Any old irony?

At the vanguard of a juddering caravan,
hurriedly galloping down a dirt-track.
Six furtive figures, crooked as Caliban
Smuggling hope to the land of the claque.

Weary, hoarse-riders irksomely blistered.
Spent from a decade a-roving the road.
Frigging a jig for our brothers and sisters
Stark-raving-madrigals by the cartload.

Without trepidation I sing in laudation
Vocal salute to all travelling tinkers.
Vagabond nation joined in congregation.
United free-thinkers cry from the bryony

"Any old irony?!"

[Chorus:]
Come one, come all to our travelling circus
Cast-off your cares for the painted parade.
Whirl down the wynd like dervish-berserkers
If life hands us lemons we'll make lemonade.

Maybe Jay's smashed (?), drumming up passion
Scarring forever with each brisk tattoo
Bean's in the place so bass is in fashion,
killing us all with his amp set on 2.

Watch out for Ridley The Raucously Tiddly,
Unplugged he's no Dr. Jekyll....so Hyde!
Desperate-Dan-Ramsey deft fingers diddle.
Watching The Match on a telly stage-side.

The cat on the fiddle, Miss Georgie Biddle
Keeping it reeling with her fugue electric.
Stuck in the middle I'll rhyme you a riddle
Irate and eclectic my cry from the bryony

"Any old irony?!"

[Chorus:]
Come one, come all to our travelling circus
Cast-off your cares for the painted parade.
Whirl down the wynd like dervish-berserkers
If life hands us lemons we'll make lemonade.