A New Folk Song For Modern England (based on an old Wiltshire goat-nadgering ballad). It shows that country pursuits may leave a lot to be desired.

As I walked out one May morning,

My fortune for to seek,

My way was suddenly blocked,

By a Tesco trolley blocking the creek.

I started to push on with my quest,

And tried to cross over using a log,

But the wood was all slippery,

And quickly I fell into the bog.

I came out smelling of diesel & worse,

My clothes all muddy & rank.

I was all soaking & smelly,

As I slowly crawled up the bank.

I carried on with my walk, ever bold,

Hoping a young maiden to sight,

But I’d got twigs in my hair:

And I must have looked quite a fright.

I then came out of those sylvan woods,

Leaving behind my rural bower,

But soon the day turned out nasty,

With gentle rain, later turning to showers.

I pushed on through the country,

And down to the meadow that day,

For I fancied myself dancing,

All among the new-mown hay.

Imagine my surprise when I arrived:

I suppose it was my bad fate.

Instead of the green meadow,

I found a new-built housing estate.

I looked to the woods where I used to wander.

Fences and barbed wire now blocked the way,

And the foot-path was well diverted,

Away from where we used to go play.

I determined not to give in so easy,

And across the valley I attempted to gaze,

But I couldn’t see nothing out there,

Due to all the pollution and haze.

But finally I spied a pretty fair maid,

A-wandering alone on the moor,

And bounding right up to her,

I said I’d walk her back to her door.

“Nay, lad” the maid said unto me.

“It’s not going home that I’m wanting to go.

I’m running away, and I’m starving.

But you can buy me a MacDonalds, though.”

   

I said I hoped we could lie down in the meadow,

For it was a great day to go courtin’.

She told me to get lost and scram,

And with me she wouldn’t be sportin’.

She said she was allergic to rape-seed,

And other farm pesticides:

It was sprayed all over the place,

And I looked such a mess, besides.

We couldn’t walk no farther that way,

We’d have to take different directions.

The fields were all fenced off now,

Due to Health & Safety restrictions.

In the end I gave up on my conquest,

For the day had turned out to be crap

It may be the early bird catches the worm

But the second mouse gets the cheese in the trap!

This folk-song lark’s not all it’s cracked up to be;

My nerves are all knotted & frayed.

Whatever the merits of Olde England,

There must be easier ways to get laid.

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2014