Halfway Up Virginia

The Pu**y Song

(Nobody Does It Like) The Ukelele Man

The Cockerel Song

I've Parted (misprint)

The Winker's Rock 'N' Roll (misprint)

Are "Mice" Electric?

Hello My Baby

Winking Your Blues Away (misprint)

I've Got A Monster

The Majorca Song

The Charabanc Trip

THE WINKER'S SONG (misprint)

Ivor's single-handed chartbuster, deservedly banned by every radio station in the civilised world (and even some in Australia). A hit in 1978 and still used for emptying Ibiza clubs at closing time.

My mother said that I never should

Play with the naughty, rude girls in the wood

Their giggling talk I could never understand

And that's why I fell in love with my right hand

And that's why...

I'm a w*nker, I'm a w*nker

And it does me good like it bl**dy well should

I'm a w*nker, I'm a w*nker

And I'm always pulling my pud'

I was twenty-five years old before I was kissed

And then I found that I preferred a swift one off the wrist

It's cheap and convenient, you can't catch VD

It's available at any time and it's absolutely free

And that's why...

Chorus

Oh Mrs. Palm and your five lovely daughters

Thank you for having me and being oh so kind

I've got pains in my arms and my dong is growing shorter

My knees have turned to water and I think I'm going blind

I've w*nked over Italy, I've w*nked over Spain

I've w*nked in an omnibus, I've even had a w*nk in a train

I've used a badger and a melon and a cat

An inflatable Linda Lovelace and a Davy Crockett hat

And that's why...

Chorus

Oh, Mrs Palm and your five lovely daughters

Thank you for having me and being oh so kind

I've got pains in my arms and my dong is getting shorter

My knees have turned to water and I think I'm going blind

He's a w*nker, he's a w*nker

And it does him good like it bloody well should

He's a w*nker, he's a w*nker

And he's always pulling his pud'

Performed by Ivor Biggun and The Red-Nosed Burglars

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Original version released on a 7" vinyl Single (mono) and The Winker's Album (stereo)

Mono version available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Stereo version available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun

BRAS ON 45

A song about a lady with bloomin' great, huge, enormous, immense, colossal, massive breasts. For some reason or other, it's quite popular in America, where the legendary Dr. Demento features it on his radio show. Here are the words of BOTH versions of “Bras on 45�?

This is as they appear on DEAD BADGER RECORDS - BOP 6T. There was a “DIRTY GERTIE VERSION�? which was 7 minutes of disco filth on a 12�? 45rpm single. On the B side was the 7�? single version of “BRAS ON 45�? subtitled the “FAMILY VERSION�? which was exactly the same, but FADED 3 MINUTES EARLIER.

Writers... Biggun/ Dury/ Jankel/ Numan/ Tudorpole/ G.McPherson/ C.J.Foreman/ L.Simmons/ R.Wilson/ C. Wilson/ R. Wilson/ R. Taylor

(Dury is Ian Dury, Jankel is Chas Jankel, Numan is Gary Numan, Tudorpole is Edward Tudorpole of “Tenpole Tudor�?, I think that McPherson & Foreman are members of “Madness�? and I haven’t a clue who the Wilsons are, apart from the fact that they probably aren’t Beach Boys. R Taylor isn’t, as far as I know, the bloke out of “Queen�?, and is another mystery to me.)

Bra Size Forty Five

Well I went out for a Boogie

A week ago last Tuesday

I was doing the Wigan Hustle and the Palais Glide

I met a girl in pink suspenders

And her buz-whams were stupendous

Like two bald-headed men sitting side by side

She wore a BRA SIZE 45 and she could jump and Jive

And when she stopped dancing, bits of her kept wobbling about

She said “You Drive Me Crazy

Burn Some Rubber On Me Baby�?

She grabbed my little whistle and she began to shout

(Parody of “Hit me with your Rhythm stick�?)

Hit me with your rhythm stick! Hit me! Hit Me!

Je t’adore. Ich leibe dich. Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!

Hit me with your rhythm stick!

I’m six feet tall and five feet thick

Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!

Bra Size Forty Five

I couldn’t do nothing but stand and stare

She gave me a hug like a grizzly bear

I couldn’t see much I thought I was dead

I had boobs upside my head

(Short quote from Ooops Upside My head)

Boobs upside my head

(Parody of “Baggy Trousers�? by Madness)

Oh what a front she had

Enough for me, my brother and dad

A chest of drawers no doubt

One with the top drawer half-pulled-out

Oh what a front she’d got

Believe me son she’d got the lot

Right before my eyes

And she was bra size forty five

Er...excuse me, what do I do now?

“Man be cool..gotta get down and have a rap.�?

I beg yer pardon? I think I’ll do a talking bit instead!

She was the big economy size, her buz-whams were gigantic

Like two fat little boys wrestling under a blanket

The flickering strobes lit up the globes that thrust from her pullover

I think her name was June ‘cause she was Bustin’ Out All Over.

She said “Can You Feel The Force? D’y’wanna take One Step Beyond?�?

I said “Goodness Gracious Great Balls of Fire, there’s a Whole Lot Of Shaking Going On!

She said “Knock On Wood, I’ll Blame It On The Boogie now what do you think about that?�?

I said “Oooh heck! It Must Be Jelly ‘cause Jam Don’t Shake Like That�?

Not so much of the Night Fever, more like a belt with a tyre lever

She was not at all pendulous, in fact she was tremendulous!

