The Folker

Well, my name is «Fingers Murphy» but my story’s seldom told
I massacre folk music with a yard of German plywood and a plectrum
I do requests-just the ones that have two chords in, And I disregard the rest
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc. .
Well, I stand on stage the hero a martyr to me trade
And carry the reminders of all the gigs I’ve played in like the Irish Club-in
Luton
Where I fled in mortal fear-with the imprint of a Guinness bottle stamped
across my ear
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc. .
Seeking twenty with expenses I went looking for a gig
Got no offers--just a come on from a groupie up in Neasden
I do declare--I was feeling rather randy so I had her then and there
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc. .
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Well, I’ve sung the full tradition with my finger in my ear
Cause half the stuff I’m singin'-I just can’t bear to hear-it's a load of
cobblers
Bar after bar--to the rhythm of an out of tune Japanese guitar
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc. .
Well, I met this great guitarist-I asked him for advice
But the message that he gave me--wasn't very nice or even civil
Stick it where--and if I did how could I tune it with it stuck way up there
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc. .