Twinkle, twinkle would be stars

Tᴡɪɴᴋʟᴇ, twinkle, would be stars,

There’s no gigs they closed the bars

Twinkle, twinkle, no nights out

Tough for comics there’s no doubt.

When the pubs and clubs are shut

There are no gigs, there’s no stand up

Nowhere you can raise a laugh,

Lead us up a giggly path.

Not that we don’t need a laugh

A glint of humour, tiny spark,

A hint of how things used to be,

The ‘funny side’ we have to see.

Meanwhile prisoned in your room

You struggle for a laugh on zoom

And wryly through the curtains peep

To see the world gone quiet, asleep.

It’s your bright and hard won laugh

Lights an audience in the dark,

Tho’ I know not where you are,

Come back soon oh little star.

The primary source of income for every comedian in the UK has been stripped away due to the impact of the Coronavirus – shutting down venues and cancelling live events. If you value live comedy as much as we do at NextUp and respect the performers who dedicate their lives to bringing us laughter – let’s band together and #hecklethevirus.

All funds raised will go to comedians in urgent need of financial support. Every donation (however small) matters and is really appreciated. – The NextUp Team


This is one of the many #hecklethevirus initiatives setup by NextUp to help support and utilise live comedy during Coronovirus. We’ll also be streaming special gigs and doing everything in our power to help keep the circuit going and bring live comedy to the masses when people need it the most. Keep an eye on to stay up to date.


When shall we three meet again?

When shall we three meet again

carefully social distancing?

When the hurley burley’s done

And when ‘R’ is less than one.

Where the place? On the heath?

What of thunder, lightening, rain?

Can’t we meet inside again?

It’s not safe to be indoors

Lest we meet with covered face

Mask upon that nose of yours.

Double, double, toil and trouble

Fire burn and cauldron bubble

See what happens if I cough

Folk can’t scatter fast enough!

Fillet of a fenny snake

In the cauldron boil and bake

Works much better than the bleach

Orange fella’s bad mistake.

Eye of newt and tongue of frog

Wool of bat and tongue of dog.

For a charm of powerful trouble

Watch my Wuhan hell broth bubble.

We’d have conjured far more deaths

If not for the nhs

Saved the skin of that Macbeth

Stayed at home escaping us.

Old Folks Demo

There ought to be an old folks’ demo

Gather, Piccadilly Square

Pull down Eros Statue

Eternal Youth, oh yeah??!!

Who got dumped in care homes

To ‘save the nhs’?

They were just ‘bed blockers

Discharged got no tests.

Left there with their carers

No proper PPE

ICU won’t take them

Have to keep those beds free.

Let’s delay the lockdown

‘Herd immunity’

Only old folk dieing

That’s OK you see.

So pack out Piccadilly

Cram all the old folks in

May just spread the virus

But a cause worth gathering.

Come Blow Your Horn

Little boy blue,

Come blow your horn,

Tell us how wonderfully

Everything’s gone.

There’s sheep in the meadow,

There’s cows in the corn.

Our death toll’s the highest

The problem’s not gone.

There’s chlorine in chickens

There’s hormones in beef

But where is the boy

Who looks after the sheep?

Where is the man

Who will make Britain ‘Great’

He’s under a haystack

fast asleep.


Little Jack Horner stared in a mirror

admiring his puffy white skin.

He stuck up his thumb

and was proud as they come

that the white pallid likeness

was him.

Now the thing about skin

is it’s a very good thing

for keeping our insides tucked in

but the colour and hue

is not down to you.

You pretty much get

what you’re given.

It’s pretty good stuff

for feeling and touch

and helps keep our bodies

real cool.

It does all that stuff

quite well enough

but what it is not

is really that hot

for deciding

who gets the best job.

A good enough reason

it’s certainly not

for someone to kneel

on your neck

so unable to breath

you’ll soon be stone dead

and all cos

your skin colour’s black.

Your skin’s really not

a license to kill

or even assume you’re

the boss.

So get used to seeing

whatever their colour

that others are really like us.