Bra Size Forty Five

Bra Size Forty-five

Bra Size Forty Five

Bra Size Forty-five

She wore a bra size forty five

And when they played “I Will Survive�?

She went crackers, and her animal desires became much keener

She said “John I’m Only Dancing, but I’d rather be romancing�?

She had me Inside Out And Upside Down in the back of my Cortina*

Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick

(Parody of “CARS�? by Gary Numan)

And there in my car, the windows all steamed up

I thought I would drown, she let it all hang out in Bras

Size Forty Five

And there in my car, I thought “This Is It!�?

An Instant Replay, My foot out the window in Bras

Size Forty Five

(Direct quote from “Swords Of A Thousand Men�? by Tenpole Tudor)

Hoorah hoorah hoorah hey over the hills and now I’m on My way!

(I got out my tentpole and chewed ‘er)

Hoorah hoorah hoorah hey over the hills and now I’m on My way!

(Come on, let’s do the Bristol Stomp)

She wore a Bra Size Forty Five

I thought I never would revive

When I tackled that young lady with the bounciest of blouses

But she left me for a geezer

Who had much more chance to please ‘er

With his own Master Blaster and a pair of Baggy Trousers.

Oh what fun they had!

Bra Size Forty Five

Bra Size Forty-five

Bra Size Forty Five

Bra Size Forty-five

(NOTE! This is where the “FAMILY VERSION�? fades out. Extended “DIRTY GERTIE VERSION�? continues as follows:-)

And that’s why, And that’s why, And that’s why, and that’s why

(“The Winker’s Song�?)

I’m a W*nker, I’m a W*nker

And it does me good like it bl**dy well should

I’m a W*nker, I’m a W*nker

And I’m always pulling my pud

I’m a W*nker, I’m a W*nker

And it does me good like it bl**dy well should

I’m a W*nker, I’m a W*nker

And I’m always pulling my pud'

Thanks for the mammary, I think I’ve got it sussed

You’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em both. I’m gonna go for bust.

Don’t they make a lovely pair? They look like a couple of Himalayas.

Double top, boogie on down, Bristol is my favourite town

Everybody understands, arthritis in both hands

She’s a disco bumper, she’s got a lumpy jumper

Cross your heart and hope to die, please don’t poke me in the eye

I know a girl from Potter’s Bar got eaten by her living bra

I said “Baby, oh baby. Surround me. Drown me.

Engulf me! Chew me up and spit me out.

Let me shipwreck against those white cliffs of Dover.

Get Back Leroy! Get Back Leroy! I wanna be Mr In-Between. Oooh wah! She was a Bra Size Forty Five. Have you ever seen anything like that? Come on let’s do The Bristol Stomp. Ooh! Hrbbbllerrllrl!

Y’know when you see things like that, you just wanna walk up to’em,

and stick your head between ‘em and go hbrbrbrbbrbrlrlblblblb.

Whoo! Bra Size Forty Five! What a stupendous lady!

You don’t get many of those to the pound!

Oooh! Kick ‘em over your shoulders!

Double top, boogie on down, Bristol is my favourite town!

Great Balls Of Fire! There’s a Whole Lot Of Shaking Going On!

It Must Be Jelly ‘Cos Jam Don’t Shake Like That! Ooh!

Look! There’s a lady police officer! Can You Feel The Force? (Fade)

*note for American Biggun Fans. A Cortina was a particularly down-market large British car

Performed by Ivor Biggun and The D-Cups

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

'Family Version' available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

'Dirty Gertie Version' available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun

Original version released on a vinyl Single

HIDE THE SAUSAGE (Rap Version)

The new ultra-fab Dance Craze! - (Let's All) Hide the Sausage - Brand new version!

With Ivors Jivers & The Pizzicato Artists. Ivors Jivers recorded at Triplex, Acton. Everything else recorded by Neil Harrison at Aosis, Chalk Farm. (Very flash!) Here's Ivor's sausage, with a large new bit inserted into the middle, especially for your enjoyment. Deservedly unreleased until this album.

Well there's a brand new dance

Everybody's trying to do

It's better than the pogo

The shimmy or the boogaloo

You can do it by yourself

But it's much more fun with two

So come on everybody

Let's go nuts and screw

And this is just what you do

You've got to...

Hide the sausage

Come on and hide the sausage

It's time to hide the sausage tonight

You've got to sink the winkle

It's really very simple

To straighten out your wrinkle tonight

Come on let's play mums and dads

The moon is shining bright

Come on everybody and hide the sausage tonight

Get it right out of sight

It's a dance you can do on the sofa

It's a dance you can do in the park

You can do it round the back of Sainsbury's

If you're quick and you do it when it's dark

You can do it backwards, frontwards and sideways

Provided that you're over sixteen (I am... next birthday)

You can even do it standing up, I've seen it in a magazine

But you've got to be keen

When you...

Chorus

Hide that Sausage. Get it out of sight.

Hide it to the left and hide it to the right.

Hide it in the corner that mother nature planned,

And if you cannot hide it, then hold it in your hand.

Hide it somewhere safe and warm where it cannot be found,

Or stick it out the winder and wave it all around.

And don’t funk till you’ve had enough sausage...

...would you like to see my pimple headed trouser mole?

Show the one eyed zipper rat just where to hide his nose.

Tell the pink policeman where his purple helmet goes.

