Fibbing Friday 15th April 2022 – Thank You For the Music

Frank (PCGuy) and Di (Pensitivity101) alternate as hosts for Fibbing Friday. To join in, write a post with your answers to the 10 questions below and tag it #FibbingFriday. Then link back to Fibbing Friday so others can enjoy the answers and join in too!


Who sang these songs?

1. Money, Money, Money
Ebenezer Scrooge

2. Another Brick in the Wall
Donald Trump

3. Rocket Man
Kim Jong-un

4. Everybody wants to rule the world
Vladimir Putin

5. Life on Mars
Elon Musk

6. Monster Mash
John Merrick (AKA The Elephant Man)

7. Tiptoe through the Tulips
Kim Wilde

8. I wanna hold your hand
Captain Hook

9. Ruby Tuesday
Elizabeth Taylor

10. Get the Party Started
The Singing Nun

Song Lyric Sunday – Clevor Trever

The theme for Song Lyric Sunday is SMART/STUPID

I have chosen Clevor Trever, a track taken from the album New Boots and Panties!! by Ian Dury and the Blockheads. This song combines pub rock, pathos and music hall, along with a killer guitar solo and a cockney rap.

The lyrics are poetry, but if you really want to blow your mind, check out Billericay Dickie from the same album. Warning: contains some very naughty rhymes, for instance: “had a love affair with Nina, in the back of my Cortina”.

Ian Dury was a superb wordsmith, and the tongue twisting lyrics of Clevor Trever are pure genius.

And a reminder not to judge people by appearances. As a kid, I was introverted to the point of paralysis, which resulted in me gaining a reputation for being a little bit slow, backwards and/or stupid. By the time I left school, most of my teachers had me pegged as the quiet, academic type. Go figure!

Clevor Trever
Just ‘cos I ain’t never had, no, nothing worth having
Never ever, never ever
You ain’t got no call not to think I wouldn’t fall
Into thinking that I ain’t too clever
And it ain’t not having one thing nor not another
Either, neither is it anything, whatever
And it’s not not knowing that there ain’t nothing showing
And I answer to the name of Trevor, however

Just ‘cos I ain’t never said, no, nothing worth saying
Never ever, never never, ever
Things have got read into what I never said, ‘til me mouth becomes me head
Which ain’t not all that clever
And it’s not not saying one thing nor not another
Either, neither is it anything I haven’t said, whatever
And it ain’t not proving that me mind ain’t moving
And I answer to the name of Trevor, however

Knock me down with a feather, Clever Trevor
Widebrows wonder whether, Clever Trevor’s clever
Either have they got nor neither haven’t not
Got no right to make a clot out of Trevor

Why should I feel bad about something I ain’t had
Such stupidness is mad ‘cos nothing underfoot
Comes to nothing less to add to a load of old toot
And I ain’t half not half glad ‘cos there’s nowhere to put it
Even if I had I’m a bit of a Jack the Lad

Knock me down with a feather, Clever Trevor
Widebrows wonder whether, Clever Trevor’s clever
Either have they got nor neither haven’t not
Got no right to make a clot out of Trevor

Also, it takes much longer to get up north, the slow way

Songwriters: Chaz Jankel / Ian Robins Dury
© Warner Chappell Music, Inc

Discover Prompts: Music

The Rhythm of Life: Part 1

None of my immediate family is particularly musical. Not one of us plays an instrument with any skill or possesses a singing voice of virtuosic beauty, but I was raised with music.

My father was in charge of bath time. And I must have been the only kid in the street who didn’t run and hide when she heard the water running. He would fill the tub to almost overflowing, and I would dive in like a baby seal released from SeaWorld. A gallon of bubble bath followed, and I would thrash about until the foam crept up the walls and spilt out of the bathroom window.

But the best part came when Dad played nursery rhymes on his harmonica, badly, and I would sing along, just as badly. Our aquatic concert always ended, with him singing You are my Sunshine to me, and I would serenade him with Where be that Blackbird to. Well, I am from the West Country.

With this background, is it any wonder that my favourite LP was my brother’s old copy of The Muppet Show album? I played it to death until my eldest brother sold it to Dicky Dikes, who ran a second-hand shop. However, my ire was nothing compared to my father’s wrath when he discovered his Frank Sinatra records were also missing.

My mother had a narrow escape because Dicky wasn’t in the market for movie soundtracks. Her collection stayed intact for us both to enjoy. When a musical film appeared on television, Mum and I hogged the telly and wouldn’t move until the final credits rolled. Dad would sigh and pretend to read his newspaper, but would soon become wrapped up in the plot.

Only my brothers would disappear, sneaking off to their bedroom to play their rock and punk albums. The ones bought with the proceeds from their dealings with Dicky Dikes.

Discover Prompts: Song

Saw the prompt and the first thing that popped into my head was the thought: music is a flying carpet. Hit with a tsunami of ideas, I settled down to write.

Two minutes later our neighbour called around (observing a 2m social distance): would we like some tomato seedlings?

Yes, we would, and thank you very much. So far, we only have 20 plants growing in yoghurt tubs on the windowsill.

Mrs Neighbour smiled, pointed to a basket at her feet, and explained these have to go in now. Not in pots, but in the ground, and they must be covered at night.

This was not music to my ears.

Cue much faffing about with sieving soil and creating a bed big enough to house 60 plants and then constructing a cloche with wire and ten metres of plastic sheeting.

We got through this ordeal by singing sea shanties, even though I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. But I like music to sing to when gardening.

For housework, I play rock or punk. I need something loud to keep me going.

My musical tastes became fossilised somewhere around the turn of the last century. All the latest modern rhythmic beat combos have passed me by.

Blame this on my formative years spent listening to my family’s elderly collection of vinyl from the 1920s to the 1980s. Hands up who remembers K-TEL and Ronco record companies!

I only have to hear a cheesy 50s pop song, and I am transported to my childhood.

Sunday mornings, helping my mum make our roast lunch and producing apple tart, jam roly-poly, Easter biscuits, Victoria sponges, cakes and crumbles.

We would sing along with the Everly Brothers and Chuck Berry, and scuffle around the kitchen to skiffle. I remember my mother teaching me three things: a rude version of “She Wears Red Feathers,” how to cook and how to jive.

Music takes me back.