The Evidence Field – The South Wall #NDCBingo2026 A3

chap hop, Victorian music hall, British comedy rap

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V5.5

[Intro]
Ah, you came?
Splendid, splendid.
Mind the gate
it sticks.
Always has.
I keep meaning to.
Well.
Never mind that.
Come through.
Come through.
You'll want the south wall?
Everyone wants
the south wall.

[Verse 1]
Now I'll not boast, I shan't, it's vulgar, but the jury, you see,
unanimous, three years, and I daresay a fourth, between you and me;
the Hartfield Cup, it's, well, it's framed, it's in the hall, do look,
for a bloom, my bloom, I bred her, I, against that wall, that nook,
crossed a tea-rose with a rambler, half-wild thing, took patience, took years,
named her for my mother, bless her, raised her, ha, near brought me to tears,
and the soil down that end, now here's a thing, I'll give it you for free,
it took uncommon well, that autumn, that would be 'twenty-three,
dreadful spring, that, ground gone soft, all giving, all sucking at the spade,
more digging than a gentleman, well, than a gentleman's quite madefor, 
if I'm honest, and I'm always, but the roots, they took it kind,
fed on something rich down there, and I've, no, I've left that bed behind,
I let her have her corner now, her reign, you don't, you simply don't
go troubling a glory that's been earned. The neighbours ask. I won't.
A patient hand, I tell them, tap the nose, incline the head.
The rest, well. The rest is rather what a chap gets fed.

[Chorus]
Roses, roses, taller than a man,
grown the way the good Lord and an Englishman can.
Bring your little ribbons, bring your second place,
I've a cup on the mantel and a smile on my face.

[Verse 2]
Mr. Pollard, down the lane, dahlias, would you credit it, dahlias,
decent enough, I nod, I'm gracious, but the man's, well, he's a failure,
beds all common, lawn all show, no method, none, no plan,
and me, I've forty years of ledgers, know my plot like my own hand,
where was I, yes, the roses, western border, doing nicely,
eastern, fair, can't grumble, but the southern, ah, now, precisely,
the southern are the dearest, came on something quite sublime
the year the digging finished, came up dark and thick and prime,
like the bed had, how to put it, like it finally understood
what a man puts in his garden, what he puts down, what he should,
and they've never once gone wanting since, not once, the best in town.
Had a lad once, heavy work, young Tom, strong back, worked the southern plot,
till he didn't, till he upped and left, the temper on the boy,
no matter, no, no matter. Came the roses. Came the joy.
Came the quiet, came the cup. A garden holds its tongue.
And so, I find, do gardeners. Well. One learns. When one is young.

[Bridge]
And see how she leans, just there, in the richest of the ground,
where I broke my back the once, one season, and I've not since put down
a spade, not one, not a single turn of earth, I let it be,
out of reverence, you'll understand, for the, well, for the horticulture. Me.
Finest soil I ever worked, and I, ha, I couldn't tell you what's beneath.
A patient hand. A quiet bed. And roses. To bequeath.

[Chorus]
Roses, roses, taller than a man,
grown the way the good Lord and an Englishman can.
Bring your little ribbons, bring your second place,
I've a cup on the mantel and a smile on my face.

[Outro]
[Instrumental]

This song is part of a project called “The Evidence Field.” You can find the playlist here:
https://suno.com/playlist/d1ec31a7-8155-4592-82f0-3e108271f63a

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© 2026 Irrelin. All rights reserved https://suno.com/@irrelin [Intro] Ah, you came? Splendid, splendid. Mind the gate it sticks. Always has. I keep meaning to. Well. Never mind that. Come through. Come through. You'll want the south wall? Everyone wants the south wall. [Verse 1] Now I'll not boast, I shan't, it's vulgar, but the jury, you see, unanimous, three years, and I daresay a fourth, between you and me; the Hartfield Cup, it's, well, it's framed, it's in the hall, do look, for a bloom, my bloom, I bred her, I, against that wall, that nook, crossed a tea-rose with a rambler, half-wild thing, took patience, took years, named her for my mother, bless her, raised her, ha, near brought me to tears, and the soil down that end, now here's a thing, I'll give it you for free, it took uncommon well, that autumn, that would be 'twenty-three, dreadful spring, that, ground gone soft, all giving, all sucking at the spade, more digging than a gentleman, well, than a gentleman's quite madefor, if I'm honest, and I'm always, but the roots, they took it kind, fed on something rich down there, and I've, no, I've left that bed behind, I let her have her corner now, her reign, you don't, you simply don't go troubling a glory that's been earned. The neighbours ask. I won't. A patient hand, I tell them, tap the nose, incline the head. The rest, well. The rest is rather what a chap gets fed. [Chorus] Roses, roses, taller than a man, grown the way the good Lord and an Englishman can. Bring your little ribbons, bring your second place, I've a cup on the mantel and a smile on my face. [Verse 2] Mr. Pollard, down the lane, dahlias, would you credit it, dahlias, decent enough, I nod, I'm gracious, but the man's, well, he's a failure, beds all common, lawn all show, no method, none, no plan, and me, I've forty years of ledgers, know my plot like my own hand, where was I, yes, the roses, western border, doing nicely, eastern, fair, can't grumble, but the southern, ah, now, precisely, the southern are the dearest, came on something quite sublime the year the digging finished, came up dark and thick and prime, like the bed had, how to put it, like it finally understood what a man puts in his garden, what he puts down, what he should, and they've never once gone wanting since, not once, the best in town. Had a lad once, heavy work, young Tom, strong back, worked the southern plot, till he didn't, till he upped and left, the temper on the boy, no matter, no, no matter. Came the roses. Came the joy. Came the quiet, came the cup. A garden holds its tongue. And so, I find, do gardeners. Well. One learns. When one is young. [Bridge] And see how she leans, just there, in the richest of the ground, where I broke my back the once, one season, and I've not since put down a spade, not one, not a single turn of earth, I let it be, out of reverence, you'll understand, for the, well, for the horticulture. Me. Finest soil I ever worked, and I, ha, I couldn't tell you what's beneath. A patient hand. A quiet bed. And roses. To bequeath. [Chorus] Roses, roses, taller than a man, grown the way the good Lord and an Englishman can. Bring your little ribbons, bring your second place, I've a cup on the mantel and a smile on my face. [Outro] [Instrumental] This song is part of a project called “The Evidence Field.” You can find the playlist here: https://suno.com/playlist/d1ec31a7-8155-4592-82f0-3e108271f63a

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