oxblood red

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who we are

Welcome to the cyberspace home of The Punch Drunk Pirates. In the real world, we are a group of mature boxers who love to hit each other on a weekly basis at the Fitzroy Lodge Amateur Boxing Club and have been doing so, for more than twenty years. Our longest serving pugilist has clocked up almost thirty years in the ring, with everyone else not too far behind. 

As (would be!!) musicians, we all met by accident via open banter in the changing room. We had all been playing and / or singing for years at home, never daring to go public with our secret passions. Having come out of the ‘communal closet’, we began rehearsing together and graduated to our first gig. We were up and running. 

The general consensus was that one gig would be the sum total of our ‘rock n roll’ lifestyle and we all felt lucky to have the opportunity to experience a live performance just the once.  

But life really is a ‘funny old thing’ and within weeks, we found ourselves at the iconic Abbey Road Studios, recording three of our own songs!! More songs were written and a rock opera was born:  ‘OXBLOOD RED. An East End saga’ was performed at the Union Theatre SE1 in 2017, with all band members participating.

The Punch Drunk Pirates now have a broad portfolio of original songs and gig on a regular basis; the rock opera is being further developed and pencilled in for another run in 2019. Recording sessions are being prioritised and a full album will be available on Spotify later this year.

We still don’t claim to be ‘proper’ musicians but we make up for it in abundance, with our love of music and a determination to share the ‘feel good vibe’ we experience every time we play. We are excellent story tellers and love sharing our reflections on life and the challenges it poses… and it makes a pleasant change from engaging in physical violence!!

 
 
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the rock opera

 
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songs

 

OXBLOOD RED

I’d go down the pub, but there ain’t none left,
Upton Park is buried and dead,
Double skint ain’t got two bob
She gets on my tits with her moaning gob

Oxblood red, oxblood red,
16 hole oxblood red,
Won’t leave the East End till I’m dead,
In my 16 hole, oxblood red.

Canary Wharf bankers in power suits,
City boys in Versace shoes,
Working class, that’s my roots,
I stand proud in Dr Marten boots

Oxblood red, oxblood red,
16 hole oxblood red,
Won’t leave the East End till I’m dead,
In my 16 hole, oxblood red.

Isle of Dogs, Bow and Mile End,
I used to have loads of skinhead friends,
They’ve all moved out, towards Southend,
DM boots are all that’s left.

Oxblood red, oxblood red,
16 hole oxblood red,
Won’t leave the East End till I’m dead,
In my 16 hole, oxblood red.

Don’t screw me out, like I’m someone bitching,
Just keep your eyes on my yellow stitching,
Stick me in a box and I’ll go downstairs,
With my DMs on, I won’t fucking care.

Oxblood red, oxblood red,
16 hole oxblood red,
Won’t leave the East End till I’m dead,
In my 16 hole, oxblood red.

Oxblood red, oxblood red,
16 hole oxblood red,
Won’t leave the East End till I’m dead,
In my 16 hole, oxblood red.

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles

Video by Brian Lovett


Mono_Deep sleep.jpg

Deep sleep

An old has been, who never was,
Throwing in the towel, just because,
I made a big mistake, and got it wrong,
Been paying the price, for far too long, 

Deep sleep, I’m gonna have a deep sleep,
A deep-deep sleep, I’ve had enough of this,
Deep sleep, I’m longing for a deep sleep,
A deep-deep sleep, peaceful bliss.

A dark black maze, with no way out,
Screams in dreams, with silent shouts, 
Lost and alone, I am in no doubt, 
Curtains coming down, I’m checking out. 

Deep sleep, I’m gonna have a deep sleep,
A deep-deep sleep, I’ve had enough of this,
Deep sleep, I’m longing for a deep sleep,
A deep-deep sleep, peaceful bliss.

Drink induced, foggy haze,
Makes guilty feelings, fade away,
A chance to slide, away from me,
On the other side, I’ll be set free.

Deep sleep, I’m gonna have a deep sleep,
A deep-deep sleep, I’ve had enough of this,
Deep sleep, I’m longing for a deep sleep,
A deep-deep sleep, peaceful bliss,
A deep-deep sleep, peaceful bliss,
A deep-deep sleep, peaceful bliss.

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles


POPLAR TOWER BLOCK

Rain’s coming down, another grey day,
Blackwall Tunnel’s chucking fumes my way,
I ain’t down there, I don’t fit in,
I need a few cans to make me grin.

No honours degree university days,
Zero hours on the minimum wage,
Stay in bed, interrogate God,
More attractive than a dead-end job.

I feel like Elvis Presley, the undisputed king of rock,
When the fame kicked in with the pills and the bling,
He found he was hopelessly lost.

