MORE FRUITY BITS - Volume Two
My Shirt Collar (It Won't Go Stiff)
Southern Breeze
A) The Burglars Holler B) Gums And Plums
John Thomas Allcock
My Brothers Magazine
Richard The Third
I Can Be The Hot Dog, And You Can Be The Bun
I Wanna Be A Bear
Ah Woke Up Dis Moanin'
The Filthy Farmer (A Song Of The Soil)
The Other Educated Monkey (Humourous Monologue)
Piles Of Trouble
You Can't Have A Snog With A Snowman
Chantilly Lace
Probing Andromeda
The Majorca Song (Just-About-Broadcastable-Version)
Sixty Minute Man
Toolbag Ted From Birkenhead
Where Did The Lead In My Pencil Go
Cue For A Song
Send For Dr. Clap (live)
The Winker's Rock 'N' Roll (live)
Songs from MORE FILTH! DIRT CHEAP...
Sales pitch...So! Why should you lash out your hard-earned cash on this grotty Ivor Biggun album when you could spend it on women, drink, filthy magazines, woodbines, or perhaps even foolishly? Why? Because it's value for money, that's why!
For the price of a couple of pairs of wooly socks you could get 50 minutes of the kind of depravity that makes Vlad the Impaler seem like Donny Osmond! - Disgustin' stuff like "The Cockerel Song", which some people say isn't about chickens. The "Shirt Collar Song" adapted from "Flaccido del Plonquero" by Los Quintettos Bunchawhankas - Pierre Foofe letting rip! - Two portions of reggae (one Bosanquet and one Perrin) - and the Phil ExSpectorant lavatory wall-of-sound (Richard III).
Now! That's better than a pair of wooly socks...huh?? Still not convinced?? Well... try "Banking Your Blues Away" (misprint) which features Ivor gargling with Tizer... or "I Have A Dog" which is recorded in Ambiphonic 360º Surround Sound, giving the listener on stereo headphones the aural illusion that he is ENTIRELY SURROUNDED BY RED-NOSED BURGLARS!! There's even a completely clean song about bears, but we hope this won't spoil your enjoyment too much. And there's the Filthy Farmer... AND some singing mice. AND a vulgar poem...
What's more... you can chop the album up and skilfully use it, and the inner and outer sleeves, to construct a pair of not-insubstantial GALOSHES! But, can you play wooly socks on your stereo?? Of course not! The choice is obvious!! Buy this record! BUY THIS RECORD!!!
MY SHIRT COLLAR (It Won't Go Stiff)
Some folks croon about moon and June
Some folks scream and holler
But I'm going to sing about a wonderful thing
My shirt collar
Ariba, ariba, whoo, whoo, Here we go...
My shirt collar
My shirt collar
It won't go stiff
No, it won't go stiff
It used to stand up and touch my ears
But now I've got to be careful in case it disappears
When I was younger it was up in a jiff
Were it more rigid it would be terrif'
But my shirt collar
My shirt collar, whoo whoo, oh no
It will not go stiff
It won't go stiff, no it won't go stiff
It's once proud rigidity is only a myth
The miserable thing I am holding in my hand which is
Limper than the lettuce in yer British Rail sandwiches
What was once a certainty is only an 'if'
Bang goes the happiness, me joi-de-life
'Cause my shirt collar, whoo whoo, oh no
It will not go stiff
Well I soaked it, doped it, tied it up and roped it
Varnished it but still it ends up bent
I've stuffed it into kettles, I've walloped it with metals
I've squirted it with aftershave and filled it with cement
My shirt collar
My shirt collar
It won't go stiff
No, it won't go stiff
I used to dress so it protruded at a rakish angle
But now I keep it covered up and all it does is dangle
It was up like a rocket on November the fifth
But it hasn't happened since and the ladies just sniff
My shirt collar
My shirt collar, whoo whoo, oh no
It will not go stiff
With The Atomic Piles
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
Mah name's Pierre Foofe, Ah come from Montmartre
Ah play ze Moulin Rouge, Ah'm a famous French fartre
Ah stands on ze stage, Ah whistle and hum
Ah make animal noises through ze hole in mah bum
Whizza bugle or flute, Ah can play any theme
from God Save ze Weasel to Pop Goes ze Queen
Ah can trumpet or whisper whizout loosing mah breath
mah songs zey have pongs for ze sake of ze deaf
A poem Ah'll recite, demonstrating mah art
illustrated by noises straight from ze heart
Avez-vous ze cabbage, ze baked beans? Merci!
