Lotzie Weaver

Some of Lotzie Weaver's Lyrics

They Can’t Stop Ya Laughing

They can put 10p on a packet of fags, 10p on a pint of beer.
They can send soldiers off to war without shedding a tear.
They can fiddle their expenses and still claim to be sincere.

They can create the biggest class divide of the last 100 years.

But they can’t - no they can’t, Well they can’t stop ya laughin
Ah hee, Ah haa, Ah hee hee, haa haa, haa haa, haa haa, haa…

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They can put you into prison if they don’t like you’re protest,
They can give bonuses to the bankers who created this whole mess.
They can say we need to economise whilst they feather their own nest.
They can use a tree as their emblem whilst they sell off the nations forest.

Chorus

They can put you into care and spend your life’s savings away.
They can give you the minimum wage whilst they get maximum pay.
They can fail to give a straight answer in reply to what you say.
They can transform the unemployed into a really ‘Big Society’.

Chorus

They can privatise the NHS even though there’s no mandate
They can decimate your pension by changing the index rate.
They can close surestart centres, leave the poorest to their own fate.
They can slag each off other pre election then become each others best mate.

Chorus

They can sell your stake in industry - sell it back to you as shares.
They can triple tuition fees making education more unfair.
They can take away your bus pass if you’re an old age pensioner.
They can hope to get re-elected, I think they’re livin on a wing and prayer.

Chorus

The Futility of War

Where have all the young men gone - who use to play and have such fun?
They’re marching round in uniform - to tunes to which they must conform.

They’re fighting in a distant land - a culture they don’t understand,
Nor way of life, nor language too - for a message that’s not getting through.

They’ll bring home their memories - that noxious soul destroying disease.
They’ll wake in a panicked sweat - tormented by war torn regret.

Too late for them they’ll realize - what lies behind old soldiers eyes,
And torn with grief they may succumb - to the taste of a discharged gun.

When will we see the futility?
When will we see the futility?

And there’s the parents’ standing there - grieving for their son and heir.
Their union brought forth his birth - now in unison they scatter earth.

There’s the bride still yet to be - whose bitter sweet virginity.
Was her gift to her soldier groom - but there never was no honeymoon.

There’s the sister weeping there - with no brother to comfort her.
At 14 years she’s learned the pain - of mans intolerance and distain.

There’s the General speaking fine - of that soldier boy, that friend of mine.
Who fought to protect his country - under those coerced politically.

Chorus

Before we jump in both feet first – let’s put our plans into reverse,
Brush away that line of sand - offer out an open hand.

Listen with a peaceful mind - whose nature is the loving kind.
That has the space to understand - our neighbours of a distant land.

Why cause harm or death to those - whose wishes are the same as ours.
Isn’t there enough misery - and don’t all men die naturally?

Yes, what’s the point in killing men - when they will just come back again,
And haunt you in a future world - as your own actions are unfurled.

Chorus

And there’s the parents’ standing there - grieving for their son and heir.
Their union brought forth his birth - now in unison they scatter earth.

There’s the bride still yet to be - whose bitter sweet virginity.

Was her gift to her soldier groom - but there never was no honeymoon.

Theres a Hole in my Head

There’s a hole in my head – there are cuts in my tree.
There’s a book on my bed – it’s waiting for me.
There are noises around – there are things in the wall.
They are stealers of sound – there just waiting to call.

And we curse, we swoon – and we pray to the moon.
We lie and deceive – make our own make-believe.

There are limbs incomplete – coz the grounds gone berserk.
There are kids in the street – in the gutter they lurk.
There are pools in the sky – there is air in our dreams.
There are catchers in rye – in the thoughts that we glean.

And we talk oh so grand – but we don’t understand.
We sigh and complain – for the ease of our pain.

We move, yet re-main still - following an insatiable will.
We’re so busy we ignore – the beauty buried within us all.

There are wails in the day – there are cries in the night.
There are games yet to play – fights yet to fight.
There are cracks in the ice – cracks in the heat.
There is bleach in the rice – there are bombs at my feet.

And in our Sunday best – we queue to be blessed.
We cling to the wall – spitting blood on his shawl.