Job-centre’s only got shit jobs,  
Broken lifts and I live at the top,
I ain’t seen the kids for several years,    
If I jump out the window, no one cares.

I feel like Elvis Presley, the undisputed king of rock,
The Memphis Mafia couldn’t save him, 
And I’m all alone in a tower block.

Voices banging loud in my head,
Saying give up, better off dead,
They drive me mad, so I carry on drinking,
With dark depressive, negative thinking.  

I feel like Elvis Presley, the undisputed king of rock,
I lost my Priscilla and my Lisa-Marie,
Woke up and they were long gone.

Can’t chuck myself under a train,
They might want to come and see me one day,
The world outside is cold and bleak,
And I’m on a life-long losing streak.   

I feel like Elvis Presley, the undisputed king of rock,
The world is a stage and I’ve been betrayed,
But I just have to carry on.

Yes I feel like Elvis Presley, the undisputed king of rock,
The difference is, when I bite the dust,
No one will give a toss.  

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles

Video by Brian Lovett


Mono_Absent Dad.jpg

ABSENT DAD

Blew out school, at the age of 13,
Letters and numbers, they slaughtered me,
Started getting drunk and having fights,
Had a burning anger, deep inside.

Had an altercation, with a Ford Capri,
Geezer pulled a blade, and lunged at me,
I came back, with me baseball bat,
Whacked him round the nut; that was that.

I messed up my life, and the life of my wife,
And the life of my son, he’s not quite right,
My dad was shit, it makes me sad,
Just like him, I became…
An 18 carat cock… an alpha male knob… an immature slob,
An absent dad.  

Twelve long years, in a prison cell,
With prison food, and prison smells,
Head-butt the wall, stare at the ceiling,
I done what I done, it’s a messed-up feeling.

I messed up my life, and the life of my wife,
And the life of my son, he’s not quite right,
I should have weighed up all of that,
Before I went and swung,
My great big fucking stupid baseball bat.

I left jail, broken man,
She was living, with big fat Stan,
Back in the day I’d have smashed him up,
But how would that, help my messed-up son?

I messed up my life, and the life of my wife,
And the life of my son, he’s not quite right,
My dad was shit, it makes me sad,
That just like him, I became…
An 18 carat cock… an alpha male knob… an immature slob,
An absent dad.  

Apparently, my dad had many kids,
But me and my son grew up, only once,
I was never taught how to love myself,
I didn’t know how to love, someone else.

I messed up my life, and the life of my wife,
And the life of my son, he’s not quite right,
My dad was shit, it makes me sad,
That just like him, I became…
An 18 carat cock… an alpha male knob… an immature slob,
An absent dad.  

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles


Mono_Knackered+broke.jpg

KNACKERED AND BROKE

I’ve never been a ten, I always score a four,
Just Mr average, nothing much more,
If I was, a great big juicy nine,
Perhaps my life, would be just fine,
But this is no joke, I’m knackered and broke, oooh.

Knackered and broke, knackered and broke,
Life is a storm and I got soaked,
Knackered and broke, knackered and broke,
I used to be a big strong bloke,
but look at me now, I’m knackered and broke, oooh

Thirty-six thousand pints of beer,
Ten thousand whiskies and I’m still here,
Two and half tons, of junk food grub,
Staggering back, from the sawdust pub,
I lost my direction, I couldn’t get an erection, oooh.

Eight married years, the best of my life,
Till someone else, started banging my wife. 
He had a big fat gut, and a pair of tits,  
Perhaps she loved, all his wobbly bits,
She said he had a roller, he didn’t try to control her, oooh.

Knackered and broke, knackered and broke,
Life is a storm and I got soaked,
Knackered and broke, knackered and broke,
I used to be a big strong bloke,
but look at me now, I’m knackered and broke, oooh

Twelve and half thousand, restless nights,
Thirty-four years, feeling down and uptight,
Occasional shag with a slag from the boozer, 
Made me feel, even more like a loser,                           
Sex with no emotion, is a very strange notion, oooh.

Knackered and broke, knackered and broke,
Life is a storm and I got soaked,
Knackered and broke, knackered and broke,
I used to be a big strong bloke,
but look at me now, I’m knackered and broke, oooh, oooh.  

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles


Mono_Six months.jpg

SIX MONTHS DOWN THE LINE

A poor boy, from the working class,
Shows no fear, he wears a mask,
If he backs down, from a fight,
He’s not a man, he don’t feel right, 
This poor boy, from the working class,
Showed no fear, he wore a mask,
He failed to look, down the line, 
He failed to consider, six months’ time.