You can do it in a disco, you can do it in a small-room

If you wear baggy trousers you’ve already got the ball-room.

Into the old dark continent send Doctor Livingstone.

Warp the S.S. Enterprise into the Twilight Zone.

Oooh look! Here comes a guided muscle to blast you into maternity...

Belly to Belly, Toes to toes

Plant that cucumber, my goodness how it grows

The todger, the nodger, the old pork walking stick

The Honourable member who stands for Hampton Wick

The sausage, the banger, the roly-poly pud

Lubricate the loofah it will make you feel so good

Hide that sausage, Hide it, You won’t be disappointed

If you can hide it by yourself you must be double jointed

Submerge the old salami, sink the submarine

Hot Dog Sandwich with a wiener in between

Plunge that dipstick and get the engine crankin’

It’s much more fun than football and nearly as good as wankin’

Show the bald head ferret where the bunny rabbit’s gone

But make sure he keeps his overcoat on!

Well a little chipolata

That points down to your toes

Is as good as a big Frankfurter

That reaches up to your nose

And if it's a Wiener Schnitzel (Mein Gott)

Or a hot dog stuffed in a bun

Or a big black pudding

Come and do it everyone

You can join in the fun

Don't be a w*nker just...

Chorus

Everybody

Hide the sausage, come on and hide the sausage

Let's all conceal the saveloy

Let's go barmy with the salami

Let's put the toad in the hole

Would you like to play a tune on my pork clarinet?

Get it right out of sight

Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT

"Here's 'Hide The Sausage'. The legend "T-Bone" is an instruction for guitarist Fearless Phil to play a bluesy lick at this spot. He did this with great aplomb. In fact, he generally does. First take, too. I did a gig with a pick-up band, The Channel Four, in Blackpool and sent them the albums to learn the set from. The lead guitarist (who was actually more used to backing people like Bobby Davro) sweated blood for hours and finally copied all Phil's bluesy bits note-for-note."

"The rap was writ for the original LP but never used. I never played it back. I finally edited it in for the 'Fruity Bits' album... that was the first time I ever heard it."

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Previously unreleased extended rap version

Original version released on a 7" vinyl Single

I HAVE A DOG HIS NAME IS ROVER

This used to be a short traditional song, but Ivor has... er... extended it, so it's now something long and rude that Rugger-Buggers can entertain one another with in the showers.

I have a dog his name is Rover

Oh my goodness!

I have a dog his name is Rover

Ee by gum!

I have a dog his name is Rover

When he sh*ts he sh*ts all over

Sh*t all 'round the room, me boys

Sh*t all 'round the room

I have a dog his name is Fritz

Oh my goodness!

I have a sausage dog his name is Fritz

Ee by gum!

I have a dog his name is Fritz

He sh*ts and sh*ts and sh*ts and sh*ts

Sh*t all 'round the room, me boys

Sh*t all 'round the room

I have a dog a big Great Dane

Oh my goodness!

I have a dog a big Great Dane

Ee by gum!

I have a dog a big Great Dane

He wipes his b*m and he pulls the chain

Sh*t all 'round the room, me boys

Sh*t all 'round the room

Traditional arranged by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album More Filth! Dirt Cheap...

HALFWAY UP VIRGINIA

Ivor Biggun presents... Wellington Ramsbottom IV and the Cowherds of the County. A Bigguntone backing-track featuring Fiddlin' Robin Williams. Everything else recorded at Parkwood Studio, Chalfont St. Giles by a very bewildered engineer called Vernon Austin. (Sounds like two towns in Texas... dunnit?) Hear Ivor put the "tree" into Country music. It could've been worse, I suppose.

Now I'm just an old hillbilly boy, I ain't no city slicker

My interests is incest, bestiality and liquour

I live on grits and catfish that muck around in the fountains

And I'm just a c*nt-c*nt-country boy and I f*ck around in the mountains

But I've been down in Georgia, I've been in Caroline

I've been in both their sisters and the hole in the lonesome pine

Been in and out of Charlotte and her husband's after me....

But halfway up Virginia is where I wanna be

Now I've got fifty sweethearts, they think that I'm a star

One of them says, "Oh baby" and the rest of them say "Baa"

You can depend on a four-legged friend and when I go out bonkin'

I dress that sheep in a gigham gown and take her honky-tonkin'

Two to the left, two to the right, hooves together and do-si-do

I needn't buy her a new fur coat 'cause she's got one that's curly

Just a jug or two of mountain dew and turnips for my girlie

I've stuffed my tool in a Georgia mule but I give them cows a miss

'Cause you feel such a c*nt rushin' round to the front

When you want to give 'em a kiss

But I've been in Alberta, I've been chasin' beaver

Had a pokey in Muskogee with a three-legged golden retriever

I've been through Mississippi and her husband's after me...

But halfway up Virginia is where I wanna be

Had a bunk-up with a skunk up

Where the blue grass blooms

Had a good f*ck from a woodchuck

And polecats and raccoons

A hound dog and a ground hog

A possum up a tree

And everything that bleats and barks

And can't run faster than me. Yahoo!

Now down in the creek lives Lou-Lou-Belle

She's a virgin and I believe her

But if she ain't good enough for her own kinfolk

She ain't good enough for me neither

I've had all critters great and small

In the hills of Tennessee

And every last one is female

'Cause there ain't nothing strange about me

And I've yodelled down the canyon

On both sides of Caroline

And I'll go thar' again some day

If her brother doesn't mind

I've messed around in Buffalo

From sea to shining sea

But halfway up Virginia is where wanna be

Yeah, halfway up Virginia is where wanna be...

Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT

"Here's the lyric sheet for 'Halfway Up Virginia' with very different words, including the line "feel such a charlie rushing round to the front". Why ever did I think of that? The released version is much more poetic."

"The Baa Baa Black Sheep was improvised on-the-spot by violinist Robin Williams (who was Welsh for gawd's sake!). We all fell about... so it stayed in... and we added a little whistle to point it up."

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album Partners In Grime

THE P*SSY SONG

With Claude Furniture & The Litter Kickers - dedicated to Boogie, the cat who wouldn't sing. A Bigguntone backing-track. Everything else recorded at PBS, West Drayton by Chris Skornia. As well as Mr. Bigguns uncannily accurate cat impersonations (including some disgusting contortions when he cleans himself) two real cats appear on this recording - Miss Watkins Copycat & Miss Strat O'Caster.

Here p*ssy, p*ssy...

Miaow miaow miaow miaow

My girl has got a p*ssy

She keeps it hid from view

And everywhere that she goes

That p*ssy goes there to

It don't drink milk or wash it's face

And it don't even purr

But it's got lovely whiskers

And a lot of ginger fur

A week ago last Tuesday

I come home from the pub

I said "Where's that little p*ssy

That I love to stroke and rub"

But p*ssy wasn't willing

And it was plain to see

Someone had already stroked her and

That someone wasn't me

And... somebody else is stroking

The p*ssy that I thought was mine

Someone's petting and poking and

It really is a crime

And now my heart is broken

I'll kill that filthy swine

'Cause somebody else is stroking

The p*ssy that I thought was mine

Miaow... p*ssy, p*ssy, p*ssy, p*ssy, p*ssy, p*ssy

I miss that little p*ssy

It filled me with delight

But now I never see p*ssy all day

And it stays out late at night

Some Siamese or Persian

Has shattered all my dreams

He tickles her nose like I once did

And he fills her up with cream

Somebody else is stroking

The p*ssy that I thought was mine

Someone's petting and poking and

It really is a crime

And now my heart is broken

I'll kill that filthy swine

'Cause somebody else is stroking

The p*ssy that I thought was mine

Miaow... p*ssy, p*ssy, p*ssy, p*ssy, p*ssy, p*ssy

Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT

"The cat noises were done by a). me and b). two real cats, a large black one called Strat (named after a Strat)and a violent little tabby called Watkins (named after the watkins Copy Cat guitar echo unit). Watkins is making a strange braying sound at the end."

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album Partners In Grime

(NOBODY DOES IT LIKE) THE UKELELE MAN

With The Red-Nosed Burglars and the entire Friday night crowd at the "Swan", Fulham Broadway including the Twickenham Grasshoppers rugby team! A Bigguntone backing track... Engineered by Jilly B. Everything else recorded by Ian Shaw at Grannies, Fulham. "Where's George?" recorded on Jilly's walkman. Sorry folks, this is a clean one.

Guess what it is I'm holding

Down here in my hand

It's given pleasure to millions

Both up and down the land

It's my little ukelele

My treasure and my joy

I've plonked and plucked it daily

Ever since I was a boy

I practice and I practice

That right hand rhythm routine

And now I've got an action like

A massage parlour queen

But nobody does it like the Ukelele Man

No-one can hit that spot

If he can't make you smile

Then no-one can

He's the original

From way back yonder

When it all began

Nobody does it like the Ukelele Man

I've such co-ordination

In my fingers and my thumb

An action learned from years of sitting

Down to have a strum

My right hand goes like billy-o

Up top my left one fiddles

Performing archipelagos and flams

And paradiddles

I stroll into the spotlight

I give the strings a clout

But when I start to warble

The people start to shout

"Where's George?"

Nobody does it like the Ukelele Man

No-one can hit that spot

If he can't make you smile

Then no-one can

Just leaning on the lamp

Or TT racing at the Isle Of Man

Nobody does it like the Ukelele Man

I like a bit of blues and boogie, like a bit of skiffle and soul

But what I love's

A little stick of Blackpool rock-rock-rock 'n' roll

When women idolise me

I always have to tell 'em

Stop poking at me plectrums and

Don't violate me vellum

And though my technique thrills them

I have never worked out why

The end of my performance

They always seem to sigh

"Oh, is that all? Don't I get an encore?"

Nobody does it like the Ukelele Man

No-one can hit that spot

If he can't make you smile

Then no-one can

He's window cleaning with

His eyes on Fanlight Fanny's fan

Nobody does it like the Ukelele Man

"I've got crate of his 78's and I'm his greatest fan"

Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT

"I think I was going to do a short version but in the end I kept all the choruses in. They are sung by the Twickenham Grasshoppers rugby team, two schoolteachers, some Polish folk-dancers, a bewildered piano player, the recording engineer and a pervert from Dorset."

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album Partners In Grime

THE COCKEREL SONG

There was a club ("Rumours" in Blackpool) where they regularly play this record and a naked man runs along the bar, inadequately concealing his nodger with a rubber chicken. Beat that, Bruce Springsteen!

