Cold Caller Massacre

Cold Caller Massacre

It’s making me go off my lid
I could power the national grid
With all my steps I could light up Hong Kong
I’m only getting comfy, with my wine glass on the couch…
when a cold calling bastard goes “Bing Bong”…”Bing Bong”

“HEY There, Hi, How are ya?
Like as if they give a shite
While grinning wide to show their pearly whites
He says I’ll offer you a discount if you’d just sign up to us
Here’s what you’ll do for me sunshine …go lie down before a bus.

He wants to switch me to Airtricity
knock a fiver of my gas
So I take the application form
and shove it up his ass.
If you read your shagging database
You’ll see I’m on the list and you could walk on by my door…
And leave me to get pissed.

The Sky reps at my door next
Flogging movies, sports and shit
So I take their dish and smack him with it hard
his boss will hardly notice if one salesman disappears
I’ll put him underneath the patio…they won’t find the prick for years.

I’m going to make myself a clone
So I’ll be left the feck alone
Or a neon sign saying “sellers do not call”
so if Phone watch stilll ignore it when they send the buggers round
then they’ll join the poxy Sky rep underground

The global window guy must need
specsavers for his eyes
Can’t he see the brand new sticker on the glass?
He only put them in last month , the glue is hardly dry
So I suggest he leaves if he don’t want to die

So finally he gets the hint,
I doubt that he’ll be back.
I dive into my wine to watch
Orange is the new Black.
My arse it hasn’t hit the seat
When it all starts to go wrong
As another bucking salesman goes …
Bing bong…(bing bong)
A rifle wielding psycho now
I race out to the door
If I murder him I hope I get ten years.
In fact I’d massacre the lot of them
As I sing the “Happy” song, WHY?
Because jail doors have no bells to go Bing Bong (bing bong)

© Sinead Hamill

Advertisements
Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

SILENT NIGHT (Alternative version)

Silent night, holy shite,
So hungover, face deathly white,
Like a bad movie, flashbacks from last night,
Snogging the boss man, his hands on my tights.
I’m plastered on Facebook this morning,
With 2,000 “likes” by half ten.
Silent night, holy shite,
Xeroxed arse, dignity sparse,
The last Christmas party, I’ll ever attend,
Head stuck in the jacks now, beers not my friend,
I vaguely remember a striptease…
Don’t say it was me, dear God please.
Silent night, holy shite,
Video captured, went viral last night,
I’m stood on a bar stool with hardly a stitch,
My friend with her phone out, I’ll kill her, that bitch.
Would you look where I stuck the tinsel?
And the star from the top of the tree.
Silent night, holy shite,
Mortified…at the sight.
I can’t be let out ‘cos I drink like a fish
Delete the evidence, that’s my Christmas wish
I’m crawling back under the duvet,
And I’m not coming out for ten years.

© Sinead Hamill

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The 12 Pubs of Christmas

THE 12 PUBS OF CHRISTMAS

On the first pub of Christmas
My work mate gave to me
A massive gin that was enough for three.
On the second pub of Christmas
My work mate gave to me
Two dirty pints and a massive gin that was enough for three.
On the third pub of Christmas
My work mate gave to me
Three Sambuca shots, two dirty pints and a massive gin that was enough for three.
By the fourth pub of Christmas
I started feeling pissed
So I staggered to the bar to order crisps
In the fifth pub of Christmas
I suffered awful wind after
Five bags of nuts, four Tayto crisps, three Sambuca shots, two dirty pints and a massive gin that was enough for three.
In the sixth pub of Christmas,
The boss he joined the team bringing
Two Roman hands, ten Russian fingers, six margueritas, 5 bags of nuts, 4 tayto crisps, 3 Sambuca shots, two dirty pints and a massive gin that was enough for three.
Outside the seventh pub of Christmas
I started feeling grim
Munching on kebabs I fished out from the bin
In the eighth pub of Christmas
The bouncers they said “No!”
As tsunamis of puke began to flow
On the ninth pub of Christmas
I got in the window of the Jacks
and poured a pint full of wine straight down the hatch
At the tenth pub of Christmas
I had a quite intensive chat
With a statue of Phil Lynnott dressed in black
In the eleventh pub of Christmas
I started sliding down the wall
My mate so pissed, she didn’t see at all
In the twelfth pub of Christmas
I passed out on the floor
After twelve slippery nipples, eleven Whiskey Sours, two Roman hands, ten Russian fingers, nine lewd remarks, eight dodgy snogs, seven Mickey… Finns, Six margueritas, 5 bags of nuts, 4 tayto crisps, 3 Sambuca shots, two dirty pints and that fecking gin that was enough for three.

© Sinead Hamill

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Did You See Me?

DID YOU SEE ME?

I died alone in the city
At the age of 43
You passed me on your way so quick
I looked at you, did you see me?
I succumbed to the needle
Or was it the cold?
No matter anymore,
For I’ll never grow old.
In life some get lucky
Others they blaze a trail
While more they struggle
To hold on tooth and nail
Maybe I scared you
As on past you went
Perhaps you took pity
Threw down a few cent
I didn’t ask for a hand-out
I just needed a bed
Somewhere other than concrete
To lay down my head
I wasn’t a saint
But nor was I evil
My soul is around you
I’m flying free
I’m in your conscience
Did YOU see me?