I took it on the chin, I done my time,
I left the ones, I loved behind,
I blanked out, that point in time,
I chose to ignore, six months’ time.
2345, 2345,

Six months down the line, six months down the line,
This poor boy didn’t understand, what it means to be a man,  
Six months down the line, six months down the line,  
The starting point, is six months down the line.

I can’t claim back, that lost time, 
I can’t reverse, and I can’t rewind,
But with God’s grace, my final days, 
Will be with my wife, and her lovely ways.
2345, 2345,

Six months down the line, six months down the line,
This poor boy didn’t understand, what it means to be a man,  
Six months down the line, six months down the line,  
The starting point, is six months down the line.

I have a chance of life, with my kids and wife,
I am a humble man, I will get it right,  
I won’t let them down, I’ll walk the line,
I will get it right, in six months’ time. 
2345,2345,

Six months down the line, six months down the line,
This poor boy didn’t understand, what it means to be a man,  
Six months down the line, six months down the line,  
The starting point, is six months down the line.
The starting point, is six months down the line.
The starting point, is six months down the line.

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles

Mono_Commaraderie2.jpg

Camaraderie

I wear a mask, to get through the day,        
The world I knew, has long gone away,
I love my wife, I love my place,
But I still need, my personal space.
I wanna talk about rock n’ roll,
Heavy metal, punk and soul, oh oh oh.

Camaraderie, camaraderie,
A space with your mates, where you can talk freely,
Camaraderie, camaraderie,
Sanity with camaraderie. 

When the PC mob, get on your case,
Witch hunt is on, they need to complain,
Invest in your mates, in your personal space,          
Your rhythm of life, at a perfect place.
I wanna talk about Status Quo,
Dr Feelgood and Lee Brilleaux, oh oh oh.

Camaraderie, camaraderie,   
A space with your mates, where you can talk freely,
Camaraderie, camaraderie,
Sanity with camaraderie. 

Your mates understand, you’re a normal man,
Beer and a laugh, watch West Ham,
Politics of life, leave it to the wife,
My life’s mission, to avoid ambition.
I wanna talk about Sting,
ZZ Top and Led Zeppelin, sing sing sing. 

Camaraderie, camaraderie,
A space with your mates, where you can talk freely,
Camaraderie, camaraderie,
Sanity with camaraderie. 

2 3 4

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles

Video by Brian Lovett


Mono_Personal CV.jpg

Personal CV

I’m heart-broken, the wound is gaping open,
It’s as deep as the ocean, her personal CV,
I sort of love her, I don’t want to judge her,
But I feel like a number, on her personal CV.

She had an ex and an ex, and an ex, and an ex,                          
I wish they were buried and dead with,
All the sex with every ex, before she met me,
On her personal CV.

Four one-night stands, one married man,
Three who work in her office, that’s taking the piss,
Everyone’s had someone, no one has had no one,
But she had everyone, before she met me.

She had an ex and an ex, and an ex, and an ex,                    
I wish they were buried and dead with,
All the sex with every ex, before she met me,
On her personal CV.

I don’t want, to be patriarchal,
But this relationship, is losing its sparkle,
Between the sheets, when our bodies meet,
I think of all the men, who came before me.

She had an ex and an ex, and an ex, and an ex,                   
I wish they were buried and dead with,
All the sex with every ex, before she met me,
On her personal CV.

Insecure, jealous me, is this how a man should be?
I wish I had never seen, her personal CV,
I thought she, was the special one,
It turns out, she just has sex for fun.

She had an ex and an ex, and an ex, and an ex,                  
I wish they were buried and dead with,
All the sex with every ex, before she met me,
On her personal CV.
On her personal CV.

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles


Mono_Emotional Grave_2.jpg

EMOTIONAL GRAVE

You meet a bird, fall in love overnight.  
It’ll last forever, she’s your loving wife,         
But twenty years down the line,
She’s got her own life, and I’ve got mine.

Flahs, flahs, flahs, come and getcha flahs,
Flahs, flahs, flahs, come and getcha flahs,
Place them on the emotional grave,
Of an old skinhead who’s fading away,
Flahs, flahs, flahs, come and getcha flahs.

Daughter met a dopey bloke, in a student bar,
Said he was clever, said he made her laugh,
He was a middle class snob,   
All of a sudden, she’s ashamed of our tower block.

Assumed my son had brains, he got a degree,
Career bird from up north, swept him off his feet,
She wears the trousers, far as I can see. 
I think she’s a bloke, she don’t like me.

Flahs, flahs, flahs, come and getcha flahs,
Flahs, flahs, flahs, come and getcha flahs,
Place them on the emotional grave,
Of an old skinhead who’s fading away,
Flahs, flahs, flahs, come and getcha flahs.