Some folks like a p*ssy, a budgie or a tit

Some take up with a Spaniel pup

That fills up the house with sh*t

Myself now I keep chickens

And I've a favourite one

He's Dick my little cockerel

And I don't know where he's gone

Has anyone seen my cock

My big Rhode Island Red

He's mostly pink with a little bit of blue

And purple on his head

He stands straight up in the morning

And he gives my wife a shock

Has anybody seen, anybody seen

Anybody, anybody seen my cock

He's a stiff necked little upstart

And I've known him all my life

He's my pride and pleasure

And a torment to my wife

Sometimes he's magnificent

And sometimes small and thin

But he puffs up like a pigeon

When you tickle him under his chin

Chorus

He has two enormous wattles hanging down

They're the best you'll ever find

Madam, you may stroke him if you like

If you feel that way inclined

Be careful he doesn't spit in your eye though

Chorus

Has anybody seen, anybody seen

Anybody, anybody seen his cock

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album More Filth! Dirt Cheap...

I'VE PARTED (misprint)

Well... now there's something new in the wind. With "I've Parted (misprint)" Ivor is letting rip his latest blaster which may be in bad odour with the censors but is bound to be a big noise in the charts once people get wind of it. This breezy little melody, featuring wind instruments, is bubbling under the bottom of the Hit Parade at the moment and the wind of change looks like bringing a very nasty blow to his rivals, who are understandably kicking up a stink about it.

Recorded shortly after Ivor's record breaking chicken vindaloo curry eating marathon, Ivor plays all the instruments - he had to - nobody would go into the studio with him; and although some may accuse him of getting behind in his arrangements and his bum notes are clearly heard, once again Ivor is planning to drop one on the unsuspecting public.

Ivor pumped up the volume on this, his second single. Later, he was almost arrested on a trumped up charge.

My mother had the vicar and the vicar's wife to tea

They cleared the room, they blamed it on the dog

But it was me...

I've f*rted, I've f*rted

I've made a trouser cough

I've whistled in me Y-fronts

I've just peeled one off

I've blown my bowel bugle

I've been eating peas

I've broken wind

I've dropped my guts

Open the window please

I've been eating cabbages, prunes and pears and beans

Drinking Dandelion & Burdock and you know what that means

Polluting the environment, my friends leave me alone

The front of me sings tenor and the rest sings baritone

Chorus

Bubbles in the bath!

Real rip snorters!

Up on one cheek and hope it don't make a noise

Window rattlers!

Cushion creepers!

Don't shake your leg and keep it in your courdroys

A gentleman tells before it smells, he waves his jacket 'til it's gone

But I'm the kind of sneaky bugger who lets off and doesn't let on

I let them go in lifts, in queues, in phone-boxes and trains

And when they stink the people blink and blame it on the drains

Chorus

"I say, have you f*rted?"

"Of course I have - d'you think I always smell like this?"

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album The Winker's Album

THE WINKER'S ROCK 'N' ROLL (misprint)

An old favourite, organically grown (well... hand-raised) and digitally manipulated so at last you can hear the words (and now even read 'em - and weep).

When I was a kid in 1956

My big brother showed me some disgusting tricks

Sitting in the bathroom on my own

W*nking to the rhythm of me gramophone

And I was going

1-2-3-4 change hands

5-6-7-8 change hands

9-10-11-12 change hands

All you need is the rhythm and the wrist control

And you can do the w*nker's rock 'n' roll

Well I tried to do the shimmy, I tried to do the twist

I tried to do the tango, I nearly broke me wrist

The women all point at me and scoff

Say "You won't need me 'til your hand drops off"

And I'm going

1-2-3-4 change hands

5-6-7-8 change hands

9-10-11-12 change hands

All you need is the rhythm and the wrist control

And you can do the w*nker's rock 'n' roll

Give me a 'W'

Give me an 'A'

Give me an 'N'

Give me a 'K'

Give me an 'E'

Give me a 'R'

Stick it all together and what's that spell?

I've got Great Balls Of Fire

I've got blisters on me palms

I've got Willie And The Hand-Jive

And muscular arms

The Teds call me "W*nker"

When I'm walking down the street

'Cause I do the Jerky-Gurky

To the Boogie-Woogie beat

And I'm going

1-2-3-4 change hands

5-6-7-8 change hands

9-10-11-12 change hands

All you need is the rhythm and the wrist control

And you can do the w*nker's rock 'n' roll

When Long Tall Sally met Johnny B. Goode

He didn't do nothing but pull his pud'

Just the wrist and the fist and you can't go wrong

Doing the Hand-Jive all night long

Chorus

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Original version released on a 7" vinyl Single

ARE 'MICE' ELECTRIC?

Ivor Biggun presents Uncle Hans Von Trapp and The Mice-Tersingers. Featuring rude rodents and swearing.

Hello children, how do you do?

I've brought some friends to sing for you

Mein singing mice I've brought along

To sing ein little mousey song

So mein mouses don't be slow

Sing along und here we go

Can little mousey pull ze pud'

Yes we can it does us good

Do little mice have tiny dongs

Yes they're only one inch long

Zat's not much to wave about

It's more than you, you daft old c*nt

Stick to ze script boys

Why do mouseys sing so high

'Cause we're so f*cking sore, that's why

Is it just 'cause you're so small

Yes we all have both our balls

Would you like to meet mein cat

No f*ck off you silly old tw*t

Now zen boys, you'll never be as famous as Punky and Porky if you keep swearing

What do mouseys love to eat

Spotted dick and shredded wheat

In the pantry no-one sees

We p*ss in the jam and cr*p on the cheese

Now zen boys that's quite enough

Oh f*ck off you dozy old poof

I'm beginning to lose mein temper!

