Tag Archives: hypocrisy

Musical Hypocrisy

Today, the Haunted Wordsmith posted Jeannie C. Riley’s Harper Valley PTA. It always reminds me of The Son of Hickery Holler’s Tramp. Both songs are about mean-minded, small-town hypocrisy. I was in my teens when these songs came out, and I still remember how  real the protagonists were to me. I wanted to march right over to Harper Valley and give the PTA a piece of my mind, backing up the ticking off they’d already received. Then go on to Hickery Holler and adopt the kids.

If I was more organised, I might choose one day a week to post music. Since I’m not, I’ll just continue to throw in the odd record on a random basis. This is the original version, sung by O.C. Smith.

Here goes:

 

That’s it, folks.

Not to Conquer

They come —

not to conquer;

not with guns and bombs,

or greedy eyes that

seek to steal our

forefathers’ land

and conceal it beneath

steel and concrete monstrosities

squeezing the people into

arid corners, as our

vainglorious

forbears

did.

They come —

not to conquer,

but to escape the

place of death

and hate.

They come —

not to conquer,

but simply

to live.

They come —

finite bodies

suffering and dying

that some may find

a better life.

They arrive

hungry and broken —

so let them in.

.

<> <> <>

©Jane Paterson Basil

Hypocrisy

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Vice is pouring from humankind’s pores,
we’re thieves and conmen and pimps and whores,
we’re dealers, receivers and peeping perverts
on the constant lookout for greedy perks.
Some will do anything while some specialise
but most of us use common tricks and lies.

What can you expect when the heads of the land
are crooked and immoral and underhand;
uplifting the rich and crushing the poor,
discouraging peace and glorifying war,
while the media plays games to corrupt the mind;
twisting every human story they find.

And the people look out of their windows and say
What’s gone wrong with the world today?
There’s Junkie John, he’s been stealing again
and I hear the police have arrested young Ben
for selling crack cocaine and speed;
army conscription  is what they need.

They turn from the window as the doorbell rings
and John is outside with tasty things.
They pull out cheese and a leg of  lamb,
a pack of salmon and a large chunk of ham;
fifteen quid the lot, a pretty good price
for keeping our country in a state of vice.

They freeze all the meat and they tell themselves
they couldn’t afford honest food on the shelves.
If it wasn’t for Junkie John’s rotten thieving ways
they’d sometimes be deprived of proper food for days.
Then they fire up the Mac and rest their tired feet
while they trawl the ether for a new three-piece suite.

Written for The Daily Post #Vice

©Jane Paterson Basil

Hey Daisy

Hey Daisy, come and have a drink
never mind what your parents think.
Look at that guy with the dreaded hair,
and how about the cute guys over there.
Daisy have a drink and have some fun
get yourself laid before the night is done.

Daisy Daisy you have to go to church,
you can’t leave Jesus in the lurch.
Tell those friends you’re busy today,
it’s better for you if they stay away.
I wish you’d see the risk they pose
when you let them lead you by the nose.

Hey Daisy there’s a party down the road.
Forget about your mother’s moral code,
snort some coke and smoke some green,
dance on the table and make a scene.
Daisy have a drink and have some fun
get yourself laid before the night is done.

Daisy Daisy, come and meet Troy,
he’s such a sweet and pious boy,
he never hangs around on the street,
he’s so much nicer than the people you meet.
I wish you’d see the risk they pose
when you let them lead you by the nose.

Hey Daisy, what an earth is the matter.
You’re throwing up and you’re getting fatter,
looks like there’s a baby on the way.
Sorry mate, I would love to stay
but I want a drink and to have some fun
I’ll get myself laid before the night is done.

Daisy Daisy, what have you done.
So this is the result of you having fun.
You’ll have to abort it and we won’t tell Troy,
you don’t want to lose him, he’s such a nice boy.
You should have seen the risk your friends posed
when you let them lead you by the nose.

Poor little Daisy stares at her shoes
with a razor in her hand and nothing to lose.
She never did play her false friends’ game,
and she cowers when she hears Troys name,
the note by her side tells the terrible truth
of a girl who wasn’t trusted with the choices of youth.

She was raped and beaten and threatened with death,
if she ever dared to breathe a single breath
to her mother who tried to force a match
with somebody she thought was a perfect catch,
psychopathic Troy whose pretty little prey
was taking her life in her own chosen way.

©Jane Paterson Basil