David Bourke

Anagrammy Awards > Literary Archives > David Bourke

Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

A song from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang".

Posh!

This is livin', this is style, this is elegance by the mile.
Oh, the posh posh traveling life, the traveling life for me
First cabin and captain's table regal company.
Whenever I'm bored I travel abroad, but ever so properly,
Port out, starboard home, posh with a capital P-O-S-H, posh.

The hands that hold the sceptres, every head that holds a crown,
They'll always give their all for me, they'll never let me down.
I'm on my way to far away - tah tah and toodle-oo!
And fare thee well, and Bon Voyage, arrivederci too!

Oh, the posh posh traveling life, the traveling life for me,
First cabin and captain's table regal company.
Pardon the dust of the upper crust - fetch us a cup of tea,
Port out, starboard home, posh with a capital P-O-S-H, posh.

In every foreign strand I land, the royal trumpets toot me,
The royal welcome mat is out, they twenty-one gun salute me.
But monarchies are constantly commanding me to call,
Last month I missed the Mufti but you can't oblige them all.

Oh the posh posh traveling life, the traveling life for me
Oh rumpety tumpety diddy diddy dee dee dee dee dee.
Oh the posh posh traveling life, the traveling life for me,
First cabin and captain's table regal company.

When I'm at the helm the world's my realm and I do it stylishly,
Port out, starboard home, posh with a capital P-O-S-H,
P-O-S-H, P-O-S-H... posh!

Posh Spice

If you have got no talent... ahh, this is the life!
- Become a Man Utd footballer's trophy wife!
Release banal records, pose hard, and pout,
Then let what little chest you've got hang out.

I'm HRH Princess Victoria, I'm top totty!
I buy Gucci leather handbags in the Via Condotti.
The Argos shop catalogue to hell be damned -
My Louis Vuitton luggage is monogrammed!

Almost every day I spend shopping;
Love, every so often, transatlantic-hopping,
To help David escape that constant media pressure,
Then home to my classy gaff in Cheshire.

I stroll down the palatial marbled halls,
With handsome David, the perfect husband. ('Goldenballs'.)
I'll show you the very pretty family castle,
(Don't step on the England captain's metatarsal!)

Tell you what I really really want:
My first Number One record. (I have got some front!)
Why's a Caesarian birth preferable? I'll tell you why:
I'm too posh to push that hard, am I!

Every night (pre-recorded) I'd mime Romeo to sleep,
Home with HRH Prince David - his intellect's pretty deep!
From time to time we have both appeared in 'Hello',
A love of materialism both happy to show.

We both have staff to help, Elton he's my best friend.
On my fantastic P.R. firm I have to totally depend.
To what other path, then, could I perhaps aspire?
Heh! Not half bad for a slapper from Hertfordshire!

Return to David Bourke Index

PIANO MAN

It's nine o'clock on a Saturday
The regular crowd shuffles in
There's an old man sitting next to me
Making love to his tonic and gin

He says, "Son can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"

Sing us a song you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright

Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there's someplace that he'd rather be

He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me"
As a smile ran away from his face
"Well, I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place"

Sing us a song you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright

Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife
And he's talking with Davy who's still in the Navy
And probably will be for life

And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinking alone

Sing us a song you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright

It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been coming to see
To forget about life for a while

And the piano sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say "Man what are you doing here?"

Sing us a song you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright.

GUITAR MAN

It's a dodgy Saturday night gig once again,
Down in the Rose and Crown.
All the same crowd coming in to get drunk,
And hear the same lame Rock'n'Roll songs going down.

One more time, the band shall set up in a corner,
The pool table is moved off to one side.
The landlady often asks "Can't you turn them drums down?"
Whining "loud music she can't at all abide"!

Play us a Queen riff again, guitar man!
Or how about 'Sweet Child O' Mine'?
Some Rolling Stones, Small Faces, Nirvana, Who,
Some Joe Satriani or Steve Vai? Fine!

Some skinny young girl slinks over, asks me "Will I play,
Something gentler, how about Sting, or 'Cavatina'?"
And I guess I would do, if she was prettier,
But man! Oh, please! You should have seen her!

I say, play us a song again, guitar man!
'Foxy Lady'? Yes, that would be nice!
"Something fast, Eddie van bloody Halen!"
So I hit them with 'Eruption'. (Twice!)

A five-minute stop for a new G-string, again,
- The flash bassist thinks he *is* Stanley Clarke!
The audience, they wake up eventually,
So the keyboardist bores them with Bach.

Go on, let's hear 'Smoke On The Water', guitar man!
On your old Fender Strat yet again.
'Alright Now' on your shining new Gibson Les Paul,
And 'More Than Words', a little acoustic refrain.

"Oi you! Clapton!", shouts some glassy-eyed bloke at the bar,
"I feel like a slow twelve-bar blues!"
"Hey Joe...", I say, lighting on yet another cigarette,
"...'Stormy Monday'? 'Red House'? You choose."

The (filling-in) drummer is minging, I'm afraid,
- His personal hygiene leaves a little to be desired.
The singer still feels he's God's gift to women,
- One more groin thrust, and he'll get us all fired!

"Do some Jimmy Page again, Mr Guitar Man,"
(See, we often finish on 'Stairway To Heaven').
The punters finally go off, singing 'All The Way Home',
(Like Spinal Tap - all the way up to eleven!).

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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