Up your a*se you ... old git

We'll fill your larder up with sh*t

We'll fight and f*rt and do as we please

We'll f*ck in the bread-bin and steal your cheese

Schnitzel I am a silly goose

Mein pussycat has just got loose...

Go cat go! There is your favourite food... mouseburger

Auf wiedersehn children if you please

And as for the mouseys, hard cheese

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album More Filth! Dirt Cheap...

HELLO MY BABY

A perfectly clean and wholesome little song recorded many years ago by Frank - "No-matter-how-young-a-prune-may-be,-it's-always-full-of-wrinkles" - Crumit. The new second part is written by Ivor himself and performed by Miss Amelia Blowhard. Amazingly, this got played several times on BBC Radio. Then somebody turned it over, discovered that the "A" side was a song about f*rting, and it never apppeared again!

Hello...

Hello my baby, hello my honey

Hello my ragtime gal

Send me a kiss by wire

Baby my heart's on fire

If you refuse me

Honey, you'll lose me

Then you'll be left alone

Oh baby, telephone

And tell me I'm your own

You call me on the telephone

You tell me that you're all alone

I know that you are lying through your teeth

You dirty rascal

How could you expect me

To believe the lies you hand me

You've been out with that girl again

Now do you understand me

You broke my heart and made me cry

With every phoney alibi

When I could see the lipstick on your shirt

You dirty polecat

Telephone and tell me I'm your own

Chorus

I'm sorry that I made you blue

It was a beastly thing to do

I shouldn't have upset you like I did

With Lil' the barmaid

If you take me back again

I'll never, ever wander

'Cause when I did I found that absence

Made the heart grow fonder

So cross my heart and hope to die

I'll never tell another lie

I'll mend your broken heart

As good as new

My little cough-drop

Telephone and tell me I'm your own

Chorus

Hello, hello, hello

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

Goodbye...

Performed by Ivor Biggun and Miss Amelia Blowhard

Traditional arranged by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album The Winker's Album

WINKING YOUR BLUES AWAY (misprint)

Ukelele fans will appreciate Ivor's phenomenal right-hand technique. "It comes from years of practice, shaking ketchup bottles" he claims. Oh yeah? Pull the other one.

All those lonely blues songs, you might feel that you wrote 'em

You might be sad and think that life has kicked you in the scr*tum

Be brave and wipe that teardrop from your eye

There's one more remedy you can try

W*nking your blues away

If you haven't had a promise

And you haven't got a sister or a wife

And your brother's not keen

You can get to the promised land

The answer's right there in your hand

Try w*nking to the rhythm of life

It's a source of some amusement

That the craft of self-abusement

Was invented, so it's thought

By the Greeks and the Westphalians

Perfected by Australians

Developed by the Welsh into a competitive sport

W*nking your blues away

Shirt on the floor

One hand and a metronome

And lots of boogie-woogie

The Cowman sits there on his farm

With loads of blisters on his arm

W*nking 'til the cows come home

It's time to take your trousers down

Lock the door and go to town

You can wipe away your frown and w*nk your blues away

Don't worry that you'll lose your sight

Make the world seem gay and bright

W*NKERS OF THE WORLD UNITE and w*nk your blues away

W*nking your blues away

It's a harmless hobby, it's what your right arm's for

And not for drinking lager

The basic kit for m*sturbation

Is a pl*nker and a hand and imagination

Keep w*nking 'til you just can't w*nk no more

But don't forget to close the bathroom door

Performed by Ivor Biggun and The Red-Nosed Burglars

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album More Filth! Dirt Cheap...

I'VE GOT A MONSTER

Featuring two very fine gentlemen. The late great Screaming Lord Sutch (as Dracula) and the irreplaceable Judge Dread (as The Monster). Also, lend an ear'ole to King Kurt's Dr. Smegma (a Werewolf), Amelia Blowhard, and a zonking guitar solo from Fearless Phil.

"'Erm Doreen, I've got a confession to make. I'm not like ordinary boys"

"Oh Ivor, I know you're not like ordinary boys, you're about thirty years older than most of them for a start"

"No Doreen, I've got a strange peculiarity. Every time the moon is full I... scn*@!!rgggh"

"Oooh yeah you're right, you're not like ordinary boys..."

Well I'm Dr. Frankenstein

And I've got a monster

And I'll show you this monster of mine if anyone wants-ter

It's a biggun, it's got wrinkly bits that dangle down to there

It's pink and blue and purple and it's covered up with hair

If you meet it in the midnight hour you're gonna get a scare

And everything would be just fine

If you had a monster like mine

"Hello baby, how would you like to be filled with Dread? Judge this for size..."

I'm Frankenstein's monster

I'm custom designed

I've got a bolt through m' neck

And a screw on m' mind

He made me out of fibre-glass

And doner kebabs and conkers

Meccano, tripe and bits of pipe

And a couple of donkey's pl*nkers

I think the Baron stitched me up

M' knob's a vacuum cleaner

I gave a cough

M' balls dropped off

Just call me Frankensteina

"Blimey, this place is full of monsters and su(t)ch.."

