h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I have written many rhymes and lyrics and wondered how to go about findong out who to approach when selling them without the fear of being ripped off. Also, I am not so good at putting tunes together so a demo tape wouldn't be the best idea.

Hello and welcome to h2g2!

There will be an ACE along to your space to give you an official welcome but, in the meantime:

You'd be better posting this question in Ask h2g2 A148907

... or perhaps asking at the musician's guild ( U150368A1014247 ) - where people should be somewhat better at the music side of things(!) and might even want to collaborate.

NB That probably ought to be musicians' guild but, as it happens, I'm not entirely sure how many other people are currently actively subscribed.

I am but it is a tad quiet round those parts.

Think of it more as being an extended tacit section.

Before you do anything else, write them down, pop them in an envelope & post them to yourself. Don't open the envelope when it comes back.

This proves copyright in the UK at least and goes a long way to stop you getting ripped off.

Secondly as you're not too confident about writing your own tunes, try advertising for a keyboard player or guitarist to help. Your local music shop may well have a noticeboard.

Hope this helps

Granny, seconded!

Thanks mate!

NOTTINGHAM FOREST

Ere the sun has set beyond yon hillock,
one must find a place to kip.
Cos Robin the Hood is on the prowl,
and he’s the local thieving pillock.

‘Tis oft said he robs the rich ti feed the poor,
but don’t you chuffin’ believe it.
Cos anything that is handy and not nailed down,
the theivin’ back-stud in green will retrieve it.

His mate Friar Tuck built like a barrel of ale,
wi’ two chins that matches his bum.
And if the Cleric had put his initials back to front,
he’d need steel knitted drawers in a scrum.

Reclining on yonder sun drenched rocks,
pickling a hot sausage in a pewter o’ rum.
Red Adair with his lyre is fiddlin’,
accompanied by a lament from his bum.

“It tickles at times” and laughed as he spoke,
but then in a more serious mode.
He gestured below where a chapatti did glow,
and his throat the smell tried ti revoke.

His friends all nicked off ti pick berries en at!
at least that was the excuse for their sudden migration.
With the hairs in their nose forming a zip action,
with out which they could have suffered expiration.

Maid Marion is said to have tarried thus far,
to this shady be-nettled bower of the wood.
And when Robin gasping finally arrived,
she admitted that she had never had it so good.


Will Scarlett was there attired in red,
wi’ a scent like a rose wi’ no prick,
Posed like a Queen and beginning ti preen,
like a Monkey squatting on a sharp stick.

But the peace of this tranquil scene was soon shattered,
as the Sheriff and his mob galloped in.
The men in Lincoln green suddenly disappeared,
as quickly as an arrow could spin.

Ah well! That is how it was in Sherwood,
and if it ever came to pass.
And we got another High Sheriff of Nottingham,
app’n he too could be such a pain in the ass.

However this story does have a unhappy ending,
cos Robin wi’ a Hood got the clap.
And Friar Tuck who fancied his initials turned around,
is now in‘t dungeons an’ ‘avin’ a wee nap.

T.O.B. 2005





































NOTTINGHAM FOREST

Ere the sun has set beyond yon hillock,
one must find a place to kip.
Cos Robin the Hood is on the prowl,
and he’s the local thieving pillock.

‘Tis oft said he robs the rich ti feed the poor,
but don’t you chuffin’ believe it.
Cos anything that is handy and not nailed down,
the theivin’ back-stud in green will retrieve it.

His mate Friar Tuck built like a barrel of ale,
wi’ two chins that matches his bum.
And if the Cleric had put his initials back to front,
he’d need steel knitted drawers in a scrum.

Reclining on yonder sun drenched rocks,
pickling a hot sausage in a pewter o’ rum.
Red Adair with his lyre is fiddlin’,
accompanied by a lament from his bum.

“It tickles at times” and laughed as he spoke,
but then in a more serious mode.
He gestured below where a chapatti did glow,
and his throat the smell tried ti revoke.

His friends all nicked off ti pick berries en at!
at least that was the excuse for their sudden migration.
With the hairs in their nose forming a zip action,
with out which they could have suffered expiration.

Maid Marion is said to have tarried thus far,
to this shady be-nettled bower of the wood.
And when Robin gasping finally arrived,
she admitted that she had never had it so good.


Will Scarlett was there attired in red,
wi’ a scent like a rose wi’ no prick,
Posed like a Queen and beginning ti preen,
like a Monkey squatting on a sharp stick.

But the peace of this tranquil scene was soon shattered,
as the Sheriff and his mob galloped in.
The men in Lincoln green suddenly disappeared,
as quickly as an arrow could spin.

Ah well! That is how it was in Sherwood,
and if it ever came to pass.
And we got another High Sheriff of Nottingham,
app’n he too could be such a pain in the ass.

However this story does have a unhappy ending,
cos Robin wi’ a Hood got the clap.
And Friar Tuck who fancied his initials turned around,
is now in‘t dungeons an’ ‘avin’ a wee nap.

T.O.B. 2005

Sherwood Forest 2

Once in t’ cool shade o’ Sherwood Forrest
Robin ‘ood wi’’is many merry men.
Did fish an’ frolick, but then dropped a bollick,
cos they ‘ad killed a King’s deer too close to their den.

Well! Ah meen! It wernt fust time that Robin,
‘ad shafted a Kings deer in Sherwood’s thick mist.
But unfortunately that day a King’s Spy ‘ad seen ‘im,
an’ King wuz so mad that ‘e got reet pi--ed.

King sed, “ Go an’ tell all tuthers,
as bows an’ scrapes on me front mat”
“ Ti go an capture yon Robin wiv a ‘ood.
an’ wiv no ‘ed ‘e’ll luk a reet t**t!”

Next day in t’ cool o’ t’ Greenwood,
Friar Tuck wuz fingerin’ ‘is fat an’ ‘is beads.
An’ Maid Marion were in King John’s front gardin,
watterin’ aw the newly set seeds.

That‘s wen she lamped oor sly Robin,
who wuz hid squattin’ on two knees.
An’ since ‘e were lookin’ a bit ‘ungry like,
she chucked ‘im a slack handful o’ peas.

But app’n King wuz down wind o’ Robin,
when Robin lost it and flatulently sighed.
An’ as King were chokin’ wi’ ‘is tongue ‘angin’ out,
Maid Marion broke down an’ cried.

A Flunky flunk back the curtains,
an’ oppened the winders reet quick.
when a Chamber Maid bearing a candle,
wuz about ti’ strike an’ put flamin’ match t’ wick.

“Ye Gods!” Screamed t’ King in agony,
as if ‘e ‘ad suddenly sat down on a sharp pin.
But this Prune wi’ a Crown wuz Royalty,
an’beside that app’n, ‘is popularity wer gettin’ a bit thin.

However, King Dick came back from t’ Holy land,
where tis sed, “The Milk and Honey flow”
An’ it’s not, “Wot thee naws” but “Whom thee naws”
an’ don’t ferget ti bow.

T.O.B.