The Troubles I've Never Had (Mick Brady)

I've got your number in my pocket and a smile upon my face

My number's just come up and I'm heading out to your place

It’s been a real good day, it’s gonna be a real good night

Gonna double up the fun, gonna do it, do it, do it, do it twice

You could say that I’ve been lucky, life hasn’t been so bad

I could list a lot of troubles that I have never had:

 

I’ve never been broke, I’ve never been sick

I’ve been down but I’ve never been licked

I’ve taken all the tests but I’ve never been failed

I’ve often been arrested but I’ve never been jailed

 

I’ve got the soft top down and the radio is on

That DJ just keeps playing all my favourite songs

I don't ever worry much, I'm such a laid-back guy

I've got all the peace of mind that only money's gonna buy

You could say that I’ve been lucky, life hasn’t been so bad

And here's a couple more of the troubles I've never had:

 

Never had to lie, never had to cheat

Always seem to bounce back on my feet

My girl didn't run off with my very best friend

But his wife invites me over every now and again

 

I've got the cutest little house on the leafy side of town

I've got shag-pile in the bedroom I've got sheepskin in the lounge

My only fear is that I might be only dreaming all along

And I'll wake up in the gutter in some tear-soaked country song

You could say that I’ve been lucky, life hasn’t been so bad

The list goes on and on of the troubles I've never had:

 

I’ve never been trapped down a dark coal mine 

Never been drowned in an ocean of crying

Daddy didn’t drink, Mama wasn’t on the game

And Granny never got run over by a runaway train 

 

You must agree that I’ve been lucky, life hasn’t been so bad

These are just a few of the troubles I've never had

 

 

We Shouldn't Be Here At All (Mick Brady)

After years of hard living, lots of drink and loose women

We’re beginning to feel our age

We’re not looking the best, we have to take little rests

We can’t do what we used to backstage

We’ve got ailments galore, every muscle is sore

We’ve got pains deep down in our bones

We’ve all got false teeth, we’ve athlete’s foot in both feet

We’re checking out old people’s homes

 

We shouldn’t be here at all

‘Cos ever since Lanigan’s Ball

We’ve been totally relyin’

On the appliance of science

To keep us from going to the wall

 

We’re crippled with the gout, our hair is falling out

We've got dyfunctions that are erectile

We’ve all sorts of complaints, I’m not saying that we’re saints

But we’re martyrs to the piles

We admit we’re wrecked and you have to suspect

That we’re not for this world for too long

I don't know where we're headin' but if we get into Heaven

We’ll all be singing this song

 

Thank god for artificial hips, for viagra and for drips

For transplants, implants and prosthetics

For silicone, testosterone, for HRT and cortisone

The poultice, hypnosis and emetics

 

 

I Wouldn't Mind Being Keith Richards' G-String (Mick Brady)

I was sipping a beer in a little cafe

I was thinking to myself if I could come back some day

And I could be anything other than me

Now I don’t believe in reincarnation

But if it happened by some aberration

I think I know what I’d like to be

 

I wouldn’t mind being Keith Richard’s G-string

Up on stage in front of all those fans

Playing every night to a hundred thousand people

Ruby Tuesday, Street Fightin’ Man

I’d be strummed and I’d be picked

I’d be playing those famous licks

I’d be bent and I’d be stretched

Hammered-on and bottle-necked 

 

It wouldn’t be an easy life

I'd be locked up in a case on long, long flights

Just me, Les Paul and E, A and D – and B and high E

But when the lights go down and the crowd is boppin'

And the music's loud and the band is rockin

Then I’d know I was where I wanted to be

 

I can see myself on a cool guitar

With this torn and tattered rock ‘n’ roll star

Tuned up, ready to go into action

Start Me Up, Tumblin’ Dice

It’s Only Rock ‘N’ Roll but it sure feels nice

Honky Tonk Women, getting’ so much Satisfaction

 

 

I Love My Wife  (Jeff Mondak & Mick Brady)  

Her mother paints with mascara

 To hide her bloodshot eyes

She wears stretch pants and a tiara

There's grooves worn in her thighs

Her grandma sure ain’t no better

She leaves her teeth on the floor

I wish she’d button up her sweater

I wish she'd shut the bathroom door

 

I love my wife, I love her a lot

Even with her lazy brother in our basement

Sleeping on a fold-out cot

I love my wife, I love my wife 

 

Her daddy is missing a finger

He cut himself when he shaved

He once went on Jerry Springer

That's where he got his tattoo engraved

Bertha is my wife’s first cousin

She's quite attractive, but mostly to flies

She drinks six packs by the dozen

She orders her sushi fried

 

I love my wife, I love her so much

Even when she makes me risk my life hunting

With her lunatic Uncle Dutch

I love my wife, I love my wife

 

Her cousin Roy fell on a fence post and got a ticket

on the way to hospital ... for driving while impaled

Her niece Ronnie Mae tried to breed three-legged dogs....

Well, everybody she knew had one 

Her kid sister tried to give herself liposuction....

using a drill and a straw 

Her Aunt Betsy thought a lobotomy 

would make her ear lobes look smaller.......