There are debts yet to pay – there are tears in my tale.
There are prayers yet to pray – things yet to fail.
There’s a girl in my youth – a boy in my past.
They keep wanting the truth – but there want is too vast.

And we sit in our tree – get a coffee for free.
We think and we stare – from with-in its lair.

We move, yet re-main still – following an insatiable will.
We’re so busy we ignore – the beauty buried within us all.

There’s a hole in my head – there are cuts in my tree.
There’s a book on my bed – it’s still waiting for me.
There are pools in the sky – there is air in our dreams.
There are catchers in rye – in the thoughts that we glean.

And we curse and we swoon – and we pray to the moon.
We lie and deceive – make our own make-believe.
We live and we die – but we fail to ask why.
We wail and we scream – in this living dream,

in this living dream. - in this living dream - in this living dream.

Me without You

Me without you’s like hot-pot without stew, like Piglet without Pooh,
Like twins who use to number two, like something you could of but never did do.
That’s me without you.
MWY’s like jam & cream without the scone, it’s like Hermione without Ron,
Like a prize that no-ones won, like the earth without the sun.
That’s me without you.

MWY’s like egg without cress, like Angel without Tess,
Its’ the lack of your sweet caress and my life’s return to a mess.
MWY’s like a fry up without a pan, like Hilda without Stan,
Like a woman or man without their man, like the desperate without Dan.

MWY’s like indigestion without a rennie, like 007 without Money-penny,
Like having lots without having any, like not smiling ever again-ey.
That’s me without you.
MWY’s like a tart that’s no longer tarty, like Elizabeth without Mr Darcy,
Like art without the arty farty, like a horsey without it’s cartie.
That’s me without you.

MWY’s like curry without rice, like Peter Andre without Katie Price,
Like a mouse that knows no other mice, it’s like a life of sugar without the spice.
MWY’s like a meal that’s been sent back, like Vera without Jack
Like a train without a track, it’s the thought you won’t be back.

MWY’s like a delicacy no longer savoured, like Victoria without David,
Like a craving that can only craved, like a motherly cat that’s just been spayed.
That’s me without you.
MWY’s like a burger without the bap, like Heathcliff without Kath,
Like Gay Paris without the café, it’s like being a deleted photograph.
That’s me without you.

MWY’s like steak & kidney without the pie, like the poor children of Princess Di,
Like having no tears left to cry, it’s like a never ending sigh.
MWY’s like the summer without the breeze, it’s like the forests without the trees,
It’s like the birds without the bees; it simply brings me to my knees.

MWY’s like jam & cream without the scone, it’s like Hermione without Ron,
It’s like a meal that’s been sent back, it’s like Vera without Jack,
It’s like egg without cress, like Angel without Tess,
I’m afraid that’s the real me - whenever I happen to be - without you,
Without you - without you – that’s me without you….

People in Council Houses

When your roofs been leaking for months & your windows are full of cracks,
And the heating system’s about as warming as you’re worn out welcome mat,
And your front door’s falling off its hinges coz its bin kicked in so many times,
& even when the culprits are put before the court the punishment never fits the crimes.

When the streets are full of litter coz the bin men don’t bother to call,
& there’s dog crap all over the place, graffiti on every wall,
& the local shop looks like Fort Knox, the buses are real boneshakers,
There’s no jobs, no tinkers, no tailors, no soldiers, no candlestick makers.

Well, you’re not the only one; you’re not the only one.
They say - people in council houses shouldn’t throw stones –
But what do they expect them to do when they ignore their dulcet tones.

When mothers are mistaken for girls pushing their dollies in their prams,
And fathers deny being fathers’ coz they couldn’t give a damn,
And their kids begin to scare you, so your house becomes your cage,
And everybody says they shouldn’t get away with the things they do at that age.

When you have to pay a local thug to guarantee your house won’t get done,
And he drives round in a Mercedes Benz, like the proverbial prodigal son,
And the police don’t bother patrolling, the ambulances arrive late,
And the cars just keep on burning while for the fire brigade you wait.