Un moment, s'il-vous plait
Ah wake up in ze morning and when Ah bend over
Is my faithful dog Rover
And zen in ze bathroom, each morn' wizout fail
Mah puss' cat, Ah've stood on his tail
Ze maid brings me breakfast of baked beans and pears
And when Ah 'ave dined, Ah walk down ze stairs
From mah window Ah see a small duck walking by
And above is a cuckoo, who sings in ze sky
Ah walk down ze path through ze old creaking gate
And 'ere comes a chicken who seems rather irate
Farmer Giles with his chainsaw is cutting down trees
And zen he sits among ze cabbage and peas
His Mary, from ze dairy, she make mah 'eart throb
She watching ze bull and ze cow on ze job
Ah walk up to her and Ah tip'a mah hat
"Madamoiselle", Ah say, "Ah wish zat ah was doing zat"
She turns and replies in tones sweet and refined
"Well, why don't you then, I'm sure the cow won't mind"
Zis iz'a some of your English'a humour, non? Sacre-bleu! Merde!
Ah could live in your eyes, Ah say, each one's a bright one
She say "You be quite at home there, there's a sty in the right one"
At zis gay badinage Ah laugh like a jackass
Pass by faithful Rover and kick him in ze knackers
Ah what 'appiness life in ze countryside arouses
Ah! Oo! Quelle dommage! Excusez-moi -
Ah must'a change mah trousers
Oh! Frappe un lumiére!
Ivor Biggun presents Pierre Foofe and The Vol-Au-Vents
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
Ivor, Ivor, Ivor, Ivor
Ivor, sing you bu*gger, sing
With 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 More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
Oh my name is Ivor Biggun
And they say I've never been kissed
My sex life took one hell of a knock
On the day I broke my wrist
I much prefer hand shandy to the company of lasses
Everybody says that I'll go blind
But I'll do it 'til I need glasses
Oh whoa my name is Ivor Biggun and
I sing about tits and bums
(His name is Biggun and he sings of tits and bums)
Whoa whoa whoa whoa, you know my name you'd better
Get your gums around my plums
My name is Ivor Biggun
I'm disgusting and obscene
I blow my nose without a hankie
And my fingernails aren't clean
I'm public enema number one
I have effluence and style
My 'je ne sais quoi' is obvious
It sticks out a mile
Whoa whoa, my name is Ivor Biggun and
I'm dark and dirty as a dungeon
(His name is Biggun and he's dirty as a dungeon)
Whoa whoa whoa now you know my name you'd better
Make a luncheon of my truncheon
Well you don't have to be a space invader
To suffer from asteroids
Don't need to show Mrs. Thatcher my willie
For her to look down on the unemployed
And you don't have to be a sergeant
To stand your privates out in front
And you don't have to be a gynecologist
To recognise a country squire at the hunt
Well my name is Ivor Biggun
But some dispute that fact
And they suggest I contravene
The trade descriptions act
But my girl said she's marry me
If I had a twelve inch dong
I said "I'll cut it down to any size luv
If you think that it's too long"
Whoa whoa, my name is Ivor Biggun and
I got my mojo workin' well
(He sings The Wa*nker's Song and stuff like Eskimo Nell)
Now you know my name I'd better
Press your button and ring your bell
You don't have to squirt your armpit to say aerosols to you
You don't have to be a carpenter to bang and hammer and screw
Don't piss the wrong way in a hurricane
If you don't know how to duck
And you shouldn't work in a massage parlour
If you can't give a toss or a f*ck (sorry Mrs. Whitehouse)
Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun
Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun
Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun
Ooh I think I've ruptured m'self
I'm Britain's champion w*nker
Renowned throughout the land
Everybody knows my name
But nobody wants to shake my hand
Whoa whoa, my name is Ivor Biggun and
I sing about tits and bums
(His name is Biggun and he takes it as it comes)
Whoa whoa whoa, now you know my name you'd better
Get your gums around my plums
With The Ivor's Jivers
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
John Thomas Allcock, he lives northeast of Whitstable
He's got that certain something that the girls find irresistable
He's a fine up-standing fellow and they say, for what it's worth
His mother was frightened by a donkey six months before his birth
And when the midwife heaved him out the first thing she could seize on
It wasn't his arm, it wasn't his leg and I guess that that's the reason
Why he's the...
