planet gong archives

Lady June

Hit and Myth

  1. Missing Person
  2. You Are
  3. Bugs
  4. Sea-Cake
  5. Fleas Dream Too
  6. Chernobyl Fall-out Reggae
  7. Food for Thought
  8. Maybe I'm Raining
  9. Mirage
  10. Canal Reflections
  11. Let's Blame It All On God
  12. Well In It
  13. Being Needy Makes for Greedy
  14. The Problem
  15. Euston Station
  16. Hipoppothesis

What will I do 
when you move away
will I wait for the pound 
of your footsteps each day
will I miss the soft sound 
of your cough in the hall
as time passes by 
will I miss you at all

   Yes, I'll miss you, 
   I'll miss you, 
   I'll miss you, I know
   As I ask once again, 
   must it always, 
   must it always be so

Will I miss the way 
that you call my name
will I miss the astuteness 
of mind and brain
will I miss all the mess 
that you drop on the floor
will I find someone else 
that I simply adore


Will I miss your odd smile 
and your style and your grace
will I miss all the sadness 
that rests on your face
will I miss all the thumps 
as you race up the stairs
will I miss the feeling 
that somebody cares


You are the plug to my sink
and I can't get you out

You are the chain to my loo
and I can't flush you down

You are the key to my door
but I can't fit you in

You are the frame to my window
I see through you 
and the world looks brighter
When you are open 
the air is lighter.

When you are near 
there is no heat, no cold, no age
and I therefore am not old.

YOU are my Hook, Line and Stinker.


Bugs, bugs, now I'm at war
Got a bug karma, 
it's bed-bugs for sure.

Bugged in the head 
and itching all over
Bugs in the bed 
sure ain't living in clover.

Phoned up the council 
the second time round
But they'd clean forgot 
'bout my bugs on the bound.

Bugs in the mattress 
and bugs in the floor
Bugs on the pillows 
and bugs at the door.

Sleep out at night 
driven from home
Those little brown bastards 
won't leave me alone.

Bugs, bugs, I'm sick in the head
It's driving me crazy, 
I wish they were dead!


I was burning 
my candle at both ends
When up came 
a man-eating shark,
He ate what was left 
of my middle
And now my life's 
lived in the dark

So I'm writing 
this rhyme in his belly
And rapidly 
turning to drink,
It's damp and it's 
rotten and smelly
And I'm right on the 
edge of the brink.

If you happen 
to come by a bottle
That is floating 
adrift in the sea,
Then look deep down inside 
at the turn of the tide
'Cos you might 
find a message from me.


Although I'm just a little flea
I wish I lived under the sea.
I'd bite the mermaids on their tits
And chew the whales to little bits.

I'm not at all particular
Nip, nip, rub, itch, 
scratch, scratch, kind sir
I'm not at all particular

Might bite a lobster on its beak
Then nip a trout while in a creek
I'd sting King Neptune on his bum
Then go inside and bite his mum.

I'm not at all particular
Nip, nip, rub, itch, 
scratch, scratch, kind sir
I'm not at all particular

Go jump into an oyster's shell
And make its life a living hell
Then find a mussell on a rock
And watch it go and run amok.

I'm not at all particular
Nip, nip, rub, itch, 
scratch, scratch, kind sir
I'm not at all particular

The mackerels, sardines, 
crabs and plaices,
Bitten all over their faces,
Monkfish, haddock, bream and coley
All swimming round and looking holy.

I'm not at all particular
Nip, nip, rub, itch, 
scratch, scratch, kind sir
I'm not at all particular

I'd dance with dolphins in the deep
And have no time to even sleep,
I might look like a little dot
But when I'm through 
you'll know I'm not.


Who killed de thrushes 
dyin' in de bushes?

Who killed de sparrow, 
cancer in de marrow?

Chernobyl fall-out
Reason for a quarrel.

Man don't eat de thrushes.
Man might get de cancer.

Chernobyl fall-out, man, 
dat ain't de answer.


'Half a pound of bananas for a pound' 
he sez

So I sez to 'im 
'This banana's black,
AND it's got a hole in the middle,
an' not only that, 
it's round and flat 'n all'

'What's the matter?' he sez
'Ain't you never seen 
a round, flat banana 
with a hole in the middle before?

Government subsidized, they are, 
high protein, free range, 
black plastic bananas,
broken all records, quite a few teeth,
AND one or two cassettes on the quiet.