Chorus

When you’ve complained so many times that the strains making you sick,
You feel like putting down your pen & picking up the nearest brick.
While those who make decisions which affect your daily lives,
Behave like kids in the house of commons exchanging well practised lies.

When you’ve kept quiet for so long and you’ve reached the end of your tether,
You’re fed up with being polite and talking about the weather,
And each time you speak out you feel there’s no one heading your call.
Well it’s was only constant protests which brought down the Berlin wall.

Chorus

UNIVERSITY CHALLENGED

Hiya I’m Kath from Bath, I’m studying for a laugh.
Hiya I’m Fred from Birkenhead, I’m a reformed smackhead.
Hiya I’m Jusain from Spain, I’ve got an amazing linguistic brain.
Hiya I’m Joe from Glasgow, I just smoke loads of blow…

Well Students, Students, Students, they get right up my nose,
With their little goatee beards, unkempt hair and un-ironed clothes.
They harp on about their lack of cash, and student loans make them really irate,
Well I wish I could get any bloody loan, never mind one with such a low interest rate.

Thee go straight from school to university they have such an easy time.
They talk crap and think they’re radical, have conversations about the sublime.
The rest of us aren’t quite so lucky, we have to go to the University of Life.
Where the fella’s become unemployed and the girls become the archetypal fishwife.

I mean you see them on university challenge, they really think they’re it.
An I’ll bet Jeremy Paxman’s an ex-student coz he’s such a patronizing git!
He ask’s em questions, like: ‘How many eggs in a dozen’ as a starter for ten.
Then Bill from Rhyl says “I didn’t understand the question Jeremy,
Could you ask it again, please…?”

And what’s the point of it all; it just doesn’t make any sense.
They graduate, take a year out, and bugger off travelling the world in a one man tent.
An here’s me stuck at home doin me best to get employed.
Depressed and suicidal, I thought that life was to be enjoyed.

I’m making a cup of tea for the bailiff, I owe the council six months rent,
I only cashed me Giro yesterday and all but six pence of that is spent!
Well I’ve never thrown caution to the wind, ya see I’ve always been a bit too prudent,
But sod it I think I’ll study for a degree, yeah, I think I’ll become a bloody student…

Hiya I’m Lotzie from Wallasey studying social anthropology……

Mr Ben

Mr Ben was very happy, Mrs Ben wanted the divorce
She said he’d been unfaithful and they all believed her of course.
Eventually she divorced him, this broke Mr Ben’s heart.
He’d always been faithful, and she knew this from the start

Mr Ben went to the shop - tried on a spaceman’s costume.
He closed his eyes and to his surprise he flew off to the moon.

Mrs Ben moved to a new flat soon met some other men.
None of whom she was special too, as she had been to Mr Ben.
Meanwhile he’d taken to drink, was slowly falling from grace.
His only sanctuary was to visit his favourite place.

So Mr Ben went to the shop - tried on a musician’s costume.
He closed his eyes and to his surprise he played a beautiful tune.

Mr Ben was still on his own - she found out from a friend.
She was desperate to patch things up - so a letter she did send.
A telegram she received it said: Mr Ben had died.
No-one knew what had happened - but it was obviously suicide.

Mr Ben had gone to the shop - but left on his own costume.
He closed his eyes but it was no surprise when he wished it could all end soon.

Mrs Ben had never understood the man she was married too.
They had two kids, a dog, a mortgage, a bit like me and you.
She visited their old house and sat where he’d always sat.
Then she collected his suit, his shirt, his tie and of course his bowler hat.

Mrs Ben went to the shop - she tried on all of these.
She turned around, looked in the mirror, fell down to her knees.
She’d never understood why he liked the shop with the fancy dress clothes.
What she saw in that brief second made her realise - I suppose.

On the outside he looked boring, but he was just yer regular guy.
She knew she’d always been the apple of his eye.
She felt so isolated as she knelt there on the floor,
And more guilty and tearful than she ever had before.

She wanted to be with him - she put on a spaceman’s costume.
She closed her eyes and to her surprise, he was there!
And for the first time ever, they did something together,
And together they flew off to the moon……..