Man with the biggest plonker in the world
(Dingle, dangle, strap it to your ankle)
He keeps it in his trousers tightly curled
(Dingle, dangle, strap it to your ankle)
It's a yard and a half if it's an inch and it's more when it's unfurled, oh
He's the man with the biggest plonker in the world
As you can imagine, it was an enormous drawback. Well... part of it was, anyway
John Thomas Allcock, at school the kids all gathered round
And said "Please tell us what is that behind you dragging on the ground?"
He said it was a python, and it had got the mumps
He stuffed it in his ear and said "I am a petrol pump"
He stuffed it down his wellies and the teacher said "Now, John
You'll have to stay behind when all the other kids have gone"
A really boring thing about school mistresses is they make you do it again and again until you get it right, and they make you put your hand up
John Thomas Allcock, he grew up virile, tall and strong
And he became a chimney sweep with a brush attached to his remarkable dong
Then he went to China, where dragons can be found
And everybody said "'Ere look, there's a chap with one draggin' on the ground"
(Hahahaha! Get it, one draggin' on the ground? Oh, please yourself then.)
And then he got married and he had five kids and it comes as no surprise
He's a lovely wife with a rather strange expression in her eyes
And it's not surprising really, 'cause she's married to...
The man with the biggest plonker in the world...
(Chorus)
He was a champion pole vaulter - with or without a pole
Was he heavily penalized? Oh, indubitably!
John Thomas Allcock he died, oh yes he did
And because of rigor mortis they couldn't shut the coffin lid
And now he's up in heaven and his kids are very proud
To see their daddy's dongler dangling through the clouds
When it's dark at midnight you can hear the ladies sigh
And whistle when the ghost of old John Tom goes shuffling by
'Cos he's...The man with the biggest plonker in the world...
(Chorus)
Monstrous, I call it. He shouldn't have had a thing like that without a license.
I said to my wife, I think he should be bloody well hung.
And you know what she said? "He is, my dear, he is..."
With Bunty And The Bangers
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
Oh show me a home where the buffalo roam
And I'll show you a house full of dung...
For god's sake Ivor, did I spend three years at the Paris Conservetoire
to play this sort of rubbish? Don't you know anything else?
My brother's in the merchant navy
He brings me things from where he's been
Letters from France and caps from Holland
And once from Denmark a mucky magazine
And I remembered mother's advice
If I ever looked at photographs that weren't quite nice
I'd turn to stone right there
Part of me did but I just didn't care
And I'll bet you a quid that you've never seen
Anything like my brother's magazine
I bet you a quid that you've never seen
Anything like my brother's magazine
'Ere, is this photograph the right way up?
Spotty-arsed fellas and great big women
At it like knives on battered settees
And two blokes from Tottenham who can tie a knot in 'em
And still have donglers to their knees
And a picture of utter depravity
A dentist filling quite the wrong cavity
A midget with a tattooed dong
And the words and ukelele chords for an Ivor biggun song
A lady you can see isn't really a blonde
Posing with a parsnip very biological
Another who grins from where she had twins
Not pornographic, just gynecological
And a lingum and a yoni, two Egyptian women and a shetland pony
Appliances and PVC and something that looks a bit like a coconut to me
And I'll bet you a quid that you've never seen
Anything like my brother's magazine
I bet you a quid that you've never seen
Anything like my brother's magazine
If I ever grow up I'd like to be like
A pink pony poser pay for intercourse
With me rocks off knocks off without taking socks off
A big John Thomas like the milkman's horse
Latex genitalia, something filled with batteries that's popular with sailors
A picture that leaves no doubt
As to whether Linda Lovelace really had her tonsils out
And I'll bet you a quid that you've never seen
Anything like my brother's magazine
I bet you a quid that you've never seen
Anything like my brother's magazine
'Ere there's a book in here advertised. It's called
"I tried to be a homosexual but I was only half in Ernest"
There's a stripper as well, also, with a 73" bust.
She doesn't have much of an act.
She just crawls onto the stage and tries to stand up.
Here's an advert. "They all laughed when I sat down to play then I realised I'd left the bathroom door open. And then there's some obscene records. Who's this Judge Dread then?
"I used to kiss you on the lips but now it's all over."
"I will love you when you get old. So please get 'old of this."
