1. |
Kokoschka
02:04
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I am a timely traveller
It's true, I am no saint
I went back to the time of Hitler
Met the struggling artist Hitler
But I did not murder Hitler
Instead I taught him how to paint
And so, the artist Adolf
Imbued with all my knowledge
Became no lauded politician
(And when I say politician
I mean tyrant, not politician)
Instead he conquered his Art College
Thus, Oskar H Kokoschka
Rejected in his place
Became no great impressionist
Instead, left his impression as
The leader of a most impressive
White and mighty Aryan race.
Oops.
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2. |
Smoke Alarm
02:06
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Oh, Smoke Alarm, Oh smoke alarm
You stem your credibility
You've claimed for eight whole months now
That your batteries need replacing
But all that time you've beeped to
All the best of your ability
My head forever pounding, and
My heart forever racing
My neighbours come to see me
And say 'It's been sixteen fortnights -
Don't you think it's time to take some action
And put out the fire?'
My neighbours, heaven bless them
Are so eth-i-cal-ly forthright
But I'll tend to my own housework
When I jolly well desire
And, at last, it got unbearable
I said to myself 'Criminy!'
And picked the sodding fire up
With a pair of pruning gloves
And stuffed it rather tidily
Within my sooty chimney
And that, Saint Peter, 's how I died
Alleluia, God is love.
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3. |
Mars
02:08
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The three intrepid cosmonauts -
Brian, Mike and Lars
Placed one small foot for humankind
Upon the sands of Mars
They surveyed every crimson plain
Each scarlet vale and Crag
They saw a dusty wilderness
And one old dusty flag
'My God', said Brian, 'isn't this
An existential pickle?
The flag's as red as bloody Mars
With hammers and a sickle!'
And like the dusky planeta
It dawned upon their face
The States had came in second-best
The Russians won the race!
But why had they not said a thing?
And who's there left to trust?
The three of them just turned around
And flew home in disgust
And so thus ends the story
Of our Brian, Lars and Mike
And deep within Andromeda
Some prankster giggled 'Psyche!'
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4. |
The Last Smoker
01:21
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The year is 2040
I'm the last smoker alive
My lungs, I'll have you know, suffice
For the odd jump and jive
I wander past bus shelters
Their tidings be not glad
At my full height, lit up in white -
An anti-smoking ad
I cannot help but take it
Rather personally, this time
For all its self-destructiveness
My passion is no crime
In one act of defiance
I light my cancer stick
Then some guy beats me half to death
Humanity are pricks.
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5. |
The Guardian
01:04
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In the eyes of my Dog
I'm nigh-on immortal
A celestial guardian
Stepped through a portal
Caretaker of Fido,
Of Trusty and Rover
Six more generations
Of Family Over
But Fido, he senses that
Something is wrong
This swan of all ages
Will soon sing its song
His amber eyes widened
He didn't know why -
This constant, his craving
How could he just die?
My face becomes ashen
My eyes become white
And Fido, the faithful
Returns
To eating
His own shite.
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6. |
A Chess Piece
04:34
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In the park
Before dark
I met two men
Playing chess
Heaven bless
In the shaded glen
And one could see man's future
And one could see his thoughts
Very few
Cared to view
The scene not great
Not a piece
Was released
In this stalemate
For one could see man's future
And one could see his thoughts
How annoying -
A clairvoyant
So each piece held steady
No surprise
In his eyes
For he knew that already
As he could see man's future
His foe could see his thoughts
'Enough' I cried as loudly
As my own lungs were able
'What foolishness!' I uttered
And boldly flipped the table
I looked upon the faces
Of those who I'd disturbed
The right was somewhat piteous
The left was unperturbed
'I knew you'd do that' he exclaimed
And knelt down in the silt
To calmly pick the pieces up
The right just saw my guilt.
Dunno how
Even now
Those two great men
Could like chess
More or less
In the shaded glen
For one could see man's future
And one could see his thoughts
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7. |
On Pants
01:07
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I wipe my hands
Upon my pants
To clean my hands
I wipe my hands
Upon my pants
To clean my pants
I wipe my hands
Upon my pants
To clean my hands
I wipe my hands
Upon my pants
To clean my pants
Along came a man
(His name was Michael)
'What, ho!' he cried
'That's a vicious cycle -
My suggestion to you
For next time, if you'd like'll
Be to wash them in a machine
Made by Fisher and Paykell'.