Tell you what!' he sez loudly:
'Take this record of: 
Yes we have no bananas,
Half a pound of tuppeny rice,
Half a pound of treacle,
AND 200 Green Stamps,
Then lets be seeing 
the back-to-front of you'

you should have seen the nasty mess
it made of the turntable,
never did find the needle to this day

I tell yer, 
funny shape for a record too,
more like a banana I'd say,
know what I mean?

Wad-a-mean, wad-a-mean, 
wad-a-mean, wad-a-mean
wad-a-mean, wad-a-mean, 
wad-a-mean, wad-a-mean


Maybe I'm raining.

The rock cries
The stone signs
The cat died.

I think I'm raining.

My madness is silent
My smile is quite brilliant
My eyes are dead sparrows
That wait for resilience;

They are gently raining.


You are running, running,
But you never move.
For if you tread my road
It is endless.

You are hiding, but invisible
To none but yourself,
As all the walls are made of glass
And you are the transparency.

You show me the way
To the gates of paradise
But they are locked
And you forgot the key.
You teach me how to fly
But not to land again.

Your mouth forms words
That say 'I love you'
But even as we speak
They run back into the
Comfort of your dreams

'Stand up and be counted'
I scream to you silently,
As taking your hand it melts away
And you begin to slowly
Disappear again.


Quite without description.
Twin realities.
Sky Moon Earth-Water Moon,
that motivates 
as tiny living beings 
flash like gold
and head between 
the darkness of the trees that 
languorously shift and stretch
a prefixed pattern eased.

The Church Bell strikes 
in solitary arrogance
some Legal quirk 
legitimizes certain loudnesses.
The Bird songs long since silenced
by the stillness of the night.

Reflections, melting 
like a lover with the dawn.
Last moment's gold now 
nothing but a silvered sign.
Reflections shifting,
drifting, drifting,
mirrors from an eye.


Sometimes I need a hand to hold
or maybe just a finger 
if that could only catch the tear 
that seldom falls.
Embarassment can linger, 
lose you friends.

And YOU, God? 
Do you hear me, YOU?
So very clever, makin' all the world,
curled up there high 'n' cosy,
and us down here, 
a tryin' an' supposing,
posin' and so good.

But reality, (whatever that is!)
flings one into praying to you 
now and then, 
YOU (whoever you are.)
Help, HELP ME! 
are you anyone that's even like me?

If not, maybe I'm the one 
that should be helping YOU,
'cos sure as hell, 
as far as I can see I don't get
too much help from you.
I'm dying, dying, DYING, 
Can't you hear me crying
from this Discotheque?

Oh, what the heck, 
you're much too busy 
jiving on your clouds,
and I'm too busy 
boogeying to become 
part of your shrouds.


I walked upon a lonely path
and came upon a turd.
While stepping neatly over it
I seemed to think I heard
it say to me:
'I smell so bad
I'm something of a shit.'
I said to it:
'I lost my nose
so I don't care a bit'
And then I thought it said some more
but as I'd lost an ear
it didn't make much difference
'cos I simply couldn't hear.

I was thinking that a talking turd
is really rather strange
when both my eyes dropped in my head
and I went quite deranged.
I almost tried to eat it
but it's really not my taste
and anyway I couldn't
as my mouth had got misplaced.

Now I'd like to face this problem
but that's also disappeared
and now I come to think of it
the rest looks pretty weird.

So should you tread a lonely path
and chance upon a turd
just be sure to turn a blind eye
and don't listen to a word.
It may all sound a bit far-fetched
but I don't care a bit
the reason's quite apparent
it's called 'BEING IN THE SHIT'.


The world is full of greediness
and what is really needed
gets abandoned in the bustle
and just passes by unheeded.

Except for just a very few
who are in the main despised
and they're about the only ones
who approximate being wise.

Even when its imminent
all change is very slow
just alters when it happens
and there's no place you can go.

The dart of fear will re-appear
to suffocate your power
and the crazy race 
leaves you face to face
with a world that's turning sour.

Forms and lies and phony people
sick games for control
honesty now history
stand up and play your role.


The problem with being open minded 
is your brains fall out.

[Lady June, Hit and Myth]

Arriving in a smoothness and warmth.
Leaning here against 
this stone grey pillar
Stone grey floor and 
blackened stoned grey building
Upwardly seeing only a soft blue sky
Basking myself 
in the warmth of sunbeams

Silently a softly chugging monster
Eases itself 
with imperceptible sighs and groans
Into its situation 
for my embarkation.
And so, embarking,
through a pane of glass I spy
A blackened soul a-portering.
From long lost sunshine shores,
Stretched out and sighing 
on a platform seat
In nowhere land.

