Scouse dreams..

My love vs. distaste for Liverpool
I’m not sure where it stems from
disappointments in childhood
stigma's attached from being scouse
watching 'boys from the black stuff'
Yozzer Hughes screeching
'gizza a job'
the 80's harsh times
being subject to 'Thatcherism'
scratching my head in bewilderment
'which class do I fit'
miners strike, trade unions
Thatcher milk snatcher..

Too young to comprehend
wild and carefree
let it go like billows of smoke
over over my head
thinking sod this
I’ll get stoned instead.
'Suzanne takes me down to that
place near the river'
lost in Leonard Cohen
waiting in dole queues
throwing stones in the Mersey
observing Japanese travellers
clicking away at Beatle monuments
'is this our only hope clinging on
to some 60's bands long left'?

Used to love weekends down
the Casablanca, dirty old warehouse
pay a 1 to the Nigerian on the door
dance the night away to Latin vibes
or precious moments in Keith’s Lark lane
sipping finest wine, lapping up the ambience
as massive attack caresses my ear drums
down John Lennon’s favourite haunt
Ye Old Crack drinking pints of finest beer
the years flashed away
yuppies, instant gratification
every man for himself
don't you know where a product
of those Thatcher years?

Ecstasy... 'house house music'
I copped out joined the masses
working 9-5 till the weekend
popping pills and hugging strangers
'wow I love you, yet never met you before'
Raided warehouses till 6am
sitting in the Bluebell
with Ray tramp and Barney cuckoo
now since dead...
Barney cuckoo the tale goes
greatest pick pocket in town
caught his wife in bed with a man
lost it all, mental hospital instead
wannabe gangsters I wanted one
buy me designer clothes
drive me round in a Porsche
nah sod that turned my nose
up instead...

walking through the streets these days
wondering how its all changed
underclass staring in shopping malls
at products with hands in empty pockets
spend spend spend
rising heights, new hotels
swanky bars where we sit
sipping cocktails and pretend
Liverpool is on the mend,
whilst politicians ponder
our northern dreams
put the council tax up
to pay for European capital of culture...

Still Toxteth lies in waste
derelict houses
wasted land
riots distant memories
forgotten dreams
idolised footballers
earning more in a week
we could dream of in a lifetime
still famous scouse humour remains
only I find it hard to laugh
these days
biding my time, waiting to escape
its the city life
got me in a state
dreaming of warm meadows
hares running free
that is where I long to be...

No bright lights of London calling me
No New York sky scrapes in my dreams
money and fame would ruin me
a nomad lost in neon lights
not lost my will to fight
someday soon
must take flight...

By Maria Gornell