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Granddad’s Thong

Granddad’s Thong

Granddad in his underpants, now there’s a shocking sight,
It’s not for the faint hearted, gran she nearly died of fright,
‘In my youth I was a hipster’, he declares, so very droll,
Oh Christ alive he’s 95 with a thong bet up his hole.

I thought I’d seen the worst of it, that perhaps he’d just gone mad,
But what came next made me declare his kacks were not so bad,
Jaysus there were ructions with the in-laws / when hubbie’s mother came for tea
And Gramps piped up and asked her if she’d ever pierced her g…

Well cups they fell off saucers, resuscitation was received,
then he spat out the dentures and they landed on her knee,
So there he was, a gob of gums and he sticks his tongue right out,
Oh Christ alive, he’s 95 with a gold stud in his mouth.

‘I’ll get herself a brandy’ says he with a cheeky wink,
Five years off a hundred and still kicking up a stink,
When he stood up we noticed how he thought he looked quite dapper,
The waistband of his trouser below his crack just like a rapper.

When I copped his tattooed arse, it had me reaching for the phone,
He must be going gaga so I’ll need to book the home,
He came back with the booze and we hoped he might start singing,
Oh Christ alive, he’s 95 seeking volunteers for swinging.

You have to give it up for Granddad; he’s a very modern chap,
And when he’s stretched upon his deathbed and begins the long look back,
Do you think he’ll weigh it up and wonder if it all went wrong?
When he first went out and purchased his Calvin Klein white thong.

Do you remember his poor long suffering wife when first he tried to shock her?
Ah shag it she said, I’ll join him ‘cos he’s clearly off his rocker,
Well they robbed the credit union and they made off very rich
Now they spend their days on nudist beaches wearing not a stitch.

A Sinead Hamill Original
Copyright – Sinead Hamill

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The Biscuit Song

Raised on Marieta, the funds low in my day
Rock hard and stale – inedible – till you dunked them in your tae
I used to yearn for Jaffa Cakes
Iced Rings, finger… in the hole
For chocolate covered Goldgrain, I’d give away my soul.

Ring a ring a rosie
Pink Wafers on my mind
Take care to stop the biscuits
Before your jeans rip from behind.

The fellas they came calling, with their Hob Nobs in their hands
Would I put out for a Custard Cream
Down at Wesley in the stands?
You can stick your oul Mikado, do you think that I am a slut?
No I won’t get down and run my thumb along your poxy Gingernuts.

Ring a ring a rosie
Pink Wafers on my mind
Take care to stop the biscuits
Before your jeans rip from behind.

Will you lick my Garibaldi, says he the dirty codger
And sticks his erect digit straight in my Jammie Dodger
Now I’m not one for moaning, I never was a whinger
But if he’s sticking something anywhere,
Make it a chocolate finger.

Ring a ring a rosie
Pink Wafers on my mind
Take care to stop the biscuits
Before your jeans rip from behind.

Well I’m clutching to my virtue, determined not to sin
Then the fecker goes and pulls out the Family Circle tin.
It’s all too much, I can’t hold back
He runs his fingers through my hair,
But only ‘cos he’s promised that I can eat the whole next layer.

Ring a ring a rosie
Pink Wafers on my mind
Take care to stop the biscuits
Before your jeans rip from behind.

So now he’s done the wild thing, he doesn’t want to stay
He says his stomach couldn’t take another fumble in the hay
‘cos it’s too late, the dye is cast
I’ve burst out through the seams
From one too many Chocolate Chip
And bastard Bourbon Creams

Ring a ring a rosie
Pink Wafers on my mind
Take care to stop the biscuits
Before your jeans rip from behind.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Lick the Gob

Lick the Gob
(Dedicated to a great guy, gone ahead up the road)

Lick the Gob was a kind old skin
His thoughts were all for others
A lifetime lived in those oul shoes
Bending, breaking all the rules.
He had a healthy ticker
But sure his liver was in shite
From drinking half of Jame’s Gate
As a young lad every night.
What he couldn’t drink
He set alight and inhaled in one big breath
Then coughed and choked, his battered lungs
But he never lost that quick sharp tongue.
Lick the Gob lived a life and four
His stories they were legend
With his hard boiled sweets
No sign of a wrapper
Trilby hat on his head,
Looking mighty dapper

He didn’t need big pockets
Just a smile and time for a chat
You see, money was never at his core
He understood that life meant more.
Now he’ll rise up tonight and haunt me
If I suggest he was a saint
‘cos he pulled some stunts throughout the years
That more than prove he ain’t.
Lick the Gob was a decent sort
Whose time on earth was way too short.
A humble man and friend to many
He’d offer his last if you hadn’t any.
If you hear guitar when in your bed
He sent it to you, to soothe your head
He’s gone upstairs to start the session
Having scored an “A” in the human life lesson.

© Sinead Hamill

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment