Build the man nest.

You arrive home after much toil from being a man,
Its time to make yourself as comfortable as you can.
Bring up the laptop, an ashtray, and your smokes,
My solidarity gun salute to ordinary blokes.
Spread out all your pretty lady magazines,
They will contribute and be entwined in your dreams.
Let the world slowly fade away to a pointless frown,
Relax, let go, your at last coming down.

My computer broke it off with me.

I used to watch the pretty ladies on my laptop at night,
I live on my own so I think that’s alright.
It’s like having a party with girl’s from a movie.
I’d turn down the lights to make everything groovy.
Now my hard-drive is sick, key pads kinda smelly,
Its just a pity that these party animals aren’t on the telly.
Will bring it to mates to get wiped after tea.
One more computer has broke it off with me.

Lamborghini day dream.

Eight ball of coke, and a supermodel cohort,
One hand on the wheel chillin as we snort.
Revving up the engine, to its maximum speed,
Glad as the princess rolls up the weed.

Thundering down the motorway, vision from heaven,
Shooting out the window, with an AK 47.
Supersonic super car, this is live stream,
Just another lottery Lamborghini day dream.

Offaly can’t afford a drive-by.

Drive-by’s in LA,
Drive-by’s in New York.
I can’t fucking believe,
Rebel county drive-by’s in Cork.

Bulletproof vest’s,
Gangsters driving quick.
For some reason,
Drive-by’s in Limerick.

But surely the midlands can afford some similar fun,
Glock automatics, the occasional hit and run?

Would it be such a chore? Are we really that fucking poor?,
Why can’t we afford a drive-by in south-central Tullamore?

Irish soldier minding cash van.

Standing to attention, eyes looking around,
Ears pricked up, listening for sound.
At any stage, getting ready to run,
Not trusted with bullets for your gun.
Nation is satisfied and the uniform shows,
We don’t want you to blow off all your toes.
Suppose its cool, you look fairly hard,
Beats the fuck out of being a guard.
But rumors are flying, and maybe you’ve heard,
When your on tour, other guys are shagging your bird.
Though if it really lifts off, you can kick back and snore,
You signed up for neutrality, not the possibility of war.

Where is all the cocaine gone?

Long gone the halcyon days of the building boom bender,
And the South American cartel and the money we would send her.
Politicians, doctors, and over paid bankers,
From council houses to the Foxrock wankers.
Ireland was a blizzard of Peruvian snow,
And with each eight ball bought, the ego it did grow.
Rich we were back then, and now we are broke,
Only the select few can now afford a nose full of coke

Requiem for the ten box

How dearly we miss both your shape and your size,
Cannot blame Cromwell for your sad demise.
They used to say about Ireland that everything rocks,
And now the whole country’s up on cement block’s.
The lack of a small pack, this shit really drags,
Only the suits can afford 20 fags.
I pray all day in my jeans and my socks,
My heartfelt requiem for the beloved ten box.