Fatman Butter is the creation of London poet, Steve Byrne.
Though Fatman Butter is a crusty sixty something on the outside, he is little more than a teenager on the inside.
A self-confessed extrovert, he recognizes the ying to that yang by nurturing the introvert part of his imagination and transforming what he finds there to writing. Though he considers no genre safe from his pen, he has a fondness of horror, science fiction and fantasy of an off key ilk.
When not dreaming, or writing, Fatman is never happier than when listening to live music. So if you find yourself in a club or a bar when there’s a soul, funk or jazz performance happening, take a look around; if Fatman’s there don’t be shy of saying hi, as his other great love is meeting people.
Ode to an Unfortunate Man by Fatman Butter
Sweet Lady Luck looks my way only in the glow of that rare blue moon
She’s not been by in such a long while…She’s expected no time soon
If maybe I gets an urge to step out looking for some good-time fun
all I find’s an ugly girl, whose daddy’s on the prowl, with a loaded gun
It’s no surprise when I throw tumbling bones, pleading twos and fives
Every roll falls short…and once again, the settle shows snake’s eyes
That day, when I was born, thunder growled, red rain fell, and blue lightning flashed,
a voodoo priestess screamed some mambo-jumbo, and a thousand mirrors smashed
In the East a hurricane arose, stealing pretty cherry blossoms from the trees,
while old Mister Split-Foot, he did laugh and he did dance, knowing I was his
If I ever gets to have a taste of honey
it’s surefire, the bee will come sting me
Wary gypsy women folk smile, expressing sympathy,
They offer sprigs of heather, saying for me it’s free
Four-leaf clover, rabbit’s foot, I’ve tried every remedy
Got myself an iron horseshoe…when an old mare kicked me
I don’t know whose hand shook Satan’s hand, landing me this dirty curse
But I swear I will kill the next man who says, Cheer up, it could be worse
Maybe one day my bad luck will change, I’ll find a way to break this spell
Come that day, sorry to say, I’ll be at the fireside, beyond the gates of hell