Photo By Jools Thatcher

Photo By Jools Thatcher

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “ Preacher “.

This week the wonderful Sarah Carroll was in the studio with Jon. Which allowed me to lick my wounds about NOT being at the Cropredy Festival. Fairport Convention finished a monster three plus hour set with every one who was left standing on stage, just before we came on air. I had been following @Folkcast’s tweets.

BUT we are here to talk about poems. My poem to be specific.Good topic and the topic allowed me to be grumpy, it wasn’t much of an ask today.

OK, next year – Cropredy. Who’s coming with me?

Ed Bates is once again on slide guitar supply the background

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:
[audio:JVG_Poem20120812.mp3]

Also have a listen to the tracks on the new EP “Once We Were Kings Of The World


Preacher

“Migrants; we let them in and all they do is bludge”
The gospel according to Raymond Frances Mudge

“Come out here to freeload and we’re handing them the keys”
“Make a fortune claiming welfare then send it overseas”

While Raymond missed the irony, the barman found it droll
Ray’d spent thirty years, bar a handful, on the dole

There were many Raymond Mudges in nineteen seventy eight
But few who’d rant so boorishly; bitterness wed to hate

His words were set in stone, the pub was his dominion
Things he’d never heard of, he still had a strong opinion

Anyone who disagreed, then, they could go to hell
They christened him “The Preacher” at the Rising Sun Hotel

Could have opened for Australia, won a Brownlow with Geelong
If he’d had charge in Vietnam we’d have whipped the Vietcong

An authority on all things, and quick to share his views
Logic, as skewed as his fading jail tattoos

He railed against the Greenies, homosexuals, and punk rock
Unions, pinkos, pacifists, “Women’s Lib” he screamed ’s “a crock!”

Masons, Hippies, Rechabites, “Single mothers? Who bloody needs ‘em?”
“Indigenous Australians? – they bite the hand that feeds ‘em”

Footy, religion, politics – the subject didn’t matter
Bizarre, fragmented ramblings thirty years before Bob Katter

Smoking causes cancer? A load of left wing rot!
Equal pay for women? Another commie plot!

The Canadians killed J F K, the Kiwis, Harold Holt
A blend of David Irving, Fred Nile and Andrew Bolt

At the pub, one Friday evening, he was chewing someone’s ear
While haranguing the poor barman on how to pour a beer

From the corner of his mouth, as usual, hung a fag
Without breaking from his lecture, Ray tried to take a drag

The cigarette shot backwards, wedged half way down his gullet
He tumbled to the floor and thrashed round like a mullet

They tried to give him CPR but his mouth was filled with smoke
Old Reg cried out “It’s quiet at last, let the bastard choke”

“We have to put that fag out” – Cyril Crossley, thinking clear
“Quick, pass your pot” he barked at Reg, who refused to waste a beer

A cask of fruity lexia, was all the barman found
It worked a treat, quelled the flames, but sadly, Raymond drowned

Therein lies the lesson: You never know your time
Life is way too short to drink cheap and nasty wine

This story, tragic as it is, has two more things to teach ya
Cigarettes kill in many ways – and no-one likes a preacher!

© Copyright 2012 Ian Bland

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.