I read the news today, oh boy,
On t’front page of the Chronic Barnicle
And though the news was rather bad,
Well I just couldn’t help but laugh
At Eric Ilsley’s photograph
He’d claimed well-over 14 grand,
In fiddled expenses for his second home
The local people raged and jeered,
He’d even claimed for his garden gnomes
It’s looking pretty doubtful
That he’ll ever make the House of Lords
I saw the news today, oh boy,
The telly said that Eric got sent darn
The crowd of people looked away,
They said he’d shamed the Tarn
All he did was frown - They’re glad that Ilsley’s gone…
I wok up inside me cell - life in here’s a living hell
In me pokey room, six foot by ten
The screws come round every now and then
Went to t’shower, dropped me soap
Didn’t really have much hope
Cos they dun’t tek well to a bent MP
There’s a bunch of lads with their eyes on me...
I read the news today, oh boy,
Four thousand potholes caused by winter snow
And though the potholes weren’t reight small,
The council’s left ‘em all
They prob’ly didn’t have enough to fill ‘em
After Ilsley’d done - They're glad that Ilsley’s gone…
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15. |
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|
Strong Arm Of The Law
(Saxon cover)
I was listening to the music on the radio
I had a feeling that something's not right
The music was loud, we could still hear the crowd
From the gig that we played that night
We pulled into a motorway restaurant
Stopped a while and fooled around
Oh, I still had a feeling that something's not right
As we started out homeward bound
Stop! Get out! We are the strong arm of the law
Stop! Get out! We are the strong arm of the law
Into the night came a blue flashing light
A blast from the siren to make sure
That we came to a stop behind the motorway cop
Who'd been trailing us for more than an hour
He pulled us out of the car at the side of the road
He questioned us one at a time
Where is the gear that we know that you use
We said “The only speed we use is our car”
Stop! Get out! We are the strong arm of the law
Stop! Get out! We are the strong arm of the law
You should've seen the stupid smirk
Drop from his face
It was a negative exercise
The way that we dress and the things that we do
They thought it was an easy bust
I was listening to the music on the radio
I had a feeling that something's not right
The music was loud, we could still hear the crowd
From the gig that we played that night
Stop! Get out! We are the strong arm of the law
Stop! Get out! We are the strong arm of the law
Stop! Get out! We are the strong arm of the law
Stop! Get out! We are the strong arm of the law
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The Bar-Steward Sons of Val Doonican UK
Hailing from Barnsley, The Bar-Steward Sons of Val Doonican are Britain's hardest working comedy band. Having played over 1,100 anarchic live shows to date, they are instantly recognisable for their immaculate hair and their stylish dress-sense. The have been critically acclaimed to be the UK festival scene's undisputed Kings of Parody. ... more
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