I am a stand up comic who likes to perform comic verse, often with audience participation involved. I am based in Peterborough, Cambridgeshire.
WILD WEST GRAN Tell Gran to get down from the cooker, She's too old to ride the range What is it with her and this cowboy thing? And why is she acting so strange? She thinks that the dog's bowls a spittoon, Chews bacca and drinks redeye tea She knits her own chaps, and ten-gallon hats, Wears spurs to walk down our high street Please Gran don't wrestle the sofa; it isn't a Wild West steer What is it with her and this cowboy thing? And why is she acting so queer? Next-door is an Indian family; Gran says they must be Cheyenne She says it's all right; they have smoked the peace pipe…. I'm worried about her, I am Yes, my Gran she sleeps on our front lawn, by a log fire, under the stars What is it with her and this cowboy thing? The problems not hers it is ours Now she's panning for gold in our garden, with a colander, crouched in our pond Distressing the fish, with gold rush antics, I think something's seriously wrong Tell me why is the banister slimy? Has Gran been riding again? What is it with her and this cowboy thing? I'm losing my best friend Social services have done an assessment, and say they're headed our way They should be here soon; they're due at high noon, they're coming to take Gran away At the top of our road they appear, two hard looking critters, real mean Gran gets to her feet, walks onto the street. Calls out "Guess you're lookin' fer me" I screamed, " Look out Gran, get away", but I knew she'd never get far And she turned to me; with a smile so sweet, She waved and got into their car I understand now the cowboy thing, when I visit Gran in her new home She sits silent, stares into space, and I hope it's the prairies she roams
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
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