David Bourke

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Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

I Don't Feel Like Dancin' - Scissor Sisters

Wake up in the morning with a head like 'what ya done?'
This used to be the life but I don't need another one.
Good luck cuttin' nothin', carrying on, you wear them gowns.
So how come I feel so lonely when you're up getting down?

So I play along when I hear that favourite song
I'm gonna be the one who gets it right.
You better know when you're swingin' round the room
Look's like magic's solely yours tonight

But I don't feel like dancin'
When the old Joanna plays
My heart could take a chance
But my two feet can't find a way
You think that I could muster up a little soft, shoop devil sway
But I don't feel like dancin'
No sir, no dancin' today.

Don't feel like dancin', dancin'
Even if I find nothin' better to do
Don't feel like dancin', dancin'
Why'd you break down when I'm not in the mood?
Don't feel like dancin', dancin'
Rather be home with no one when I can't get down with you

Cities come and cities go just like the old empires
When all you do is change your clothes and call that versatile.
You got so many colours make a blind man so confused.
Then why can't I keep up when you're the only thing I lose?

So I'll just pretend that I know which way to bend
And I'm gonna tell the whole world that you're mine.
Just please understand, when I see you clap your hands
If you stick around I'm sure that you'll be fine.

But I don't feel like dancin'
When the old Joanna plays
My heart could take a chance
But my two feet can't find a way
You think that I could muster up a little soft, shoop devil sway
But I don't feel like dancin'
No sir, no dancin' today.

Don't feel like dancin', dancin'
Even if I find nothin' better to do
Don't feel like dancin', dancin'
Why'd you break down when I'm not in the mood?
Don't feel like dancin', dancin'
Rather be home with no one when I can't get down with you

You can't make me dance around
But your two-step makes my chest pound.
Just lay me down as you blow it away into the shimmer light.

But I don't feel like dancin'
When the old Joanna plays
My heart could take a chance
But my two feet can't find a way
You think that I could muster up a little soft, shoop devil sway
But I don't feel like dancin'
No sir, no dancin' today.

Don't feel like dancin', dancin'
Even if i find nothin' better to do
Don't feel like dancin', dancin'
Why'd you break down when I'm not in the mood?
Don't feel like dancin', dancin'
Rather be home with no one when I can't get down with you

I Don't Feel Like 'Grammin' - David Bourke

Still online at the crack of dawn, natch,
Suddenly, the wife shouts: "Hey! Where've you been?
Why couldn't you get a life, you saddo, David,
Instead of staring at that screen?"
Unlucky in the contest...no, couldn't win nowt, I feel so down,
Then that Tony bloody Crafter chap pinched my 'Top Brit' crown! :-(

Oh, how I need to take a decent holiday!
Why? I just (innocently) dreamed of Countdown...with WTP!
Best to take it nice and slow, or there could be more marital woe,
And alone in the spare bed's where you know I'll be.

No, I don't feel like 'grammin',
Do need a while out from word-play,
Young Richard G's back with a vengeance,
That newbie Rosie's well away.
Hey, you'd think why couldn't I just concoct
One 'Special' with which to beat that douchebag Mey?
But, you know, I don't feel like 'grammin',
No sir, no more posts today!

I don't feel like 'grammin', no no,
I think I'll find owt else to do,
Don't feel like 'grammin', no way
...I'm up to here with touchy Rick 'n' tetchy 'View',
No, don't feel like 'grammin',
When the consonant-to-vowel ratio's no doubt tits-up anyway...

I don't feel like 'grammin', oh no,
Not funny, when my bank account's decidedly red,
Don't feel like The Daily Mail, no chance,
When I could learn Bulgarian instead.
You know, I don't feel like 'grammin',
Think I could slow down once in a while.

I've had enough of obscene Rudies about cocks, cunts, anal probes...
And anyway, the Forum ain't no fun now, without old Tobes!
I could uninstall AnAide, before the wife gives me the boot,
And don't I miss Len Richards! (Och aye, Neil's just no substitute).