She don’t think that no more

 

I love my wife and that’s the truth

Even when her nephews make believe it’s raining

By pissing off my Volkswagen’s roof

I love my wife, I love my wife

I don’t think much of her family

But I love my wife

 

 

Hey St. Patrick (Mick Brady)

We used to see them in Armani from Clonmel to Donnycarney

All the WAGS were falling off their Jimmy Choos

Taking choppers to the races, stripey shirts and big red faces

Stupid gobshites didn't have a clue

 

Bankers on the make, politicians on the take

Golden circles, digouts, dirty deals

The country torn apart by clowns

Watchdogs never made a sound

Tossers got the nation on its knees

Hey St Patrick, how’s the crack?

Why don’t you banish these *****

And let the snakes come back

Hey St Patrick, how’s the crack?

Why don’t you banish these *****

And let the snakes come back

 

Land of milk and honey, greedy bastards and their money

But Fingers got his fingers in the pie

Seanie boy still owes us millions, assholes gonna cost us billions

Patrick! You can't sit idly by!!

 

So let’s banish these cute hoors, let's make them pay their dues

Don't wanna hear about no ifs and buts

And bring back all the snakes, sure it’s only give and take

Hey Patrick, c’mon and do your stuff

 

 

Thierry, What's The Story...?  (Richie Maguire & Mick Brady)

Destination Paris, Stade de France, St Denis

Trapattoni's Army, the place was a sea green

A flukey goal in Croker left us one-nil down

There we were in Paris – Oh the boys were back in town

 

Thierry what's the story, that goal was just a farce

All we wanted was a replay so we'd sort it on the park

You said you didn't mean it but our fate was in your hands

Shoulda given us replay, 'cos you owed it to the fans

 

The boys in green, they got stuck in

Put the pressure on Les Blues

Robbie stuck it in the net, oh the place was like A zoo

Here we come Johannesburg, South Africa or bust

But Thierry's handpass to Liam Og Gallas, so it's Courtown for us

 

From Athenry to Ballyheigue, from Tallaght to Tralee

The Twitter and The Facebook, the whole wide world's agreed

We were cheated, we were diddled, we were shafted

We woz robbed

Shoulda given us a replay so we'd finish off the job

 

 

My Malaprop Baby (Jeff Mondak & Mick Brady)

If I tell her that I adore her

The feeling is neutral, she’ll say

She won’t let a gift horse into the house

‘cause Rome wasn’t burnt in a day

She says she likes to sing Acapulco

With garlics of flowers in her hair

She wants to keep me in suspenders

And snuggle like a polo bear

 

She's my malaprop baby

All her similes crash

She's my malaprop baby

And her metaphors clash

The mother tongue should be offended

By the phrases she has blended

She's my malaprop baby

And she loves to talk trash

 

She says our love won’t fade into Bolivian

Though we're only living head to toe

She put her chickens all in one basket

When she shot me with Stupid's Bow

She swears she won’t mince her punches

Or upset my apple tart

She wants to go to Rome to see the sixteenth chapel

'Cos she loves that Renegade Art

 

She's my malaprop baby

And all her words are abused

She's my malaprop baby

Got me feeling confused

Her garbled talk should leave me reeling

Still I find her tongue appealing

She's my malaprop baby

And she won't be refused

 

But when the sacred cows come home to roost

It’s better to switch than to fight

It's no pigment of my imagination

I'll be lovin’ that lady tonight

 

She's my malaprop baby

Her expressions collide

She's my malaprop baby

And she won't be denied

I'm so glad that she insisted 

'cause like her words, this lady's twisted

She's my malaprop baby

And I'm lovin' the ride

 

 

Spare Me All The Bullshit Please (Mick Brady)

Well it may be just my time of life

It may be the moon and the tides

But there's a whole lot of things that really piss me off 

Things I used to take in my stride

 

Now I don't want to sound like some cranky old bastard

But this is just the way that I feel

The bubble is burst, we're heading down the tubes 

So spare me all the bullshit please

 

The H.S.E, O.M.G, W.T.F?

NAMA, FAS, the bank guarantee

Jesus wept!

 

Regulators, speculators, waste-of-spacers, second-raters 

B.I.F.F.O.

Anglo Irish, Nationwide, the A.I.B.

I'm gonna have to talk to Joe

 

SIPTU, ICTU, IMPACT, IBEC

Jackie Healy Rae

Bertie, Beverly, Willy O'Dea

Every day is April Fool's Day

 

Expenses, pretenses, Bart Simpson defences 

Five-star spoofers, stupid fools

Gombeens in limousines, God-damned philistines

The bold O'Donoghue

 

Now I don't want to sound like some cranky old bastard

But this is just the way that I feel

The bubble is burst, we're heading down the tubes 

So spare me all the bullshit please

 

 

I'd Rather Be Me (Mick Brady)

I used to envy Elvis Presley

I wanted to be just like him

The way that he looked, the way he moved

The way that he could sing

But Elvis threw it all away 

He went missing in The USA

And bit-by-bit I changed my mind 

Decided I was more my kind

 

I’d rather be me, I’d rather be me

The only one I wanna be, I’d rather be me

Can’t be no-one else, I only want to be myself

And it suits me to a tee, I’d rather be me

 

There’s lots of guys who are far more wise 

Than I could ever hope to be

Lots of fellas could make me jealous 

Of all that they’ve achieved

But even though I’m way behind

And can’t catch up, I still don’t mind

‘Cos I’ve seen all I need to see

To know for sure who I’d rather be

 

I don't wanna be Bob Dylan

I don't wanna be The Boss

I'd just have to say 'No' to both those guys

If they asked me for a swap



 

 

 

 

 

 

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