I'm Dracula, I'm most unsanitary

I'd rather suck than f*rnicate

I dress like Bryan Ferry

I drink the blood of virgins

I live in Notting Hill Gate

I haven't had a decent meal

Since nineteen fifty-eight

They say I am a stupid count

I have a sucking force

At least that's what he thinks they say

He could be wrong of course

"Landlord, mix me a Bloody Mary before I go batty"

He's a friend of Dr. Frankenstein

And he's got a monster

And he'll show you its disgusting design

If anyone wants-ter

He'd love to suck your jugular

He's got no moral fibre

He's a nasty fly-by-night

A rhesus positive inbiber

And Peter Cushing's pushing

Half a fence post up his khyber

The future looks pretty grim

If you are a monster like him

"Come on you Wolves"

We are hairy werewolves, when a bad moon's on the rise

We all start looking like motorhead and our choppers increase in size

And ever since we were in the cubs we've crept around in castles

And scratched for fleas and piddled on trees and sniffed each other's ars'oles

Red Riding Hood thinks we're dead good although we've got the mange

She likes it doggy fashion, excuse me while I change

They call him Dr. Frankenstein, 'cause he's got a monster

He'll show you his disgusting design if anyone wants-ter

It's a biggun, it's got wrinkly bits that dangle down to there

It's pink and blue and purple and it's covered up with hair

If you meet it in the midnight hour you're gonna get a scare

And everything would be just fine, if you had a monster like mine

"We're not scared of the Mummy's curse"

"Well I know something ten times worse..."

I'm a wanker etc.

Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT

"Here's Frankenstein as it was called on the original tape box. The lyric contains various stage directions for the artists. There's a few different words as well. The Judge was a fine fellow... and he actually does the last line of Sutch's verse... Sutch couldn't get it out... and kept fluffing it, so Dread stepped in and did it, slightly re-written. Sutch's 'Before I go Batty' line (see disc) was improvised on-the-spot (I think he dropped his song sheet) and was better than the one I originally writ here. Dr. Smegma of King Kurt did his lines in RMS studio accompanied by an enormous pit bull who was eer... rather protective of him. A lovely dog but not one you'd try to pat."

"The short dramatic sketch was recorded in Surbiton at the end of a blues session that Ivor's Jivers recorded for their self produced cassette. There were two takes... the first featuring a harmonica player unable to speak because of the giggles. Man of the match was bass player Eddie Masters who actually sounds concerned after guitarist Fearless Phil has killed Ivor. The musician suggesting going down the pub is drummer Chris Perry, and the person agreeing with him is harmonica player Tony 'Blues Boy' Barker.

Unsolicited, His Lordship Dave Sutch said that he thought that the screaming and storm fx captured the feel of his first record ('Till The Following Night' produced by Joe Meek). Engineer Andy LaVien and Jilly B were SO pleased, because that was the effect they were trying to get, crikey.

The strange leap in volume of the backing-track about half way thru was deliberate. It sounds odd, but it sounded odder when we didn't do it. Maybe I should have overdubbed some more Fearless Phil."

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album Partners In Grime

THE MAJORCA SONG

Never mind the Balearics, here's Ivor tromping about, surrounded by nude Germans. With Ivors jivers. All percussion & lucozade bottle by Nigel Appleton. Bass - Mick Phillips. Chorus of senoritas by Norma Lee Soba. Recorded at Triplex, Acton by Gavin Lewis in the depths of winter... This is the celebrated filthy version including the repulsive vomiting sound-effect... which if listened to on stereo headphones gives you the aural impression that someone is spewing all over you.

Unos, dos, tres Suzy Quatro

Every year when summer is here

I save up m' money and fly

To the land of the sun, f*rnication and fun

And never let a dago by

Buenos knockers por favor

As I sniff up the breezes

There's a whiff in the air

Of ambre solaire

And Julio Inglesias

All day beneath the parasoles, I prat around on the beach

All night I'm p*ssed as ars'oles and incapable of speech

But I'm going back to Majorca

Back to the prettiest girl that I've seen

I nearly went crackers

When she held my maraccas

And I burst her tambourine

She was topless, I was legless, we boogied the moonlight away

Oh she swallowed my pina colada

Oh blimey, O' Reilly, olé

I said she swallowed his pina colada

Oh blimey, O' Reilly, olé

Olé, olé, olé, olé,

Olé, oh lay me down quick

Iy iy, iy iy, iy iy, iy iy

I think I'm gonna be sick

"Ooh that's better out than in"

I don't go swimmin' I just look at the women

As I stroll down by the ocean

They don't wear vests upon their chests

They just wear sun-tan lotion

Buenos knockers por favor

Una paloma blanca

I go to Spain, get out of my brain

And act like a w*nker

I wear reflective sunglasses to secretly stare at the t*ts

But I never drink the water, in case I get the sh*ts

I'm going back to Majorca

To get up to m' scr*tum in sin

There's lots of how's-yer-father down on the Costa Brava

And they blame it on jet-lag and gin

She was topless, I was legless, we boogied the moonlight away

Oh she swallowed my pina colada

Oh blimey, O' Reilly, olé

I said she swallowed his pina colada

Oh blimey, O' Reilly, olé

But when I get back to Worksop

And the sand runs out of my socks

I'll dream of that sweet senorita

Who gave me a dose of... la dolce vita

And a vimto on the rocks

Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT

"Here's the studio sheet for 'The Majorca Song' with slightly different words. Notice he gets up to his knuckles in sin, rather than his scr*tum... but scr*tum was easier to sing."

