Song For A Small Town

[4th gen Suthen']

At risk of further ridicule from Bubbly Jock

If I had to pic my favourite song of all time it would be Smalltown by John Mellencamp............written about his small, mid west, US town but it could be Campbeltown or any wee toon.

Lyrics below. Put them on the main page Davie......maybe make folk think........

"I've seen it all in a small town, had myself a ball in a small town" yep, haven't we all...................

Well I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Prob’ly die in a small town
Oh, those small communities

All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity

Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic that’s me

But I’ve seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an l.a. doll and brought her to this small town
Now she’s small town just like me

No I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be

Got nothing against a big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look who’s in the big town
But my bed is in a small town
Oh, and that’s good enough for me

Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And that’s prob’ly where they’ll bury me

[bubbly jock]

What do you think of this one Gen, from your friend bubbly


I was born and bred in Scotland, and I’m very proud to be,
a native of this country, where the air is clean and free.
It’s fine to be in Scotland, but the itch is gettin’ worse
For out among the countryside, I met wi’ Scotland’s curse

It hides among the bushes, and it lurks among the grass,
Beside the Loch and up the hill, it waits for you to pass.
The one that’s first to find you, soon will tell three million more.
And suddenly the swarm descends, each one a carnivore.

Quite soon they’re getting in your hair, and always up your nose,
And in your ears and in your eyes, and underneath your clothes.
They’ll suck your blood and soon those itchy, spots will start to swell.
The spots join up when you’re in bed, you’ll think you’ve gone to hell.

So you’ll go and ask the chemist for the latest kind of spray.
That’s tried and tested, even proved, to keep the pest away.
And plastered ower wi’ midgey cream, that smells so very bad,
You’ll flap your arms and run around, and act as if you’re mad

You’ll button up your clothes, and buy, the famous midgey hood,
It’s guaranteed to stop you, from becoming midgey food.
But save yourself the trouble, for the time will come to pass,
when a midge will crawl right up your leg, and bite you on the Knee.

The tourists often wonder why, the kilt is seldom seen,
And Scottish accent never heard, in places they have been.
For at winter’s end, the Scots all go to Teneriffe, or Spain.
And they leave behind the midges, and the cold, and wind, and rain.

Now I think I’ve found the cure at last, my itching now has ceased.
No longer am I willing, to provide a midgey feast.
For I changed my job and moved away, to London I’ve gone down.
Cos I reckon even midges couldn’t live in London Town

[Neil]

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[Big Craig]

Widnes? Salford? Who the hell cares about Widnes & Salford?
Small towns in Englandshire they may well be, but what place have they on a Campbeltown forum entitled Local News & Issues?

[Malky]

Widnes? Salford? Who the hell cares about Widnes & Salford?
Small towns in Englandshire they may well be, but what place have they on a Campbeltown forum entitled Local News & Issues?

Well you could say that about this whole thread.

I thought this forum started out as a Kintyre forum - just Campbeltown now is it?

Malky

[WC1]

I thought the thread started with a song for a wee toon and travelled to Salford etc on a 'stream of consciousness' sort of thing. Everybody gets sentimental about their home town and there's no shame in it.

[Neil]

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[The Scouder]

wouldnt it be nice if we all suppoted the same team and lived in the same type of houses and talked about the same stuff?.

I thought you said you had been to Campbeltown?

[Neil]

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[Thewetman]

I was drawing pictures on the moist sweetie shop window with my nose when a sparrow tugged at my trousers “come on” he called.
He held out a wing and I took it between my first four fingers, then we ran down the street until we came to the country.

It must have looked incongruous, an old man in cork shoes (I have Fibrositus) running along side a sparrow, but recently I came across an book of photographs of old man in cork shoes running along side of sparrows. It was a Victorian book so they must have been young men because of all the time that’s past.

The country was empty just grass, about a hundred thousand miles except a hedge of hawthorn down the middle with a ditch. W ran along the ditch Indian style the sparrow in front.
“Stop” I cried
“what’s the matter” he replied,
“Whats your name” I asked,
“Fremsley” said the sparrow,
“Fremsley, that’s a nice name…..for a Sparrow” said I.
And we ran on till we came to a suitable bush.
“hear you are” said Fremsley “a suitable bush”
And we crawled under it and waited. Suddenly I saw a commotion.
“I say Fremsley, there’s a commotion coming this way” I whispered.
You shood have seen him - he turned stone white and shivered as though he had the ache.
“Hide me, hide me!” he whimpered so I hid him under my tee shirt, next to my heart.
He dug his claws in and cocked his head feebly and enquired “did you have a bath today”
“Shut up, here they are” I whispered.

A great aristocrat burst into the bush with too slavering dogs, his gleaming black taxi driver’s leggings, his sagging kaki jodhpurs, his scarlet commissioners coat with golden epaulets like bath brushes, proclaimed him a man who could exec pâté a sparrow without mercy, or understate the interest in his post office savings bank account to the commissionaires of the inland revenue without annoying at the vitals of his concisions.

He pulled me out of the bush and placing his pendulous mouth open next to my ear shouted, “WHUR’S FREMSLEY”
I shook my head. Who could compete with this well nourished man who was larger than nature intended.
“WHAT’S THAT UNDER YOUR SHIRT” indicating the fluttering bird.
“Heart – Mitrostenosis” I muttered. He knew I lied, I knew he knew I lied, but I knew he would never reach into my shirt – he was a man.

To save my face he ran off with his slavering dogs bellowing, Fremsley, Fremsley, His dogs bellowing Fremsley, Fremsley, Fremsley, and they disappeared like dots onto the horizon.
“You saved my life” sighed Fremsley.
“For better things” I replied, and took him home and ate him for supper with chips.