And what's this a photograph of? Oooh It can't be? It couldn't be? It isn't is it?
With The Beggars Banquet All-Stars
Produced by John Spencer
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
RICHARD THE THIRD (He's In The Business Now)
"Is she really going out with him?"
"There she is, let's ask her"
"Betty, is it true he's got reproductive organs like a rhionosterus?"
"That's quite preposterous! By the way, what are all those seagulls doing in here?"
"I don't know. Betty, what's his name?"
His name was Stanley
He was so strong and manly
But left without saying a word
But since everybody pooed on him
He's got a brand pseudonym
And now he's called Richard the Turd
He was straining in the throne room
On a blunt, tony torpedo
He was not privy to the fact the seat was loose
Then he fell right down the plumbin'
Through the place you put your bum in
And flushed with pride he floated down the sluice
It was dark down there
Through the narrow pipes he wriggled
'Til he came to where the khaki river flows
Through a fragrant tide of ooze
And a million number twos
He swam slowly
'Cause he had to hold his nose
"Why didn't he shout for help?"
"It would have been impolite to speak with his mouth full"
So he's going through the motions in the dark and lumpy pools
By the brown and heaving ocean since he fell between two stools
He's in the business deep in caverns measureless to man
Stan - Stan - Stan Winterbottom it was
The man, the man, who fell down the pan
He was a gynecologist, in Rotherham
From bog forever umber
From sea to shining seashore
He considered people's doings
As they floated by
He reviewed the human species
As he drifted through their faeces
Life's strains he viewed with philosophic eye
We are all just turds
And the world's a pile of doodie
And life is just a journey down the sewer
But a man can struggle through
And face his Waterloo
And a rose smells sweetly
When it's growing in manure
"And in that one moment everything he'd left behind him passed before his eyes"
So he went through the motions and he swam the fetid pools
Past the oceans with no deckchairs but an awful lot of stools
And he squeezed back up the dungpipe round the bend where Harpic goes
And said "Dear friends, I'm back again!"
And everybody held their nose! (Hardly surprising, really)
"Flippin'eck - here come all those seagulls again"
I ran up to Stanley, I wanted to wipe away all memory of his movements down there in the bowels of the earth
I told him I'd thought of him every day he'd been (interred) in-turd, but he pushed me away
"Darling, what's wrong, are you dysentery-ested in me?" He looked at me, and I'll never forget the words he said
"Betty, when I was down there I discovered the meaning of life
Don't force me into a marriage of convenience, I've just come out of the closet"
with The Burglarettes and Miss Amelia Blowhard
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
I CAN BE THE HOT DOG AND YOU CAN BE THE BUN
I'm 37, I'm still living with me mum
I've no pals now my guinea-pig's dead
And my dad needs my room to grow mushrooms
So I suppose that it's time I was wed
Now you don't sweat much for a fat lass
And I hear you've a rich mum and dad
And in the dark, with the light right behind you
You really don't look quite that bad
And that's why I wrote you this meaningful melody
OK lads, three chords in the key of A - let's put some spunk into it...
I can be the hot-dog and you can be the bun
I can be the ramrod and you can be the gun
I can be the cistern if you will pull my chain
I can be the dyno-rod if you will be the drain
I'll even be the daddy and you can be the mum
I can be the suppository and you can be the bum
But I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
It's one of life's little mysteries
No I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
Oh cruel fate
I can be the christmas fairy you can be the tinsel
I can be the athletes foot and you can be the plimsol
I can be the landlord's thumb and you can be the drink
I can be the plunger and you can be the sink
I will be the dentist if you will open wide
I can be the vet's rubber glove and you can be the cow's backside
But I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
Dear Anna Raeburn, what am I doing wrong?
No I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
I've got the brylcreem bounce
You can be the sandwich I can be the lemon curd
You can be the WC and I can be the turd
I can be the rupture and you can be the truss
You can be the pimple and I can be the puss
You can be the vomit bag and I can be the sick
You can be the Y-fronts and I can be the ... what's this word?
I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
I've got me own teeth and a motorbike and sidecar
No I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
Me me me...
I can be the finger and you can be the pie
I can be the porker and you can be the sty
I can be the writing if you will be the wall
I can do the breaststroke if you will do the crawl
You can be the racing car and I can be James Hunt
I can be the sailor and you can be the.. What's this word?
Mr. Biggun, the word is punt!
