Any Old Irony? - Skyclad

At the vanguard of a juddering caravan

Hurriedly galloping down a dirt track

Six furtive figures, crooked as Caliban

Smuggling hope to the land of the claque

Weary, hoarse riders, irksomely blistered

Spent from a decade a-roving the road

Frigging a jig for our brothers and sisters

Stark raving madrigals by the cartload

Without trepidation I sing in laudation

Vocal salute to all travelling tinkers

Vagabond nation joined in congregation

United free thinkers cry from the bryony

«Any old irony?»

Come one, come all to our travelling circus

Cast off your cares for the painted parade

Whirl down the wynd like dervish berserkers

If life hands us lemons we’ll make lemonade

Maybe Jay’s smashed), drumming up passion

Scarring forever with each brisk tattoo

Bean’s in the place so bass is in fashion

Killing us all with his amp set on 2

Watch out for Ridley the Raucously Tiddly

Unplugged he’s no Dr. Jekyll, so Hyde

Desperate Dan Ramsey deft fingers diddle

Watching The Match on a telly stage-side

The cat on the fiddle, Miss Georgie Biddle

Keeping it reeling with her fugue electric

Stuck in the middle I’ll rhyme you a riddle

Irate and eclectic my cry from the bryony

«Any old irony?»

Come one, come all to our travelling circus

Cast off your cares for the painted parade

Whirl down the wynd like dervish berserkers

If life hands us lemons we’ll make lemonade