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No matter what I may have drunk or what I may have smoked
I’ve never struck a woman. God knows I’ve been provoked
I’ve never struck a woman, tho some say it’s a thrill
I’ve never struck a woman, and I never will
You say your parents beat you when you were only small
It’s sad to hear but honestly that’s no excuse at all
Nature made men stronger, physically at least
Pre-history’s when violence toward women should have ceased
Flex those biceps, bully boy. Show us what you’re made of
Of all the dangers in the world, you’re what she’s most afraid of
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I auctioned off a kidney to take you to Peru
You found the food too spicy, though, and the sky too blue
From Macchu Pichu’s highest peak you so deserved a shove
I spared you, to my great regret
Where shall we go next, love?
Your passport ought to be revoked
and other countries spared you
I’d push you from atop The Shard
if I only dared to
I mortgage my ancestral home
to take you to New Guinea
Once there all you did was whinge,
and, like some donkey, whinny
I should have bribed headhunters
to make you disappear
Your gran, I guess, might miss you
All others, though, would cheer
I sold my car to take you
to marvel at the fjords
I now wish you’d been kidnapped
by savage Mongol hordes
They’re scarce, of course, in Norway
but one can always hope
that one like you will hand herself
if given enough rope
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They call the breeze Louisa/ The clouds are known as Ann
I have beans on toast for tea. I’m a humble man
My wardrobe comes from Oxfam. I’m modest to a fault
For Christmas I’ve asked Santa Claus for a bag of salt
I had your back
You had the front to tell me you loved me
What a dreadful stunt!
I guess you believe I’m that easily duped
To nothing that loathsome
have I ever stooped
They call the moonlight Gemma. The sun’s warmth they call Jill
No ambulance required if I should take a spill
One day I’ll have seen Warsaw or glimpsed the coast of Wales
For now I’ll dress in sackcloth and rarely dine on snails
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Our MP has a cross to bear and bares her soul on telly
The local herbert, smoking puff, gets tattooed on his belly
The yobbos scatter sharpish when the vicar orders liquor
When bladdered he makes every light across the borough
flicker
Vendors of samosas in their frayed and weary saris
Appease the carnal appetites of tyrants in Ferraris
The slappers find their waiter lush and gush about his service
But as he comes from Bangladesh, it only makes him nervous
The chav and have-nots jostle in the humid evening gloom
The cynical sip cider and chat merrily of doom
That which for the goose is good is good too for the gander
Squealing Broadway in the mist, insistent on its candour
The London Welsh are well endowed and justly proud. The
British
in general are hung like mice, though, and quite often skittish
Lumbersexuals in jeans take hostages in Tesco
The old Bill sign and wring their hands and have their tea al
fresco
Splendid plumage plummets as our rulers gorge on gluten
and homeless geezers for 10p impersonate Rasputin
The posturing of fresh recruits in threadbare jaundice britches
incites a silent riot among diggers of deep ditches
The swindlers do a runner when the constables appear
And Paddy’s feeling harpish. Though a traveller, he’s sincere
His tribe is patriarchal. Women do the rotten chores
scrub loos until they sparkle and then fit laminate floors
The Lord Mayor’s ancient Vauxhall seems disinclined to start
In the Turkish greasy spoon his wife dines a la carte
She finds her peas less mushy than a widow might prefer
The Lord Mayor, cold and stranded, shivers twice and mutters,
Brr
Leaves are on the line again. Our journey’s been delayed
At this rate we’ll reach Twickenham after England’s played
some tiny foreign country whose name we can’t pronounce
Their poor malnourished rugby team our brave boys will have
trounced
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We scorn the lowly cockroach, which lives as God intended
Soon our own luck will run out. Our lease won’t be extended.
Humans foul their own nests alone among the species
And fill the world’s most gorgeous spots with fag butts, cans,
and feces
The sperm whales chokes on plastic crap, abided cos convenient
When nature has endured enough, it’s apt not to be lenient
The ocean’s full of toxic waste. The forests are denuded
If we imagine nothing’s wrong, we’re fatally deluded
You’ve gone and filled your lungs with carcinogenic smoke
Where will you leave the butt now, you very clever bloke?
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I’ve got a girl in every port, and women in some towns
When handsome Johnny sails away, one glimpses only frowns!