Are you sure?
I can be the stone and you can be the kidney
You can be the choirboy and I can be my rather strange uncle Sidney
But if your heart should chance resist my subtlety and charms
And my suave sophistication fails to bring you to my arms
You'd be the wild and lovely girl I'd lost before she'd grown
And you will be a memory and I will be...
Probably going down the pub. There's a darts match on at The Swan in Fulham Broadway...
Or I might go to the pictures and see Clit Eastwood... or 'Danish Dentist On The Job'...
Or I might go and stare at the nurses playing tennis...
Or I might go and get some algerian Scotch whiskey from the off-license and get comode-hugging drunk...
Or I might go and stick me dong thru somebody's letter-box
With Ivor's Jivers
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
Stand by - ethnic bear skanking...
Wanna be a bear and live in the wood
Eat a whole lot of honey make me feel good
I wanna be a bear living wild and free
Eating shrubs and berries, scratch my back on a tree
I wanna be a bear
Whoa yeah, Bo Diddley bear
I a grizzly bear
I wanna be a bear be wild and rough
In a big fur coat I'm gonna strut my stuff
When i come home and I feel almost dead
I need a whole lot of Goldilock in my bed
I wanna be a bear
Whoa yeah, Bo Diddley bear
I a grizzly bear
I wanna be, wanna wanna be, a bear
I wanna be living wild, living free
I wanna be just a little baby bear and me
I strictly bear I are, smarter than the average
I strictly bear I are
Don't wanna be ferocious wanna do my thing
Gonna hibernate go to sleep 'til spring
Rock steady teddy live a life of ease
Groovin' with the birdies in the sycamore trees
Be a bear, Bo Diddley bear
I a grizzly bear
Wanna... be a bear
Don't wanna be no Smokey bear
Don't wanna be no Biffo the bear
I smarter than the average bear
Don't wanna be no Barney the bear
With Bunty and The Bangers
Produced by Richard Stevens
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
AH WOKE UP DIS MOANIN' (parts 1 and 2)
Part 1 Terrific Teddy Sings The Blues
Ladies and Gentlemen... Terrific Teddy sings the blues... Tell it like it is Ted
Sing the blues, Ted... Smash it to 'em Ted... go Ted go...
I woke up this morning (that makes a change)
Yes and I believe I shit the bed (ahh I don't know why we f*cking bother...)
With The Swampland Serenaders
Part 2 Ah Feel So Bad
Whooee here we go... You ain't too old if you ain't too ashamed
Well I feel so bad, somebody done bulldozed the whorehouse down
Well I feel so bad, somebody done bulldozed the whorehouse down
They used to call it the tandoori take-away, it sold the hottest stuff in town
Well there was thirty guinea Winnie, there was twenty guinea Sue
And there was bargain basement Bertha who'd do three for the price of two
There was horizontal Harriet who'd give you change from a quid
And if you were low 'n' lonesome there was luncheon voucher Sid
Well I feel so bad, somebody done bulldozed the...
I used to go there Friday evening and stay 'til Sunday night
Come first thing Monday morning I surely don't feel right
So I go down to the doctor, this is what the doctor say
You've got a nasty little blister, son, that will not go away
Well I feel so bad, somebody done bulldozed the whorehouse down
They used to call it the tandoori take-away, it sold the hottest stuff in town
But they never let a po' boy down...
