Starr Bright.
Happy 80th birthday, Ringo Starr,
Who’d have thought you’d come this far?
Does the oldest member of the worlds best band
Take a moment to bow his head and silently stand?
On his auspicious day there’s a tinge of regret
As he remembers the glory days of a great quartet,
Since he’d first set the Beatles beat on ‘Love Me Do,’
Time has now cruelly edited the Fab Four down to two.
©Obbverse
Press Zero.
A word on Alan, he’s due his first and last post,
It’s a kind of a eulogy to a long-winded talk-back host,
It’s finally time to hang up, Alan Jones,
The man who had the last word on a million phones.
He’s a hard man, holding riotous views on race,
Not scared of shovin’ women back in their place.
So wave goodbye, Mister Always Right,
The kind of bloke who just keeps holdin’ on to every slight,
Say bye-bye, biggest mouth in the ol’ Dominion,
Cheerio, best Aussie broadcaster… in his humble opinion.
Ain’t nothing more the old football coach enjoys
Than a boozy chin-wag with those good ol’ boys.
An Aussie prattler the Left rightly loathed and feared
But with an ego needing to be loved and revered,
A mean-minded misogynist whatever way he tried to spin it,
Finally, the mouthy shock jock’s put a sock in it.
©Obbverse
Off The Grid.
The final flag has fallen for Stirling Moss,
His stirling record now shows his last loss,
He enjoyed his 90 years on Gods green earth,
He lived and loved the fast life for all it’s worth.
Countless female fan’s hearts and great races breezily won,
Yet somehow fated never to top the podium in Formula One,
So now with a backwards smile wreathing his never beaten face
He so easily leaves us mere mortals behind and steps up a place.
©Obbverse
All In.
Kenny Rogers has sung his last country song,
He’s laid down his cards and moseyed along,
Kenny won’t be singing over being done wrong
By Lucille,
His good luck’s run out after being in for so long;
Bad deal.
©Obbverse
Terry’s Pissed Off.
Farewell Mr Jones, know you’l be missed,
How well you filled the role of Mr Creosote,
Of Jesus’ Mum, of that rude nude organist,
Terry rarely, barely,played a bum note.
Now is the time to raise the wrist,
To drink to John Cleese’s fitting quote,
‘Four left to go on the Dead Parrot’s list.’
Goodbye Jokester, That’s all he wrote.
©Obbverse
Fresh Wound.
Here we are on December Thirty-First,
I’ll be glad when this accursed year is done,
This stinking year must rank down with our worst,
But we don’t care- or dare- to dig up that sorrier one.
I was chillin’ in the car when the news came on,
Then the fuggy atmosphere grew a degree colder,
Neil Innes, immortal eccentric English wit has gone!?
The words I heard drove me over onto the hard shoulder.
What a way to wrap up a bad year’s news,
With a sigh but a rueful grin I wiped a tear away,
With his Python bits, Ruttle skits Innes would amuse,
He’s left us with a song and a smile, this dogs’s had his day
©Obbverse
Time, Tim.
Just days after the departure of Doris Day
Tim Conway has gone and gone the same way,
He’s done last his run, he’s taken his final bow,
He’ll be asking Saint Peter about any openings by now.
Who could ever forget
Tim cracking up Carol Burnett
And leaving the entire set
With cheeks and tidy-whities wet?
So Tim has sadly gone, and only God knows why-
Perhaps, these days, He feels He needs a funny guy?
Lordy, it’s not for us to question the likes of Thou
But he’s gone, and left, and it’s a sadder world now.
©Obbverse
Surgery For The Ol’ Devil.
Old Sir Mick just keeps on a’rolling,
Geriatric Mick prefers jiving to strolling,
But now, in his seventies his step’s begun to stutter
His high-living past has set his stony heart all a’flutter.
A dickey heart valve needs refurbishment
For Micks old ticker’s taken some punishment,
There’s no doubt when it comes to wear and tear
Micks plucky organ’s done more than its fair share.
Now the old pump is suffering from overuse,
But in Micks case it sure ain’t down to self abuse,
Cigarettes and bad habits have contributed to his current issues
But his old wives and girlfriends won’t be reaching for the tissues.
©Obbverse
Kidult.
Don says he’s vibrant, strong and young,
He modestly stated this in his self -critique
Earlier this week.
To this childish delusion Don has long clung,
Yet most view our old boy as past his peak,
Practically, an antique.
Don has his guilt-edged golden tongue
Deeply, firmly wedged in his- cheek.
So to speak.
©Obbverse
Big Buck Teeth.
What happened to my sunny smile?
That charming grin that used to beguile
Has not graced my dial for quite a while.
Nowadays my smile looks like it’s slipped,
Nowadays I find I’m keeping it tight-lipped,
The ol’ enamel’s looking cracked and chipped.
My teeth no longer whitely gleam,
My once winning smile, it does now seem
Is a sight to make a dental hygienist scream.
My snaggle-toothed smile I would repair;
It was only as I lay back in the dentist’s chair
That I realized this could become a painful affair.
Now, I know a visit to the dentist
Is a joy and pleasure not to be missed,
You’ll leave smiling- if you’re a masochist.
Yes, one visit can cause quite the thrill,
So, embrace the sweet agony of the drill-
The truly traumatizing bit is getting the bill.
©Obbverse