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released as a single and on the album Partners In Grime

THE CHARABANC TRIP

Ivor, putting on the Ayers, recites a touching poem of innocense lost, which will bring a lump yo your throat. If you are careful it won't end up on the carpet. Pianist Robin Langridge remembers "I'm not easily moved, but during this performance, I very nearly went."

"'The Charabanc Trip' by Ivor Biggun accompanied by Robin Langridge, aged 14, at the piano forte.

Music maestro please!"

On the map of North Notts you'll find Worksop

Where I lived when I was a lad

In a house with me Mam, two sisters and Gran

One brother, a budgie, and Dad

At the end of our street was a boozer

black as stout, uninviting and glum

A den of depravity, it stank like a lavatory

Where me Dad went to hide from me Mum

At the end of the bar in a bottle

Every week half a dollar he'd slip

For the annual treat when the kids in the street

Went to coast on a charabanc trip

We'd set off in morning from Worksop

En route for Sutton-on-Sea

With the Holiday Club, them as paid up their sub

Half the street and my brother and me

There was old Mrs. Brough from the tripe shop

Big soft Doris, her two little lasses

And her sister Helen with a bust like two melons

And a face like an a*se'ole with glasses

There was Perfumed Gordon the hairdresser

And nobody did make it clear

Why a rude boy called Taylor

Cried out "Hello Sailor"

And something about ginger beer

There was Desperate Derek, his brother Big Eric

And Basher and Masher and Butch

And Lil' who was willing for only a shilling

Which was still about tenpence too much

There was Mavis who wouldn't

'Cause her mum said she shouldn't

There was Neville who wished that he could

And then there was Heather who said that she'd never

But looked like she probably would!

Well my Dad took a crate of ale with him

Intending to travel in style

Charabanc did 25 miles to the gallon

My Dad did half pint to the mile

Rain were chucking it down leaving Worksop

Through North Notts it did not desist

There were cows with bronchitis and wet sheep to invite us

When Lincolnshire loomed up through t' mist

Rain slacked off soon to a medium monsoon

And the day didn't look such a black 'un

When the driver called Reg pulled up by a hedge

And we all made a dash for the bracken

Dad rushed to a tree and said "excuse me"

And right there one penny he spent it

He said, "Ain't it queer, one thing about beer

You don't really buy it, you rent it"

Well this idyllic scene mid the nettles and steam

Was soon torn by my brother's plaintive cries

The poor little nipper caught his dong in his zipper

He was dancing with tears in his eyes

Then back on t' coach off to Sutton

We got there, 'ee weather were grand

And we gazed on the sea, cold, the colour of tea

And smelt candyfloss, dodgems and sand

There were shops full of rock

There were hats with rude slogans

There was music and cries of hilarity

There were games on the sands, there were jellied-eel stands

And souvenir shops packed with vulgarity

My brother ran down to the ocean

His intention the water to reach

For his foot he just thrust in something disgusting

A donkey had left on the beach

The sea was as cold as a polar bear's dick

We watched Punch kill the crocodile dead

And after throwing some sand at Salvation Army band

We went off to the funfair instead

There was a ride called The Comet made you scream, faint and vomit

Half deafening you hung upside down

And the last bit, a spinner, brought up rest of yer dinner

Not bad, you know, for just half a crown

There were post cards with fat women, nudists and Scotsmen

Honeymooners and dirty week-enders

And in a machine what the butler had seen

Dimly flickered about in suspenders

We ate cockles and whelks and big winkles

Soggy chips, toffee apples like glue

The hot dogs were funions like something rude wrapped in onions

But we ate them, and pease pudding too

Then we went on to dodgems and waltzer

And big dipper that rises and falls

It was on this machine that my brother turned green

And his eyes stood out like bulldog's balls

The poor little chap he was sick in his cap

It was his best 'un, he started to cry

So not wishing to spoil it we swilled it in toilet

And he wore it until it was dry

The driver found us and said "Back to the bus"

Through the dark we ran back the whole way

Candyfloss in our hair, but we didn't care

Eee we'd had such a wonderful day

And with charabanc firing on several cylinders

We set off for Worksop and home

Rattling down the highway singing songs of Max Bygraves

Accompanied on paper and comb

In the dim orange glow of the coachlight, so low

Courting couples were billing and cooing

Hoping, perhaps, that the coats in their laps

Would conceal the rude things they were doing

We pulled up in our street about half past eleven

There was Mam, there was Granny & all

They gazed in admiration at the plaster alsatian

We'd won for 'em at coconut stall

I drank up my Cocoa, I ate up my sandwich

And soon up in bed I was curled

I was dreaming a dream I was leading the team

On first charabanc trip around world

Eee those things that I did when I was a kid

Although they were simple and small

Now I've grown up I find I look back in my mind

I'm sure they were best times of all

'Cause I've been to Majorca, and by that's a corker

I've been to Pompeii and Herico-ulaneum

The French Riviera, where the ladies are barer

I've even paddled in Meditter-anium

I've drunk various vinos in Torremolinos

But of all these I'll tell you for free

There's none can compete with that charabanc treat

With me brother to Sutton-on-Sea

Written by Ivor Biggun

Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3

Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers

Available on the CD album The Fruity Bits of Ivor Biggun

Originally released on the album The Winker's Album