With Doncaster Slim and The Cleethorpes Delta Boys
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
THE FILTHY FARMER (A Song Of The Soil)
Gobble gobble gobble goes the turkey and
Wanka wanka wanka goes the duck
I'm a filthy farmer and I don't give a.. fiddle-de-de
I've got a lovely set of bullocks and I'm up to me eyes in muck
So gobble gobble gobble goes the turkey and
Wanka wanka wanka goes the duck
Jack my pig, he's ever so big, I feeds him caster oil
He burps and he farts and then he starts to fertilise the soil
Some folks say he is just like me, I think they must be mad
His eyes are smaller and I'm a bit taller and Jack doesn't smell quite so bad
Gobble gobble gobble goes the turkey and
Wanka wanka wanka goes the duck
I'm a filthy farmer and I don't give a.. fiddle-de-de
I've got a lovely set of bullocks and I'm up to me eyes in muck
So gobble gobble gobble goes the turkey and
Wanka wanka wanka goes the duck
Parson Grey came 'round one day and he strolled into the dairy
Looked all about and pulling on a cow was my little milkmaid Mary
"You must be proud" said the parson out loud, "Of wonderful udders like those"
"How does she yeild?" I said "Twice on the field
And the cow's not bad either, I suppose"
Gobble gobble gobble goes the turkey (gobble gobble)
Wanka goes the duck (wanka wanka)
I'm a filthy farmer and I don't give a fiddler's pluck
You should see my smallholding i'm up to me eyes in muck
So gobble gobble gobble goes the turkey and
Wanka wanka wanka goes the duck
I've got a bull called Maurice but I think he's a bit like that
So I made a date for the artificial inseminator, the bull and the bowler hat
The fellow came down gave squirt all 'round and then he's on his way
The cows got the hump 'cause a bicycle pump ain't as good as the old fashioned way
'ere, look at all those heffers in the field over there
The vet gave m' sheep an aphrodisiac to make the ewes feel randy
It worked like a charm and the sheep went barmy and the poor old ram's gone bandy
I said to the missus what a fine thing this is, what can them tablets be
She said I don't know dear but come over here 'cause they tasted like cough-drops to me
Gobble gobble gobble goes the turkey and
Wanka wanka wanka goes the duck
I'm a filthy farmer and I don't give a.. fiddle-de-de
You should see my smallholding i'm up to me eyes in muck
So gobble gobble gobble goes the turkey and
Wanka wanka wanka goes the duck
Gobble gobble gobble goes the turkey and
Wanka wanka wanka goes the duck
With 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 More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
THE OTHER EDUCATED MONKEY (Humorous Monologue)
My mother likes family reunions
Last Wednesday my sister came calling
With her husband Keith who's all kneecaps and teeth
And little Billy who's simply appalling
He's about as much fun as cystitis
He's a fouth-mouthed vindictive young skiver
But Mum said "Listen you, take the child to the zoo"
And young Billy said "Thanks Uncle Ivor"
Well three Mars bars later we got to the bus
He had four sausage rolls on the train
And a cornet or two; then he spewed in the queue for the zoo and was hungry again
So I showed him the llamas, the seals and iguanas
The ocelot, wombat and stoat
With a nose full of finger he seemed reluctant to linger
And he wern't interested in 'owt
I said "Oh what a drag you are
Come and look at the jaguar
And the panda, it seems almost human"
He said "It's no small surprise,
the black rings round its eyes make it look a bit like Gary Numan"
Well I remembered the story of Albert
Who was ate by a lion it's told
So I left little William by the tigers pavillion
And round to the monkeys I strolled
There was one great big monkey who sat by himself
I mused is he chimp or gorilla?
He basked in the sun as he munched on a bun
And was reading the Daily Mirror
I looked at the monkey and he looked at me
There were nobody there but us two
I winked and he winked
And I waved and he waved
And he looked and he said "I know you"
"You're that fella who plays ukelele
And follows a w*nker's career
My friends the baboons know all of your tunes
We've got all your records in here"
I said "Hang on a minute, here's a cage and you're in it, and you're talking"
And the monkey said "Aye"
"How on earth can you do it?"
He said "Son there's nowt to it, but I don't do it much 'cos I'm shy"
I said "Eee by heck, does the keeper know that you can talk?"
He said "Nay and theres one thing for sure
he's not going to neither 'cos he'd just take a breather and leave me to do the guided tour"
"But a monkey who talks is fantastic", said I
"Let me tell the whole world right away
You could be a celebrity .. and meet Russell Harty. You'd be famous"
But the monkey said "Nay"
"I've seen quite sufficient of that there outside world on a TV the keeper installed
And you can stick your urban culture up the oviduct of a vulture
'Cos I don't think much to it at all"
"Mind you .. I never thought much to the jungle as such
Dark and steamy and pissing wet through
So one day I thought I've had enough, Ill write to David Attenborough
And I finished up here in the zoo"
"I've got six wives, a warm cage, free dinners, the papers
I'm happy and safe from the hunters
And it really is grand to crap in your hand
And fling it through the bars at the punters"
"I eat when Im hungry, I drink when Im dry
Pull my pudding when I feel inclined
It's a real gravy train, but I cant say the same
For the world that you buggers designed"
"Injustice, corruption, pollution, Max Bygraves
Intolerance and capitalist enslavlerment
Downing Streets barmy residents and B-movie presidents
And poodle crap all over the pavements"
"Jevovah's sodding witnesses banging on doors
Jack mopeds that sound like a Stuka
And Australians who wander around pissed and chunder
On the table when you're trying to play snooker."
