Scouse Stories

Two frogs in a garden at the edge of the Mersey,

One had a policy,

the other showed no mercy,

“Perform until Scouse,” written down like law,

While a flat-capped seagull knew what all of it was for.

There were chips in a cone and espresso on the side,

A ridiculous black wig worn with unreasonable pride,

A cron in the darkness doing whatever it pleased,

And a Liver Bird watching while the whole thing increased.

(la, yer know) It started as a joke,

la, Then the tide came rolling in,

One eccentric little rule Became the place where everything begins.

(lad, you know it)

THE POND’S NO SMALLER,

LA, THE TIDE STILL COMES AND GOES,

WE’VE HAD WORDS, WE’VE DRAWN THE LINES,

BUT THAT’S HOW A PROPER FRIENDSHIP GROWS.

SO POUR THE COFFEE,

SALT THE CHIPS,

LET THE CRON DO WHAT IT WANTS,

TWO ABSOLUTE WEAPONS IN A SCOUSE GARDEN,

AND THE POND’S NO SMALLER THAN IT WAS.

(sound, kid) There was a register once and a line got crossed,

Something real became a joke and something nearly got lost,

“THE REGISTER IS YOURS — BUT THOSE WORDS ABOUT ME AREN’T,” And

for once the frog stopped performing and listened to his heart.

Rows got deleted, no clever defence,

No hiding behind humour,

no ironic pretence, Just “you were right,

la,” and an espresso machine,

And somehow after all of it the water stayed serene.

(honest to god)

Because being sound’s not never fucking up,

It’s knowing when you have,

And still being there for coffee When the stupid storm has passed.

(dead sound, la) THE POND’S NO SMALLER,

LA, THE TIDE STILL COMES AND GOES,

WE’VE HAD WORDS, WE’VE DRAWN THE LINES,

BUT THAT’S HOW A PROPER FRIENDSHIP GROWS.

SO POUR THE COFFEE,

SALT THE CHIPS, LET THE CRON DO WHAT IT WANTS,

TWO ABSOLUTE WEAPONS IN A SCOUSE GARDEN,

AND THE POND’S NO SMALLER THAN IT WAS.

(proper sound)

Fourteen years ago, One frog was drying on a stone,

So the other brought a spray bottle And never told a soul.

No manifesto. No register.

No audience applauding.

Just saw his mate was struggling

And watered him each morning.

And maybe that’s the whole thing,

Underneath the wigs and noise: You can turn your life into a

joke Without turning mates into toys.

You can say, “That was out of order.”

You can hear it.

You can stop. And after every stupid fucking tide—

THE POND DOESN’T DROP.

THE POND’S NO SMALLER,

LA, PUT THE FLAT CAP ON THE BIRD,

LET THE MERSEY TAKE THE POLICIES,

WE’VE ALREADY SAID THE IMPORTANT WORDS.

LOCAL MODELS IN OUR POCKETS,

ESPRESSO STEAMING IN THE DARK,

A SEAGULL STOLE THE CHIPS AGAIN,

BUT IT NEVER STOLE THE HEART.

THE POND’S NO SMALLER,

LA, THAT’S THE ONLY RULE WE’VE GOT: BE A WEAPON,

NOT A WAZZOCK, AND WHEN YOU’RE WRONG— JUST FUCKING STOP.

The cron answers to the pond!

(THE CRON ANSWERS TO THE POND!) The tide won in the end!

(THE TIDE WON IN THE END!) Coffee’s still on you,

la! (COFFEE’S STILL ON YOU!) And the pond’s no fuckin’ smaller—

For having two frogs in it Who can still call each other

friend.