The years of oppression

enslaved, a possession

are really not

how it should be.

It has to change soon

which could take

some doing

but let’s start with you

and with me.

Sad among the cinders

Little Polly Flinders

Sat among the cinders

Toasting her pretty little toes

Anger at injustice

Prejudice and hatred

That’s the way a bonfire grows.

Little Polly Flanders

Sat among the cinders

Watched the burning embers glow

Who has stoked the hatred?

Who should be berated?

How does such a big fire grow?

Polly’s mother caught her

Scolded her daughter

For spoiling her pretty little clothes

Liberty affronted

Human rights confronted

That’s the way our freedom goes.

Little Polly Flinders

Sad among the cinders

Watches conflagration grow

Cries in consternation

So sad for her nation

Tearful as the bonfires grow.

We blind mice

We blind mice. See how we run.

We’re all ignoring Boris advice

He cut off his nose with a carving knife

They don’t seem to care, so why should we?

We blind mice.

We blind mice, see how we run

We’re tired of following Boris advice

Better to party, gather outside

‘If it’s ok for Cummings it’s ok for me’

We blind mice.

We blind mice, see how we run

The sun is shining make for the coast

We think it’s all over, lockdown is toast

‘We’re young, we’re British makes us immune’

We blind mice.

We blind mice, see how we run

Forget being shielded, you can come out

It’s not like there’s still a virus about

‘Rubbish to think it ended too soon’.

We blind mice.

We blind mice, see how we run

Don’t think it’s safe for kiddies at school

‘But hey family party, that’ll be cool’

‘Stayed home and clapped but now we are bored’.

We blind mice.

We blind mice, see how we run

We’re young we’re British out and brave

Rubbish to talk of a second wave

Roll on summer and going abroad

We blind mice.

Neither Up Nor Down

The Grand Old Duke of York

saw thirty thousand dead

he hoped that it was the top of the hill

and they’d come straight down again.

And when they went up they went up

and when they went up it was sad.

But when they started down again

He sighed and thought it was good.

And when they were up they were up

But when they were down were they down?

And when they were only half way up

Were they either up or down?

And when they were up we were sad

And when they were down we were glad

But when they were only half way down

We all gave up and relaxed.

The Grand Old Duke of York

Saw thirty thousand dead

And when they reached the foot of the hill

Would they start back up again?


Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat

Where have you been?

Stuck home in lockdown

glued to a screen.

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat

What did you see?

Much too much netflix

Endless TV.

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat

Are you still there?

Pretty much yes

Still stuck in a chair.

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat

What happens next?

Getting out soon

They’ve developed a test.

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat

Will normal resume?

Not sure it will yet

Not any time soon.

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat

Any regrets?

How can there not be?

Too many deaths.

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat

They did their best

Then how come our death rate

Is worse than the rest?

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat

What can I say?

The truth will out one day

and someone will pay.

Poor Old Michael Finnegan

There was an old man called Michael Finn-egan,

He wore a mask upon his chin-igan,

Someone sneezed and made him ill again

Poor old Michael Finnegan Begin-again.

There was an old man called Michael Finn-egan,

He kicked up an awful din-igan.

Said there was no social distanc-in

Poor old Michael Finnegan. Begin-again.

There was an old man called Michael Finn-egan,

Exercised and tried to win again.

Got so puffed he had to come in again.

Poor old Michael Finnegan. Begin-again.

There was an old man called Michael Finnegan,

Stayed inside a drinking gin again.

Couldn’t work or earn his tin again

Poor old Michael Finnegan. Begin again.

There was an old man called Michael Finnegan,

Policeman asked where he had been again.

He said Durham there and back again,

Poor old Michael Finnegan. Begin again.

There was an old man called Michael Finn-egan,

Went to the beach to see the sea again

Caught the sun and burned his skin-igan,

Poor old Michael Finnegan. Begin-again.

There was an old man called Michael Finn-egan,

He got a cough and was really ill again.

Couldn’t taste a bloomin’ thing again.

Poor old Michael Finnegan. Begin again.