David Bourke

Anagrammy Awards > Literary Archives > David Bourke

Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

In The Navy

Where can you find pleasure,
Search the world for treasure,
Learn science technology?
Where can you begin to make your dreams all come true
On the land or on the sea?
Where can you learn to fly?
Play in sports and skin dive
Study oceanography?
Sign off for the big band,
Or sit in the grandstand,
When your team and others meet?

In the navy
Yes, you can sail the seven seas
In the navy
Yes, you can put your mind at ease
In the navy
Come on now, people, make a stand
In the navy, in the navy
Can't you see we need a hand
In the navy
Come on, protect the motherland
In the navy
Come on and join your fellow man
In the navy
Come on people, and make a stand
In the navy, in the navy, in the navy (in the navy)

They want you, they want you,
They want you as a new recruit.

If you like adventure,
Don't you wait to enter,
The recruiting office fast.
Don't you hesitate,
There is no need to wait,
They're signing up new seamen fast.
Maybe you are too young,
To join up today,
But don't you worry 'bout a thing,
For I'm sure there will be,
Always a good navy,
Protecting the land and sea.

In the navy
Yes, you can sail the seven seas
In the navy
Yes, you can put your mind at ease
In the navy
Come on now, people, make a stand
In the navy, in the navy
Can't you see we need a hand
In the navy
Come on, protect the motherland
In the navy
Come on and join your fellow man
In the navy
Come on people, and make a stand
In the navy, in the navy, in the navy (in the navy)

They want you, they want you,
They want you as a new recruit.
Who me?
They want you, they want you,
They want you as a new recruit.
But, but, but... I'm afraid of water!
Hey hey, look man, I get seasick even watchin' it on TV!
They want you, they want you in the Navy!
Oh my goodness! What am I gonna do in a submarine?
They want you, they want you in the navy

In The Navy

Where can you tie up men? (And indeed, yachts?)
Learn the ropes at a rate of knots?
Where can you learn to pillow-bite,
And eat-the-sheets at night?
- Where you go down in the annals of history!
Up periscope, dear! It's no mystery!
Bareback-ride-the-waves... find a perfect slot,
Now come on out, mate, be a matelot!

In the Navy,
Yes, you can show your chums your class!
In the Navy,
You too can take it up the arse!
In the Navy,
Penetrate the inner ring,
In the Navy, in the Navy!

In the Navy,
It's rum, sodomy, and the lash,
In the Navy,
You can have a bushy moustache,
In the Navy
You too can feel like a new man,
In the Navy, in the Navy...

You can mince around, all and any day,
Have a fine, fine time so very gay.
Yet hang around with meaty, macho guys,
In leather chaps around your thighs.
Heave many a drowning man a buoy,
Dive in and bugger away? Oh, indeed a joy!
Pout away! Fly a ten-inch Jolly Roger!
Camp on deck, and dock your todger!

In the Navy,
Come on, if your thrust's reversed,
In the Navy,
You can navigate stern-first!
In the Navy,
Where can you dress-up funny like RuPaul?
In the Navy, in the Navy!

In the Navy,
East, west, you can cruise into any town,
In the Navy,
To catch Aids, and then wipe it down,
In the Navy,
You may often need to tear open some new Mates,
In the Navy, in the Navy!

They want you, they want you too,
They want to net you, as a brand new root!
They want you, they want you,
Want you as a young new teenage fruit!

- Who, I mean, not me, man? No no!
- Yes indeed, even you too, sweetie-honey-pie!
  Yup, they'll want to bend over backwards to fit you in, matey!
  Come on, come in then! Why not join up one-to-one now?

They want you, they want men, they need YOU, in the Navy!

- Hey, now don't look yet!
  Isn't that there submarine a wet dream, men?
- Neat neat neat! A nice long vessel ahead,
  full of lovely tasty seamen!

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A Monty Python song.

Decomposing Composers

Beethoven's gone, but his music lives on,
And Mozart don't go shopping no more.
You'll never meet Liszt or Brahms again,
And Elgar doesn't answer the door.

Schubert and Chopin used to chuckle and laugh,
Whilst composing a long symphony,
But one hundred and fifty years later,
There's very little of them left to see.

They're decomposing composers.
There's nothing much anyone can do.
You can still hear Beethoven,
But Beethoven cannot hear you.

Handel and Haydn and Rachmaninov
Enjoyed a nice drink with their meal,
But nowadays, no one will serve them,
And their gravy is left to congeal.

Verdi and Wagner delighted the crowds
With their highly original sound.
The pianos they played are still working,
But they're both six feet underground.

They're decomposing composers.
There's less of them every year.
You can say what you like to Debussy,
But there's not much of him left to hear.

Claude Achille Debussy - Died, Nineteen-Eighteen.
Christophe Willebald Gluck - Died, Seventeen-Eighty-Seven.
Carl Maria von Weber - Not at all well, Eighteen-Twenty- Five, died, Eighteen-Twenty Six.
Giacomo Meyerbeer - Still alive, Eighteen-Sixty-Three. Not still alive, Eighteen-Sixty-Four.
Modeste Mussorgsky - Eighteen-Eighty, going to parties. No fun anymore, Eighteen-Eighty-One.
Johan Nepomuk Hummel - Chatting away nineteen to the dozen with his mates down the pub every evening, Eighteen-Thirty-Six... Eighteen-Thirty-Seven - nothing.

Elvis Presley's now left the building.
Jimi Hendrix? Stone free in the ground.
Freddie Mercury? Gone stiff. ("Oh what's new, my dear!")
Michael Hutchence? Not hanging around.

Kurt Cobain? Pegged-out, 'cos Nirvana he reached.
The tree's the last Marc Bolan hit.
Lennon? He shot out, free as a bird.
Keith Moon's gone to trash his last kit.

Kirsty MacColl? Swum into the sunset.
Bon Scott? Gone in, ice-cold, down under.
Marvin Gaye? Lying, yet won't 'Get It On'.
'Bonzo' Bonham? Clapped the last heavy thunder.

Karen Carpenter? Yes, now even thinner.
Otis Redding? Hey, may God bless his soul.
Phil Lynott? Merely thinner than Lizzy.
Dusty Springfield? Downtown, in the hole.

Buddy Holly? High on the next celestial plane,
Where Bob Marley smoked heavenly pot.
Jerry Garcia? Hey, spaced-out, man! Gratefully dead!
Steve Marriott? My! No longer too hot.

Veggie Linda McCartney? Gone meat-free.
Sid Vicious? Why, even he pogoed no more.
Tiny Tim might be seen pushing-up tulips.
Ronnie Lane? He'd become now folk-lore.

Stevie Ray Vaughan? Hey, he turned true blue.
Eva Cassidy? In the box tight inside.
Roy Orbison? In my eyes, he's gone outta sight!
The sensational Alex Harvey? Och aye, he died.

Ian Dury? Gone with sweet Gene Vincent,
Gee, high up there they've music Divine!
Come on, we must then exit stage left, see,
Down here we've got to the end of the line.

Yet, there'd seem to be someone gone missing,
That did not by St. Peter arrive.
Hey! Has God yet chased-up Liam Gallagher?
Oh no! The wee cunt's still alive!

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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