The missus reached midlife, and said I’d changed,  
She wanted love and hugs, all very strange,
She said I’ve gone cold,
Unsympathetic and old,
She packed her bags, so I just told her to go.

Flahs, flahs, flahs, come and getcha flahs,
Flahs, flahs, flahs, come and getcha flahs,
Place them on the emotional grave,
Of an old skinhead who’s fading away,
Flahs, flahs, flahs, come and getcha flahs.

Alone in a flat, with a big fat useless cat,              
Loads of shit TV, and bills on my mat,
I don’t see no one no more,
Wife and kids think I’m a bore,
I’ll tell them all to fuck off, when they knock on my door.

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles


Mono_Canary_wharf.jpg

CANARY WHARF ROCK

I saw a jacket for nine hundred quid,
Hanging in the window of Paul Smith,
A bloke outside said give us some change,
I live on the street and me dogs got the mange.

It’s a funny old world ain’t it ain’t it?   
It’s a funny old world ain’t it?      
It’s a funny old world ain’t it ain’t it?
It’s a funny old world ain’t it?

A skinny bird with a bony arse,
Caught my eye as she glided past,
A money man’s ego fix,
She was starving herself, just to show off his wealth.

It’s a funny old world ain’t it ain’t it?   
It’s a funny old world ain’t it?      
It’s a funny old world ain’t it ain’t it?
It’s a funny old world ain’t it?

Brogues in Church’s, for six hundred pound,
Trinkets in Tiffany’s for over a grand,
A single mum cleaning on the night shift,
Every hour, gets about ten quid.

It’s a funny old world ain’t it ain’t it?   
It’s a funny old world ain’t it?      
It’s a funny old world ain’t it ain’t it?
It’s a funny old world ain’t it?

In Canary Wharf rock, money is the god,
When I was a boy, it was a working dock,
They weren’t rich or educated, 
But they’d never walk past, a hungry kid,
No they’d never ignore, a hungry kid. 

It’s a funny old world ain’t it ain’t it?   
It’s a funny old world ain’t it?      
It’s a funny old world ain’t it ain’t it?
It’s a funny old world ain’t it?

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles


Mono_Jack the Ripper.jpg

JACK THE RIPPER

When I met you, I thought I’d cracked it off,
I was just common, but you spoke posh,
I was the one who bought all the drinks,
Happy to spend my last 20 quid.

But now you say to me, this is where it ends,
But now you say to me, you want a Mercedes Benz,

I’m saying please, please, please, don’t be a stripper,
I’m on my knees, don’t be a Jack the Ripper.             

I know the money is good, and your body is great,
You are a rock’n’roll chick, there is no debate,
But I don’t want you, taking off your kit, 
Showing all the boys, your private bits. 

But now you say to me, love ain’t enough,
But now you say to me, you want designer stuff.

I’m saying please, please, please, don’t be a stripper,
I’m on my knees, don’t be a Jack the Ripper.             

When the boys all shout, get em out get em out, 
They will go berserk, when you shake em all about,
But when the boys all shout, get em off get em off, 
My head will drop, my heart will stop.

But now you say to me, I’m not ambitious enough,
But now you say to me, I need to grow up.

I’m saying please, please, please, don’t be a stripper,
I’m on my knees, don’t be a Jack the Ripper. 

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles            


Mono_Boring office job.jpg

BORING OFFICE JOB

I left school with nothing much,
Spent my time in the pub,
Fancied a job like my old man,
Trouble was, the docks closed down,
Factories and docks closed down. 

Didn’t fancy selling drugs,
It’s all wrong, a game for mugs,
She just had another kid, 
They gave me an office gig,
They stitched me up with an office gig.

Office job you’re killing me, take this desk and set me free,
I’m a man who’s not PC, its claustrophobic lunacy,
Worse than jail, I can’t be me, (please set me free).

How many hours can you look at a screen?
Surrounded by the word police,
I’ve got two young kids to feed,
But I’ve had enough tapping at the keys,
I sweat up, tapping down on the keys.  

Office job you’re killing me, take this desk and set me free,
I’m a man who’s not PC, its claustrophobic lunacy,
Worse than jail, I can’t be me, (please set me free).

Levis jeans and Doc Martens,
Number one, with a razor parting,
My mates are skint, but they all have a laugh,
So shove your office job up your arse,
Right up your, office arse.

Office job you’re killing me, take this desk and set me free,
I’m a man who’s not PC, its claustrophobic lunacy,
Worse than jail, I can’t be me, (please set me free).

…And I’ve really, really, really had enough.
Cos I’d rather be with my mates down the fucking pub.

===

Music and lyrics by Glenn Charles


 
 
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