I wipe my hands
Upon my pants
To clean my hands
I wipe my hands
Upon my pants
To clean my pants
And Michael
Can go eat himself.
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8. |
Long Live the Queen
01:22
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One day
As I stood
In Buckingham palace
The devil
Appeared
With a towering phallus
He whispered
In my Taringa
(That's Maori
Rhymes with Bar Singer... kind of)
'The secret
of longevity
For she who is
Prince Phillip's wife?
Each time they say
'Long live the queen'
It adds ten minutes
To her life'
One day
As I stood
In Buckingham palace
The devil
Left off
In a puff of great malice
I wondered
What would be the best
Approach
To put this to the test
I cleared my lungs
And bellow-ed
'Drop dead the Queen!'
She promptly did
And all the soldiers
Heard my voice
I started to
Regret my choice
And that's why I'm
On trial for treason
(I must admit
Not shy of reason).
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9. |
Absolut Rubbish
01:47
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One night, while off my bosoms
Oh my starry-livered soul
I poured a fifth of vodka
In my Goldfish (Nigel)'s bowl
It lapped up all the liquid
Like an alcoholic gruel
And lost enough sobriety
To break that cardinal rule
That's drilled into each animal
So they'll never forget:
Don't talk unto your owner
If you are your owner's pet!
'Hey, owner!' said the Goldfish
'Time we had a chat' he reckoned
'Hey owner!' he repeated
For his mem'ry's seven seconds
'Hey owner' said the Goldfish
I departed with a cough
And sat down and did a crossword
Til the vodka had worn off.
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10. |
Trelia
01:19
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They call me Trelia
I am loved
By all my people
For I am a healer
But I'm unworthy
As I do not
Truly heal wounds
Just transfer them
And in the valley below
I am hated
By the people
They call me Trelia
But also Trel, the deathly throe
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11. |
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Good gracious
Yes, my name is Lars
I work here at the registry
Of wishes
Made on shooting stars
Where each
Entreaty is recorded
Here among the registry
It's just what the
Wish doctor ordered
And deep within our catalogue
A little boy named Jase
Has wished health on his father
I'm assigned now to his case
I read his gentle case file
With a tremble to my hand
Although the spelling's awful
All the sentiment is grand
I take one sip of coffee
It's needed to feel better
And start the daily mission
Of replying to the letter
Dear Master Smith, I start with,
We apologise with grace
Regret your father's ill health
And within ten working days
We'll send him antibodies
And a latent cancer cure
Sincerely, Lars, ex-cosmonaut
He'll soon be good and pure
Then added as a postscript
It has come to my attention
He's been dead ten years to cancer
Please send no further intentions.
And so, I click the button
One great smile upon my gob
I love to help the needy, yes
That's why I love this job
Which bastard said bureaucracy's
An inefficient thing?
I lean back at my comfy desk
My heart begins to sing
Good gracious
Yes, my name is Lars
I work here at the registry
Of wishes
Made on shooting stars
Where each
Entreaty is recorded
Here among the registry
It's just what the
Wish doctor ordered
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12. |
Twelfth
01:11
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This is my twelve-th effort
And friends, you should be glad
There's ten thousand songs out there
And not one is this bad
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13. |
Universal
00:46
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One night, as my carpet
I struggled to hoover
The aliens landed
Somewhere in Vancouver
'You're healthcare is universal -
we've a bleeder!
His lifeforce is leaking
Take us to your leader!'
I stand with my fingers
Pressed firm on my jeans
This isn't what
'Universal healthcare' means
Dunno where they came from
And dunno what wrecked 'em
But, hell, I'm Canuck
Too polite to correct 'em
Eh?
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14. |
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See the olympic diver
In panic in the loo
He's trouble passing water
But none in breaking through
Perhaps he'll be a legend
His story ever told
For now, he pulls his fly down
And prays once more for gold
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Pointless Frogspawn Adelaide, Australia
Pointless Frogspawn is a combination of Pointless Account and Frogspawn, malefactors on February Album Writing Month who bend time and space to win a pointless trophy with strange lyrics and stranger music and song. They're so bad that bandcamp won't let them back on their own show until recently! ... more