"Jumped up hi-fi salesmen who call you Sir, when what they mean really is twat
Kids who crayon on cars, I can piss through the bars on the whole bloody miserable lot"
"The unspeakable horror of a family Christmas
Incidents down at the Palais when a 7-foot tall skinhead comes up to you and says
"Here, four-eyes, have you been staring at my girlfriend?"
You say "No, of course not"
He says "So, you prat, you think there is something wrong with her do you?"
And you end up with a mouthful of fist
"Far away from the rabble, we sit and play scrabble, or cribbage, or Cluedo, or whist
We do amateur Gilbert and Sullivan, a philosophical discussion or two
I might put up my feet and idly complete the crossword the keeper can't do"
Of course during the day, we put on a show for the public, you know wanking and defaecation
But when they've all pissed off home, we're left on our own for an evening of fun and recreation"
"We do pottery, Kung-Fu, darts and yoga. Charabanc trips on holidays and high days
Or we go round in gangs to the orang-utans because it's wife-swapping Wednesdays and Fridays"
And then he looked past me and he swiveled his eyes and whispered "Eh up, dont say 'owt".
For coming in view was my little nephew and I went and shook him warmly by the throat
"Look at that funny monkey" said William
"Weren't the lions hungry?" I replied and gripping his mit which was covered with... jam
I lead the young hooligan outside
Now it could have been my imagination because it had been a long afternoon
But did I hear a voice say, as we wandered away "Ta'ra lad then, see thee soon"
Now all the way back I was thinking. When I got home I'd made up my mind
Life's a pain in the dong and I'm sure I don't belong in a world that I never designed
So I'm buying a fur suit and a ladder and I'm certain for once and for all
I'm leaving behind this world's weary grind and I'm hopping in over the wall
So the next time that you pay a visit to your relatives down in the zoo
Look around carefully and you'll probably see one or two of them looking at you
And you might even find that there's two special monkeys and who knows it happen could be
That the one of them reading the Mirror is him and the one reading Penthouse is me
With Chas C. Ambler R.N.B. Pianoforte
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on More Filth! Dirt Cheap...
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
All the above tracks were released on MORE FILTH! DIRT CHEAP... and here are the credits
Recorded at R.M.S. Crystal Palace with Andy Le Vein
Monterey Studios, W7 with Wheezy ted
The Earhole, Dulwich with Alberto Nieddu
Charles Gray
Bigguntone Two Track with Joe Cox
Ivors Jivers are:-
Ted MacDouall - Guitar / Vocal
Chris Perry - Drums
Eddy Masters - Bass
Tony Barker - Harmonica
Vic Donelly - Organ / Piano
Ivors Jivers is the current name of Bigguns 'Live' backing group. A thirsty bunch of gnarled 1960's R & B veterans who perform benefit gigs for "Rock Against Rehearsals". In the past they have appeared as "The Surfing Wombats", "The Concrete Parachutes", "Buster Hymen & The Penetrators", "Dickie Arrogant & The Fierce Wild Beasts", "The Dreadful Grate", "Adam & The Uncles" and once, indesperation as "Next Years Big Thing".
Success has so far eluded this difficult-to-describe ensemble who have probably done more than any other group to promote the installation of Juke-Boxes in pubs. Described as "a musical Neutron Bomb", they remove all traces of life but leave buildings standing.
Bunty and The Bangers are:-
Richard Stevens - Drums
Steve greetham - Guitar / Bass
Pete Nu - Piano / Synthesiser
Bunty & The Bangers are a very little-known Acton Rastafarian Reggae band. So far no major organization has expressed any interest in them, apart from the Klu-Klux-Klan.
They share their obscurity with the Beggars Banquet All-Stars. Some people suggest that this name is merely a con-trick designed specifically to make folks think there might be famous artists appearing under false names. Guitarists Eric "Slow-hand" Hendrix and Sting Townsend both deny this.
The Red-Nosed Burglars are:-
Jeremy Burrett, Keith William Brown, Chris Routledge, Graham Louer, Alex Hughes, John the florist and Geoff the bus-driver. They sort-of sing.
