Village People
Somewhere in central Scotland, there’s a village for to see,And the village is named “Crackpot”, and from there most people flee.The characters that live there, all have a special way,They live a life of confusion, but brighten up your day. Steeple Jack John Steeple Jack John, he was born in the village church one day,He looks after the church steeple, and chimneys that come his way.He took on a loose slate job, to fix the local library’s roof,He slipped off from his ladder, and now he has one tooth. He got a call from the church, the steeple has a leek,He banged his head on the cross and has a swollen cheek.But that didn’t stop him, the locals loved his deeds,He came crashing through the ceiling, and got tangled up in beads. Barney Briggs the baker Barney Briggs the Baker, a big tall man I have to say,Always covered in flour with raisins, curds and whey.They reckon he grows an inch each year, but these days they say that's ceased,He wears a flat cap in the bakery, and he’s hidden from his yeast. He got an order for a cake, a birthday here in the week,The only baker around for miles, and things were looking bleak,This was big, I mean real big, his counter started creakingThey lit the candles at the do, and the jam inside started leaking. Fred the Fireman Fred the Fireman looked real smart, in his uniform he looked dapper,Everything folded around him, just like a sweetie wrapper.He wandered around the fire station, with his buddies playing pool,A nine nine nine call came ringing in, “come quick a burning school!” Off they drove at speed, the sirens blasting loud,They got there at the scene, and were greeted by a massive crowd.They hooked up by mistake to the gas main, the crowd had dubious faces,They squirted the hose at a classroom, and blew the school to pieces. Pansy Pat the Policeman Pansy Pat the Policeman, paced the streets with hands behind his back,With his peaked cap, shiny boots, and uniform in black.When folk asked him questions, he looked up to the sky,stood on his toes, rocked his heels, and bent his legs below the thigh. One day whilst out patrolling, his curiosity got the better,A lady calling from her window, but he’s sorry that he met her.For when he went to her aid, she greeted him with nothing on,Pansy Pat was shocked for life and his “coming out” had gone. Mrs Hector the Funeral Director Mrs Hector the Funeral Director so calm and understanding,Stood at the entrance of her parlour, your death she would be banking.Surrounded by the joss sticks and ambient music, oh so calming,The locals called her “mummy” her trait was her embalming. She had a funeral to do one day, at the top of Rankers Hill,The cortège there waiting patiently, the turnout wasn’t short of brill’The leading car was taking position, the engine blew, the car stopped with a quiver,The coffin rolled all the way down the road, and ended up in the river. Sophie Jones the Shopper Sophie Jones the Shopper, out shopping almost every day,You couldn’t get away from her, she’d always things to say.The price of beef, the price of eggs, complaining with a frown,The only time she smiled was when the price came down. She talked about everyone in the village, it was not for her to say,The ins and outs of peoples business, and the fact Pansy Pat was gay.Up North folk can talk, but they hate a blabbermouth,They’d offer to pay her bus fare in the hope she’d travel South. Jill and Pete from down our street Jill and Pete from down our street, a couple cheap but both had flair,The original Avon family, the fifty pence millionaire.Their cosmetics blended from the pound shop, they really were quite vain,When they staggered home from the club, they melted in the rain. Always showing off, the most things that they bought,They had a clapped out Capri with dice, “until we buy the yacht”I was invited in for breakfast, she was mixing eggs so fast,“you can drink your morning coffee, before I serve Fraunch Taust!” Phil the Fishmonger Phil the Fishmonger, you could say, walked with stench and flies,And if you caught a whiff, the water dripped from your eyes.Always boning on the chopping block, the cats, they licked their lips,They waited under his feet for the oil, heads, tails and strips. One day when Sophie Jones came in, her foot stood on the counter bar,Phil took a swipe with his knife and missed, and the fish flipped down Sophie's bra.Now Sophie wasn't happy, and you know how she can talk,Phil bent down to pick the fish up, and his head went up her frock. Now Sophie's face was full of glee, her eyes rolled around her face,Phil was so apologetic, and said she can have a plaice.But Sophie was all a fluster, she said “Phil you are a tease”She pushed his head into her frock, and Phil just couldn't breathe. Mr and Mrs Campbell Mr and Mrs Campbell, from Galashields they did hail,Were always in their garden when the Postie brought their mail.They wore a kilt above the knee, was such a sight to see,And Mr Campbell's face lit up, while Mrs Campbell had a pee. She always rolled down her stockings, and ruffled up her kilt,And when Mrs Campbell had her pee, Mr Campbell's head would tilt.“Is that the postie in the front?” Mrs Campbell shouted loud,Mr Campbell bent to pick up the mail, showing his package as he bowed. Father Mac the Priest Father Mac the Priest, preached the word, he was the sternest,His hand dipped into the coffin as he claimed he felt dead Ernest.Pansy Pat was his lover, and Ernest was his chum,But jealous Father Mac, was caressing Ernest's bum. “The heavens declare the glory of God, the skies proclaim the work of his hands”,Father Mac said goodbye to Ernest just after squeezing gently on his glands.Now Father Mac told Pete today, today you learned your lesson,And when Sophie Jones sees you alone, the whole village will be guessing. Wee Archie’s Cat Wee Archie's Cat would creep about, mostly dead of night,Swinging from the swaying trees, but trying to hold on tight.Sometimes he'd walk along guttering, in the darkness at some height,And sometimes he'd lose his grip and fall, and give people such a fright. He was always first in the fishmongers, waiting for that prize,Rubbing up to Phil, and giving him the eyes.He had him around his little finger, his body weight was bulk,But he never left the fishmongers, until he had his milk. Auld Mr McGowan Auld Mr McGowan a gambling man, well he wears a permanent frown,He stumbles to and fro' to the bookies, his head is always down.He got a tip from a friend, priced at ten to one you see,You should have seen his face, when it came in at ten past three! Now Mr McGowan loves a bet, small punts but he is happy,But when he loses on a race, his attitude is snappy.At the Grand National in seventy three, Crisp was the name of his horse,But Red Rum came at the end and dam well kicked it's arse. Percival the Postie Percival the Postie, had the best job all around,He got to meet all the characters, and there's more here to be found.He'd seen them at their doors, in their pyjamas and see through teddies,And had to keep his mouth stumm, when Mrs McCracken was around at Eddies. The little village full of characters, and most are pleasant and quite charming,They always welcomed strangers, but they came across alarming.So that's just some of the locals, in Crackpot they do dwell,They're all nutters to some degree, but I'm sure that you can tell! Bernie Logue