But I wonder why, as I cast a hackneyed, jaundiced eye,
I find that nothin' don't seem to be any fun to me.
Dejected, incensed, I now sit, one wry, disenchanted git,
And jaded, whine on-and-on, a dull monologue...cynically.

Don't feel like that Northolt nonentity Tully,
Hey, I don't see no point in DFE!
And that poncy Canadian Yoshioka too,
I could do without Wayne, Don, Andrew B.,
Don't feel like that confounded Athenian, Paul Pan,
No Ade the Hick, that uncouth Aussie dude L.B.,
Don't feel like the Teutonic ninny, Hans-Peter,
That whiter-than-white Dent woman, and that oily "HSP".

No, I don't feel like 'grammin',
No way can you keep up with The Kraus and Mike Keith!
I don't feel like no smutty innuendo,
No nice juicy Long'uns in which to sink my teeth!
Oh, I'm Finnished with Fat Phil and Lardy Anna,
Don't feel like any cunning linguistic feats today, no no...

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THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes - how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

The Day Of Wishful Thinking

Half a month before Christmas - panic at No. Ten.
Would Blair have his collar felt? - Not "if", but "when"!
To notions of honesty he had turned an eye blind,
With a hope that the law would no evidence find.

A Government bursting with wasters and phonies...
A House of Lords stuffed to the rafters with cronies...
How embarrassing might that be, a plod at the door,
When his hollow "legacy", he had still to secure?

The N.H.S. he'd treat with inhuman disdain,
Middle England he'd siphon for personal gain.
Fiddled expenses, and free holidays! (Like, hello?)
How shady he was! (As the headlines all show).

John Yates of the Yard, he had Blair on the run,
In a quest to find him with a hot, smoking gun.
Would the storm in the media about cash for honours,
Be enough to ensure that New Labour were goners?

Said Yates to himself: "There's no smoke without fire!",
While down Downing St. again swept the filth's Black Maria.
When he knocked, Cherie answered, her hair all unkempt,
- How his "Wicked Witch" wife sneered with downright contempt!

Said the hapless PM: "I...ahem...wouldn't suppose,
You'd, like...do me a favour...all remain in plain clothes?"
"With respect, sir", said Yates, "it might be for the best,
If you didn't stage-manage your terms of arrest!"

Blair shackled and handcuffed, that was always the plan,
Then he'd throw him within the back of a van.
Tony's shower of halfwits were huddled in there,
And Yates got down to business...he'd a case to prepare.

"Come, Falconer! Come, Ali! Come, Dromey! Come, Tessa!
Why not stop wasting my time, and confess, huh?
Come, Levy! Come, Two-Jags! Come, Gord! Come, John Reid!
Let's be havin' you all! Spill the beans, then you're freed!"

Tony's flannel and hogwash, how it came back to bite!
("Things Can Only Get Better!", and "whiter than white"),
Whilst baksheesh hardly known since the Soviet Bloc...
Christmas Eve morn, there he was, in the dock!

The judge, he sighed: "Ah! Anthony Charles Lynton Blair!
You stand charged with corruption...what a sordid affair!
Why, your duplicity, lies, spin and underhand greed,
Have ruined this nation, man! How do you plead?"

Like with Dr. Kelly, when the wheedling, shamed runt,
He had insisted 'twas all a political stunt,
"Not guilty, ok!", the defendant replied,
"Anyhow, I shall one day over Europe preside!"

"You? As bent as a plate of stolen spaghetti?
Knockdown knighthoods, with peerages thrown like confetti!
Leaks! Threats! Wanton scheming! Wholesale wheeler-dealing!
Hutton whitewash! A stealth-tax haul right through the ceiling!

That illegal war! Parliament awash with sleaze!
Wealthy Asians helped! And hidden loans! Like, oh please!
And he shook his head..."Jesus H. Christ, words me fail!"
Then the beak (with a wink) he sent "Teflon" to jail!

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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