There’s only one F in Salford, a testament to his home town.

 There’s only one F in Salford,

Heartbeat of a city, dyin’ on its arse
Chokin’ on fumes from the burnt out cars

Urban jungle cryin’, decay walks every street
People give up tryin’, hardened like concrete

Home is the castle, a council house of cards
Neighbourhood hassle, no room for wimps n mards

Hopeless-Helpless-Careless-Flightless
Homeless-Useless-Loveless-Lifeless

Crime is the currency, no value in pity
Survival of the coldest is the law of the city

No time for remorse, compassion or sorrow
Its Apocalypse now, then same time tomorrow

The predators stalk, every morning noon & nighttime

Theres only one F in Salford, and thats on borrowed time

In Salford, concrete slum where nightmares are made
In the city, City of Salford, be afraid
In the city, City of Salford, be afraid
In the city, City of Salford, be afraid

There’s an app for that.

Need 40 winks? There’s a nap for that

Baby bum stinks?
There’s a nappy for that

Hip packing up?
There’s an op for that

Piddling pup?
There’s a mop for that

The smartphone essential
Your fingertipped friend
Soon to be just gestures
Where will it all end

For dating or hating
And rating or slating
For blogging and tweeting
Or quiz night cheating

Your phone or my phone
The Android or iphone
To gamble or to ramble
To buy or to sample

For music or movies
Or finding your car
For tickets or vouchers
Or mapping the stars

When lost by location
Or lost in translation
When comparing prices
Or last minute crises

For gaming or flaming
Or naming and shaming
For caring or sharing
Or something more daring

When wheeling or dealing
Diagnosing or healing
Checking sports scores and news feeds
Or MP3 stealing

There’s an app for that.

 DON’T FORGET TO LIKE US ON BOB’S FACEBOOK PAGE.

IT REALLY IS NICE TO KNOW YOU LIKE  WHAT WE ARE PUTTING UP.

Jack & Jill Went Up the Hill!

Jack & Jill

A poem of love, death & practical jokes

It’s amazing just how much mess a shotgun makes.

Double-barrelled weddings & bitter-sweet cakes.

Jack was forced against his will.

To marry heavily pregnant Jill.

The overbearing father Mr Oakley.

Announced the wedding during karaoke.

Jack sidled quietly to the exit door.

To be met by Jills brother Mr Six foot Four.

The date was set, invites created.

In the basement Jack sat incarcerated.

He cast his mind to 8 months ago.

On the Virgin Express from York to Glasgow.

The over-friendly drinks trolley girl.

Charged him £8.00 for tea & a Cadburys Twirl.

A smile, a brushed thigh & a wink or two.

Led to 5 minutes lust in the 1st Class loo.

He exchanged numbers just to be polite.

But Jill began calling every night.

A pretty girl but ultra neurotic.

And on occasion borderline psychotic.

But what the hell he was single & wealthy.

She was limber, more than willing & healthy.

As time went by Jack moved Jill in.

In his house up the hill they lived in sin.

Together infrequently due to Jacks workload.

A secret Jack the lad whilst on the road.

But though Jill may have suspected infidelity.

She held her tongue with dignity.

Fast forward back to this fateful night.

Jack cowers underground consumed with fright.

He hears raised voices harsh & gruff.

Discussing his demise from the room above.

The plan is for Jack & Jill to wed.

Then out comes the shotgun & off with his head.

The inconsolable widow will inherit his estate.

Whilst Jack waits headless at heavens gate.

He fumbles around on the dark basement floor.

Finding a screwdriver to force the upstairs door.

In the kitchen he murders big brother with the tool.

As the family in the lounge chorus ‘April Fool’!