[Hurricane Jeck]

I was drawing pictures on the moist sweetie shop window with my nose when a sparrow tugged at my trousers “come on” he called.
He held out a wing and I took it between my first four fingers, then we ran down the street until we came to the country.

It must have looked incongruous, an old man in cork shoes (I have Fibrositus) running along side a sparrow, but recently I came across an book of photographs of old man in cork shoes running along side of sparrows. It was a Victorian book so they must have been young men because of all the time that’s past.

The country was empty just grass, about a hundred thousand miles except a hedge of hawthorn down the middle with a ditch. W ran along the ditch Indian style the sparrow in front.
“Stop” I cried
“what’s the matter” he replied,
“Whats your name” I asked,
“Fremsley” said the sparrow,
“Fremsley, that’s a nice name…..for a Sparrow” said I.
And we ran on till we came to a suitable bush.
“hear you are” said Fremsley “a suitable bush”
And we crawled under it and waited. Suddenly I saw a commotion.
“I say Fremsley, there’s a commotion coming this way” I whispered.
You shood have seen him - he turned stone white and shivered as though he had the ache.
“Hide me, hide me!” he whimpered so I hid him under my tee shirt, next to my heart.
He dug his claws in and cocked his head feebly and enquired “did you have a bath today”
“Shut up, here they are” I whispered.

A great aristocrat burst into the bush with too slavering dogs, his gleaming black taxi driver’s leggings, his sagging kaki jodhpurs, his scarlet commissioners coat with golden epaulets like bath brushes, proclaimed him a man who could exec pâté a sparrow without mercy, or understate the interest in his post office savings bank account to the commissionaires of the inland revenue without annoying at the vitals of his concisions.

He pulled me out of the bush and placing his pendulous mouth open next to my ear shouted, “WHUR’S FREMSLEY”
I shook my head. Who could compete with this well nourished man who was larger than nature intended.
“WHAT’S THAT UNDER YOUR SHIRT” indicating the fluttering bird.
“Heart – Mitrostenosis” I muttered. He knew I lied, I knew he knew I lied, but I knew he would never reach into my shirt – he was a man.

To save my face he ran off with his slavering dogs bellowing, Fremsley, Fremsley, His dogs bellowing Fremsley, Fremsley, Fremsley, and they disappeared like dots onto the horizon.
“You saved my life” sighed Fremsley.
“For better things” I replied, and took him home and ate him for supper with chips.

Well cot bliss me boys, I've been reading in the South China Times aboot this identity theft malarky but I've neffer effer seen it before until now.

Not only hass this Wat Maan passed himself off as Mr Cutler for the fotygraph, he iss now starting to pass off hiss hallowed words as hiss own.

Stop you Wet Man, it vexes me sore tae say this but you're nothing but a bleggard and a sham. Awa' back tae the Cottage Hospital and swally the hotwater bottles. It's aall yer fit for. If no one else hass seen through you, I'm tellin' ye that Auld Jeck has. Awa' and pickle yer knees in cheese!

Ass a couple of old hippies wance said to me aal those years ago "It's Ivor's Gig Maan!".

Nurse! Nurse! Ach, too late...................

[Thewetman]

Here, so who says am no Cutler? Hurricane Jake? whits that - a fast elivate tai gee yur vehicle a tyre change in Kelvinside. Away an bile yur heid - assuming you've got one.

[Hurricane Jeck]

Here, so who says am no Cutler? Hurricane Jake? whits that - a fast elivate tai gee yur vehicle a tyre change in Kelvinside. Away an bile yur heid - assuming you've got one.

Well noo Waat Man, I think you've chust answered yer own question there.
Mr Cutler, although much younger than masel' belongs to the old school, and unless hiss arteries haf hardened to the extent that it is affecting his personality, he wud never be posting the nesty remarks that you seem to be so fond off. In fact, he wud be appalled at the ferry thought.

Awa' tae the mishcief wi' ye!

Ass for my name, well modesty forbids me to say. Some of my nephews in Terbert tell me that thon young ruffian Bob Dylan even wrote a song as a tribute , but ach if he did it I've neffer heard it and if it is anything like hiss other wans then it will have deng all tune tae it. I'd sooner have a guid Gaelic song as thon. Did I effer tell you that Calum Beag wass my favourite? Jeest perfect for putting me in the trum!

Nurse ...... Ach, neffer mind ma lassie. It's not important noo

[Hurricane Jeck]

Here, so who says am no Cutler? Hurricane Jake? whits that - a fast elivate tai gee yur vehicle a tyre change in Kelvinside. Away an bile yur heid - assuming you've got one.

Well noo Waat Man, I think you've chust answered yer own question there.
Mr Cutler, although much younger than masel' belongs to the old school, and unless hiss arteries haf hardened to the extent that it is affecting his personality, he wud never be posting the nesty remarks that you seem to be so fond off. In fact, he wud be appalled at the ferry thought.

Awa' tae the mishcief wi' ye!

Ass for my name, well modesty forbids me to say. Some of my nephews in Terbert tell me that thon young ruffian Bob Dylan even wrote a song as a tribute , but ach if he did I've neffer heard it and if it is anything like hiss other wans then it will have deng all tune tae it. I'd sooner have a guid Gaelic song as thon. Did I effer tell you that Calum Beag wass my favourite? Jeest perfect for putting me in the trum! Mind you, it's aal aboot goin' on the spree in Cairnbaan and Ardreeshaig so that'll maybe rattle the cages o' some of the Campbeltown fundamentatlists on this thread.

Nurse ...... Ach, neffer mind ma lassie. It's not important noo