We are the loners,
We are the longlast ligging looners,
We are the make it I'll be soonest
We are the shake it and be tunist
We are the do it if it exist
We are the, we are the,
we are, the ligging Looooooners

One shrill cry
And I seated floated fly
Atop drum wheels that 
fight for patterns 'mid the noise
And flow on rail directionals.
The sun sinks low 
behind bad-shapers in the sky
And now with angry roar 
we really fly,
And monster's screaming 
out his high from speed
And I must flow along 
in optimism for my need.

This carriage is 'No smoking. 
Penalty Ten pounds'.

(I remember when you could 
score half an ounce for that!)

A field of caravans
A field of yellow vans
And a black horse
Of course.
Just things passing by
But each one moments of sheer joy.

This queue is one of pure intent,
for alcohol, no more, no less.
Each one of you, or four
(Depending on how good a night it was)
Will drink to that, I'm sure!

And so, I sit here, respectable like,
Hell bent for a black pool,
An' just because me dress 
almost shows me bum
Don't think I'll be taking 
any of yer 'You know what'!
An' anyway, if yer look twice
Yer can tell I'm a nice girl really,
And if you look really close
You might even think I'm a poet
With me sittin' here writin' like
Aw, who gives a damn,
Don't lay yer bloody hang-ups on me,
I've got enough of me own
And a few to give away,
If you've got room on your wall 
for another hang-up.

Dots on a green hill, sheep-like.
Boxes on a sheet of water, boat-type.
are passing words 
that string along strabismally.
A black pool, why not a blue pool,
I sigh optimistically.
At least they got some rock
But you eat it,
Not 'ear it, so they say.

A reflection of the setting sun
Runs along my window hurriedly.
I have a sun on either side,
How can life better be?
Now left sun disappeared
While right one floats away
To join another dawn and reappear.

Past slurgy ponds
As yet unlit by setting suns
Killers sit round 
catching what they can.
They wait and kill
Until their time will come.

Wires without confusion intertwine,
They rise and fall 
like ballet dancers making mime,
Their stage a lightly greying sky,
The light-show later, 
called 'The Firmament',
With guesting stars 
to make it an event.

Now I a crumpled heap of semi-sleep,
The sun, a rosy ball 
just flitted by again and died,
Another day just put aside.

The train stops.
The window on my left is crying.


I don't know, POP!
People who get in certain states 
of mind will know the meaning 

Answer to hypothetical question, 
Pop hot Almonds into crushed glasses
of Oxo Cupids, it might help out 
if your body ain't stupid.

The question was not hypothetical

If you can convince me 
that any question 
is anything but hypothetical,
while I peacefully push 
this toasted Cream Cheese 
muscular sandwich into acquainting 
itself with my teeth 
and no illogical irruptions, 
if you please.

Le Gran Burp. POP! Pop! Sorry!!

What weren't you saying? Sorry!

Any hypothesist 
worth calling himself a Poet
would never question 
'I don't know answers, or hypotheses,
unless others wise prunes proved it. 

Meanwhiles whiled away 
time in Washington,
wishing he'd left it all filthy 
in the first place,
and to hell with the 

Who can afford it anyway? 
With a Reagan in Office.

HE shall not want THEY will be done.

to a-fish-all polluted anyways,
and Cousteau paid for himself 
in the drains.

Halleluyah! said the Spire
as the Church caught fire,
the weather was vain
but the Church was the Liar.

A Hippopotamus has rented 
the Apartment upstairs. 
I'll have to complain about
the noise, parties all night, 
the ceiling's going to go any minute.

I don't mind, but I can't have 
THAT falling on top of me
in the middle of Nightingales 
in a Barking Squat.

I shall live on a shelf me self.

A Rackman.

Rented the rest its a way to invest
Trying to beat the Conflaitabinations.

Baby Jack, son of Gunga Din, 
a phoney plugger,
Went to Jamaica 
to look for some Sugar,
Chased a Bugger-ound a Marijuana Tree.
Going mad, but consistent.

A Rhinoceros 
has just rushed into my bed-room,
the Fly Spray seems to be
inadequate, as are the Tranquilizers,
there MUST be some solution.

Is there no peace?
Its doing it all over the floor!
No wonder the rent's cheap,
with a Rhino rushing around 
a room the size of a sock all night,
and I have to get up early 
to catch a Bus in the afternoon.
Dead, but still landing!