SOD ALL – Jez Lowe (Lowe Life Music)
Martin, his dad, made a tune for the lad, to soothe the young fella to sleep,
It came to him out of the blue and stout, in a bar, far away in the week,
John Shanley said, “God, sure it reeks of the sod, that old sod of Sligo or Clare!”
And he talked about fathers, and Spanish Armadas,
“Has that boy of yours got your black hair?”
And Martin said, “You’ve got me there.”
Mary, his mother, at the end of her tether, said “Lullabies don’t mean a thing to you,
There were times when ‘Imagine’ or ‘Stand by your man’, would knock you out soon as I sing to you,
Now you’ve nothing but scorn for my ‘Bonny at Morn”, I might as well whistle a jig,
I’ve sung it from Abba to bloody Lloyd-Webber, and you’re still squealing like a stuck pig,
The stronger the sod, the deeper you dig.
Sod all their tongues, with their rights and their wrongs,
sod all their speeches of unmarried leeches,
There’s sod-all in hand-outs of Welfare-State pay,
And you’ve been a right little sod all day.
Your father will never be daddy to you, and never whatever to me,
And maybe one day you will follow his way, seduced by the diddly-dee,
The dark was his light, like yours is tonight, his music it wooed me and licked me,
It stuck to the bone, like moss to a stone, but he rolled away soon as you kicked me,
The charm of his blarney sure tricked me.