My friend Steph thought it would be impossible to write a song about a dead badger. I’m not fond of the word ‘impossible’ when applied to song and poems. So Steph, this one’s for you.

The Dead Badger Band played exclusively rock
There was Stripey and Digger and of course there was Brock
Their amps were the biggest that money could get
So large that they didn’t quite fit in the sett !

Stripey played keyboards and Digger he drummed
While Brock played guitar as he sang and he hummed
They were called The Dead Badger Band (so Stripey said)
because they were Badgers and because they were dead

The Doctor had given them his diagnosis
“You’ve all got a bad case of tuberculosis”
Now a badger’s a sturdy and healthy wee beast
But a dose of TB makes him quickly deceased

So our heroes decided they just wouldn’t cop it
They’d stay here as ghosts and they’d rock till they drop it
Being undead would give them more time to rehearse
And they’d drive to their gigs in a second hand hearse

So now every night of the week they play mostly
Ethereal music that’s heavy but ghostly
They’ll go up to heaven, but not til the Lord
Says they can rock – not play harp- they’d be bored.