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These
are the folks who are long since gone,
They
live in the 'dead centre of Liverpool',
anon!
They
all wear 'wooden overcoats',
Coffins,
caskets, coffers even wooden floats!
For
they are in, The Bone Orchard Brigade,
Long
since gone ,and got heaven made!
Life
is pretty uneventful, laid to rest,
'Dead'
boring, or haven't you guessed!
For
these all 'boney' guys,
Are
the former living wise.
Until
their spirits rise to play,
What
hymn tune is it today?!
To
do the 'bone orchard skeletons' jive,
Doing
their ghostly exercise they strive!
With
the local vicar,
No
not the man from Wicca!
As
he walks amidst the buried and archived,
He
walks amongst those for whom we cried.
Some
call collect in shillin's, dismal,
Because
they went 'pre-decimal',
To
call back home and confide,
That
they are still along for the ride!
And
using the 'dog and bone',
Oh
that's the ghostly telephone!
They
all reached their sell by date,
Such
was being born a fate!
After
a date with the 'boney man',
Who
really 'digs' them ma-an!
He
is into skeletons,
All
shapes and sizes, tonnes!
He
did a deal in dig-gin,
Yeah,
no kid-din!
And
'ribs' them all so soft,
With
faces 'vacant and lost'.
A
friend of Eleanor Rigby, from the 'pool',
Wow
ain't that just famously cool!
They
dance a nice 'pastoral' number,
Their
days are all the 'flower power'.
'Rib
diggin' on the turn,
For
those trapped inside an urn!
Sad
for the ones all in ashes,
They
miss out on the skeleton bashes!
Their
days are all the 'flower power',
Whose
got more from the earth shower!
Fresh
water in 'to boot',
All
'flowered' from head to foot!
After
sobbin' relatives, have been to visit,
The
fragrance of flowers so exquisite!
It
could only happen in Liverpool,
This
wooden overcoat jibe and fool!
Home
of the 'Beatles Flower Power',
Bang
on dead centre what a shower!
Might
get to 'grass' on trespassers,
And
not get nobbled by the masses!
Whilst
pushing up daisies, what a hoot,
Lets
look up and grab a boot!
Dead
guys get to look up skirts,
And
jive with female skeletons, flirts!
Without
getting nicked,
Wow
what a kick!
All
'dead stoned' now,
Epitaph
in place, wow!
And
on the 'weed',
When
overgrown to seed!
Wearing
rags and tatters can be a bit jipped,
Bones
trapped in them 'cos they all got 'RIP'-ped,
But
then the weekend is upon them,
They
get some music, a hymn.
Sunday
comes and they all get to hear it all,
The
'belles' of the skeletons Sunday Ball.
Ding
ding ding,
Hear
those bells loudly ring.
No
rest for the wicked and all,
The
organist does another recital.
For
The Bone Orchard Brigade,
They
live in a 'bone orchard', laid.
In
what is commonly known as a grave,
Wow
for skeletons they're all the rave!
No
more rent to pay,
Rigsby
broke another day!
And
no more 'dole to draw',
The
need for money is no more!
Yeah
that's The Bone Orchard Brigade,
Six
foot under and and fully paid!
They
know whats beyond life for sure,
They
are what was, and is no more!
~&~
Copyright:
Kazytc 2005
~&~
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