My fraulein down in Dusseldorf is 100 percent Aryan
She raises birds of prey for fun. though all they’ll eat is carrion
I’ve got a gal in Athens town. Her name is Aphrodite
She looks as good in native dress as in a see-thru nighty
In Auckland town my kiwi princess owns a smart boutique
I love to kiss her large, firm breasts but hate to hear her speak
He’s got gals in Pretoria, Nairobi, and Kinshasa
The latter thinks she’s Spanish, though, and greets me with,
“Que pasa?”
I’ve
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When God invented fucking, she assumed it would be clear
that Thing A got inserted there, and Thing B went in here.
Five thousand long years later, though, the train’s come
off its track. The perverts say we do it wrong,
and white is really black.
The rulebook’s been discarded now. The bronco’s stopped his
bucking. And nothing’s been so damned confused since God invented fucking.
If no pink-cheeked Christian child from the act’s resulting,
the Bible makes it very clear God finds the act revolting.
It’s one small step from what they do to doing it with sheep.
Leviticus condemns it all. How can these people sleep?
Two fellows can’t conceive a child, and neither can two ladies.
What they’re doing’s abom’nable. I’ll bet you my Mercedes.
These matters of sex, they do perplex. They’re exciting.
Confusing, tho, you must agree
What others condemn or are embarrassed by sometimes
looks like loads of fun to me
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I’ve never been to Thailand, but I could live on its cuisine.
I’ve not even seen all of my land. My passport gathers dust.
But what I’d most like to see is you in bed next to me.
That, I tell you, would be a beautiful sight to behold.
I’ve never seen Havana shimmer in the midday heat,
but I reckon I glimpsed Nirvana the first time our eyes met...
I’ve never been to Sweden. When I heard, Abba sing, though, I
was convinced I was near to Eden. The dancing queen was
Eve...
I’ve never been to Asia or Russia, where I’d love to visit
the palace where Anastasia lived before she fled...
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All bow to Lord Testosterone whose testes are gigantic.
When he descends from his lead throne we lesser men get
frantic.
He’ll laugh at our deficiencies and mate with all our wives.
We may as well go fishin’. He’s the bane of all our lives.
His biceps are tremendous. His pecs and lats as well.
He’ll effortlessly bend us if we criticise the smell
of those designer fragrances of which he uses litres.
Run for your lives, you vagrants and wearers of wife-beaters.
Hail to Lord Testosterone. At his approach we tremble.
He’ll have us tased or doused if we should peaceably assemble.
He’s what our once-great nation needs. The saviour we have
prayed for.
He’ll neither let refugees in nor let our brilliance fade more.
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There’s a town I know in a land called Canada
Where the gals are hot and the beer is cold
Wine’s more my thing and promiscuity
Gets me walloped hard. I’m just not sold
Though I can’t pretend I won’t lapse, I intend
to be the last reprobate standing
I won’t inject. Nor will I drink. I will not sink
Every Friday night, I eat low-hanging fruit
And It keeps me regular and slim
On the days I fast, I do it slowly, though
Unless seized by a different whim
When despair seems intent on drowning me
From within I ask the Lord to intervene
I rent whores and pray, but the praying does little good
Hard place and rock I now am between
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Around the pool fat sunburned Brits are reading utter rubbish
Jackie Collins, Danielle Steele, and others none should publish
Obesity is now the norm. Behold the fatsos loading
up their trays at the buffet. How can they lack foreboding?
Another pint or five, I think, and then a bag of sweeties.
We used to have an empire. We now have diabetes
The larger the tattoo, I think, the lower the IQ
If amputation were in vogue, would you lose fingers too?
My body’s mine to modify, they growl, and that is that
Go right ahead then, matey, and appear a gormless twat
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To see you I’ve crossed seven seas
two continents and oceans
And now I’m here, you break my heart
and just go through the motions
For you I mothballed all my dreams
of wealth and fame and stardom
The trophies that I once esteemed
I no longer guard ‘em
I enter every contests
and paid huge bribes to win
You think I haven’t noticed
that you just phone it in?
I’m nothing now in your blue eyes
My looks are gone. I’m far from wealthy
But surely sneakiness is cool
And I am very stealthy
Your greater interest’s in your phone
I get your full attention
Around two minutes very month
Not quite enough to mention
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The last two Freudian Sluts standing — John Mendelssohn and Dazza du Toit — team up with vocalist Isambard Jones to make what Deep Roots described as "the most unlikely and in many ways the most compelling pop-rock album of [2017[."
released September 5, 2023
Guitar - Dazza du Toit\
Lead vocals - Isambard Jones
Everything else - John Mendelssohn
