skyclad – any old irony lyrics
at the vanguard of a juddering caravan,
hurriedly galloping down a dirt-track.
six furtive figures, crooked as caliban;
smuggling hope to the land of the claque.
weary, ho-rs–riders; irksomely blistered.
spent from a decade a-roving the road.
frigging a jig for our brothers and sisters;
stark-raving-madrigals by the cartload.
without trepidation i sing in laudation;
vocal salute to all travelling tinkers.
vagabond nation joined in congregation.
united free-thinkers cry from the bryony;
“any old irony?!”
[chorus:]
come one, come all to our travelling circus;
cast-off your cares for the painted parade.
whirl down the wynd like dervish-berserkers;
if life hands us lemons; we’ll make lemonade.
maybe jay’s smashed (?), drumming up p-ssion;
scarring forever with each brisk tattoo
bean’s in the place so b-ss is in fashion,
killing us all with his amp set on 2.
watch out for ridley the raucously tiddly,
unplugged he’s no dr. jekyll… so hyde!
desperate-dan-ramsey; deft fingers diddle.
watching the match on a telly stage-side.
the cat on the fiddle, miss georgie biddle;
keeping it reeling with her fugue electric.
stuck in the middle i’ll rhyme you a riddle;
irate and eclectic my cry from the bryony;
“any old irony?!”
[chorus:]
come one, come all to our travelling circus;
cast-off your cares for the painted parade.
whirl down the wynd like dervish-berserkers;
if life hands us lemons; we’ll make lemonade.
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