THE BLACKBOARD SINGER

(Words: Ian Clarke. Tune: Blackboard of my Heart)

A young folk singer went down to a folk club Friday night,
He wrote his name up on the board, and hoped he'd spelt it right,
He'd practised his whole repertoire for three months and a day,
And both the songs were perfect, 'cause he'd tried them every way.
 

And the MC rubbed his name off from the blackboard on the wall,
He said, "We want those that we know, and we don't know you at all.
So take a hike, get on your bike, go home without a fuss,
The blackboard's for the older crowd, and you're not one of us.
 

You've not been singing thirty years, like many of us here,
Your hair's not grey, your cheeks don't sag, you don't drool into your beer,
You haven't got a midriff pot, so listen to me mate,
To get onto that blackboard, for thirty years you'll wait."
 
The young folk singer the next day went to his local bank,
And got a loan to start his own club with his best friend Frank (it rhymes!)
One year and it was a big hit, when through the teenage horde,
Came an ancient balding folkie, wrote his name up on the board.
 

And the MC rubbed his name off from the blackboard on the wall,
He said, "We want those that we know, and we don't know you at all.
So take a hike, get on your bike, go home without a fuss,
The blackboard's for the younger crowd, and you're not one of us."