Scribbles written when I was a frog.
The Antelope
On a mountain lives an Antelope
Sifts his nose through the rocks foraging for food
Can’t find any, he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
In a mountain cave is where he lives
A rock for a pillow is how he sleeps
But he can’t, so he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
On a mountaintop is where he sits
Looking around, surveying his habitat in case of hunters
Can’t find any, he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
In a mountain pool is where he bathes
The vast warm water cleanses, helps him relax
But he can’t, so he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
On a mountainside is where he works
Helps his fellow animal friends survive by watching out for them
Can’t find any, he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
In a mountain stream is where he drinks
The cold flow of water helps cool him down
But he can’t, so he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
On a mountainside the Antelope walks into a trap
He hears a gunshot, bang, he gets hit in the back
His heartbeat slows, he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety thud
On a mountain lives an Antelope
Sifts his nose through the rocks foraging for food
Can’t find any, he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
In a mountain cave is where he lives
A rock for a pillow is how he sleeps
But he can’t, so he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
On a mountaintop is where he sits
Looking around, surveying his habitat in case of hunters
Can’t find any, he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
In a mountain pool is where he bathes
The vast warm water cleanses, helps him relax
But he can’t, so he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
On a mountainside is where he works
Helps his fellow animal friends survive by watching out for them
Can’t find any, he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
In a mountain stream is where he drinks
The cold flow of water helps cool him down
But he can’t, so he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety clock
On a mountainside the Antelope walks into a trap
He hears a gunshot, bang, he gets hit in the back
His heartbeat slows, he moves on
Clickety clock, clickety thud
Rich Man’s Greed
A mother gave birth in 1856
She was alone and lived out in the sticks
After a lot of pain and struggle, she gave birth to a boy
With some deliberation later she called him Roy
They lived alone in the middle of a wood
Happy and content doing the best they could
Roy grew up to be a fine young man
Working a small piece of arable land
Their small little house and small little land
Was surrounded by property owned by a rich little man
He, a silver spoon millionaire, wanted to expand
So the tyrant he was, forced his hand
He offered them pittance to give up all they had
Or, he warned them, if he wanted he could be very bad
Even with the warning they declined not wishing to sell
The rich little man paid some men to go and cause hell
This they did without regret
Leaving them homeless as she sat by and wept
The son, who had gone to town
Found his mother outside, dressed in a torn gown
Battered and bruised she told him what they’d done
How they destroyed all they had as if it was fun
Angry and upset he stormed up to the man’s mansion
Shouting and screaming, thumping the door with a passion
The butler opened the door and tried not to let him in
But Roy was forceful and managed to get in
Seeing the rich little man in the corner, he headed straight for him
Not seeing the police and aristocrats that were with him
They beat Roy with all they had
Then tied him up at the back
The rich little man with the aristocrats and police
Put a gun to his head and counted to three
Roy slumped over, blood rushing
The rich little man said, “Isn’t this touching?”
They carted the body away to his destroyed home
Where they dumped him by his mother, who was on her own
The mother collapsed, died, watched on by the rich little man
Knowing he had got his precious little land
A mother gave birth in 1856
She was alone and lived out in the sticks
After a lot of pain and struggle, she gave birth to a boy
With some deliberation later she called him Roy
They lived alone in the middle of a wood
Happy and content doing the best they could
Roy grew up to be a fine young man
Working a small piece of arable land
Their small little house and small little land
Was surrounded by property owned by a rich little man
He, a silver spoon millionaire, wanted to expand
So the tyrant he was, forced his hand
He offered them pittance to give up all they had
Or, he warned them, if he wanted he could be very bad
Even with the warning they declined not wishing to sell
The rich little man paid some men to go and cause hell
This they did without regret
Leaving them homeless as she sat by and wept
The son, who had gone to town
Found his mother outside, dressed in a torn gown
Battered and bruised she told him what they’d done
How they destroyed all they had as if it was fun
Angry and upset he stormed up to the man’s mansion
Shouting and screaming, thumping the door with a passion
The butler opened the door and tried not to let him in
But Roy was forceful and managed to get in
Seeing the rich little man in the corner, he headed straight for him
Not seeing the police and aristocrats that were with him
They beat Roy with all they had
Then tied him up at the back
The rich little man with the aristocrats and police
Put a gun to his head and counted to three
Roy slumped over, blood rushing
The rich little man said, “Isn’t this touching?”
They carted the body away to his destroyed home
Where they dumped him by his mother, who was on her own
The mother collapsed, died, watched on by the rich little man
Knowing he had got his precious little land
