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Tenderhead by Tom Holt

Tom Holt's parody on the Atkin/James song Tenderfoot
Beyond the echoes of forgotten laughter,
The clink of glasses, nausea and uncounted cost,
The living hell they call the morning after
Reminds him of the brain-cells he has lost.
The ghosts of Courage, Watney, Bass and Truman
Were Banquo's children at the horrid feast.
For he who sheds the pain of being human
Must then endure the torments of the beast.

     You can tell the drinker wishes he was dead;
     He won't do that again,
     Reminded of his night out by the pain
     And of his folly by his splitting head.

The churning stomach and the burning eyeballs,
The tongue like leather and the shrivelled brain,
Are savage proof of one too many highballs,
A symphony of ugliness and pain.
The head that jangles at a leaf's vibrations,
The stomach gnawed by acid and corrosive bile,
The double vision and hallucinations
All make him wonder if it was worthwhile.

     You can tell the drinker wishes he was dead;
     He won't do that again,
     Reminded of his night out by the pain
     And of his folly by his splitting head.

"This stuff is lethal and it gives no quarter,"
The barman told him as he filled his glass.
"It's mutton dressed as lamb unto the slaughter;
A bit like a pre-emptive coup de grace."
But still his thirst was broad as Manitoba,
Whenever there were cold ones to be sunk.
His pride at never being wholly sober
Was just a lame excuse for being drunk.

     You can tell the drinker wishes he was dead;
     He won't do that again,
     Reminded of his night out by the pain
     And of his folly by his splitting head.

The words of others and his own insistence
Have brought this on him like a wizard's curse.
And all the misery of his existence
Has subtly been transmuted into worse.
As sick as parrot, maybe even sicker,
Stewing in a poison marinade,
He swears that this time he'll stay off the liquor;
Henceforth he'll stick to milk and lemonade

     You can tell the drinker wishes he was dead;
     He won't do that again,
     Reminded of his night out by the pain
     And of his folly by his splitting head.


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Book Cover of My Hero

Quote from My Hero

Tact comes as naturally to full-bore handguns as, say, ice-skating to African elephants, but there comes a time when an exceptional individual is prepared to stand up and break the mould.
(Tom Holt, "My Hero")
You can read more about and order this book online from Amazon: UK - USA - Canada - Deutschland

http://www.edlin.org / holtContact: emsworth@gmx.net

All stories/filksongs is written by Tom Holt, and not by me.
This is a fan-page about Tom Holt, made by me,
Tom Holt is in no way responsible for whatever I put up or write here.