The Red-Nosed Burglars were singing in a Gents in Darlington, renowned for its remarkable acoustics, when Ivor discovered them. He was so amazed by their unbelievable vocal technique and unusual harmonies that he almost dropped his felt tipped pen. They are outstanding in a field of their own... and... indeed... sound much better when they ARE out, standing in a field, on their own.
The Burglarettes are:-
Roxina Cheeky Kat, Aphrodite Loombucket and, of course, Miss Amelia Blowhard
The Burglarettes also often accompany Ivor... but never where it's dark. Their oral contributions spotlight the Talented Tonsils of Miss Amelia Blowhard whom Ivor first met at the Macclesfield Palais-de-danse in a "ladies excuse-me" (he was helping to get the door un-jammed).
The Atomic Piles are:-
Ted and Eddy plus...
Norman Marsh - Drums
Dean Klevatt* of Kansas City - Piano / Organ / Synth
*This man is Famous and plays with the very lovely Lene Lovich
As for the Atomic Piles... well... they are a bit of a pain in the a*se and that includes the fall-out.
These talented musicians also played a blinder:-
Chas Ambler - Piano and lunatic percussion
Charles C. Ambler is a talented Putney-ite and has no shame. He appears, for money alone, under his own name.
Johnny G - Mandolin / cultured ad-lib voice
Andy Sleak - Synthesiser fanfare
Robert Calvert - greasy Sax
Randy McDonald - extra-greasy Sax
Gary Numan does not appear on this record
Special guests:-
Buster S. Bat - 1952 Royal Enfield Bullet
Dan L. Bum-lid - Bently Rhythm Ace
Dirty Johnny Dickens - filthy noise
Various West London Dogs - Vocal (Richard III)
Uncle Hans with his Blasphe-mouse Rhapsody of Rodents (the first musical ensemble in the world to be entirely immune to warfarin) come from the little Bavarian town of Dummkopf-Schweinhundt. Pierre Foofe, however, comes from the French cabbage growing region of Les Phartres and his next release will be his own interpretation of Stevie Wonder's "Master Blaster", which may well be impossible to record indoors.
Terrific Teddy & Doncaster Slim are two albino blues legends, whose work has been deservedly neglected until now.
Mr Biggun plays:-
Piano / Gargling / Acoustic, Electric, 12 String, Bass and Slide Guitars / Ukelele-banjo / Glockenspiel / Autoharp etc... (...but not very well)
Mr. Biggun is a distant relative of Elvis Costello
The Executive Producer was:-
Wally Loo-Coins (anag.) and didn't he do a splendid job?
This record is dedicated to two heroes. Chester Arthur Burnette (decd.) & Brendan Clarke... the long-suffering landlord of the 'Swan' Fulham Broadway
This whole album was originally cut & mastered at :Tape One" by The Fabulous "Little" Jack Adams
There's not much room here to thank Ray Wood.. 50's Flash.. Rockin' Rex.. "Rock On!".. David Gordon & the Ealing Gazette.. Lullabye of Broadway, W13.. Relay Records.. Moondogs.. Dave Simms Music.. The Top Ten Record Bar, Levershulme, Manchester & "Discoveries", Harrow
........................................................................................................................................................................................
Well the blues is a musical form where you sing the first line two times
I said, the blues is a musical form where you sing the first line two times
That gives you eight whole bars... and a twiddly bit
To think up a last line that rhymes... with it
I'm gonna play a blues guitar solo with my face contorted with pain
I'm gonna play a blues guitar solo with my face contorted with pain
'Cos my gal done left me, I lost my job and my piles have flared up again
I got the piles so bad that it hurts my bum when I sneeze
I got the piles so bad they're slappin' against the backs of my knees
I got the piles so bad (I know) I just can't change 'em
And you can't cure piles you can only re-arrange 'em
I got piles of trouble
In my heart and in my soul (Heart Soul! Heart Soul! Heart Soul!)
I got piles of trouble... bum bum bum
I know I can't cure 'em and I know I never will
I've tried dynamite, red-hot pokers and a Black & Decker drill
I've tried sandpaper and a blow-lamp all around my anal area
And hydrochloric acid and a hungry Jack Russell terrier
I got piles of trouble
In my heart and in my soul (Heart Soul! Heart Soul! Heart Soul!)
I got piles of trouble... bum bum bum
Yes, good people, I've got piles of trouble. No wonder that the most miserable animal in history was called a Tyranno-sore-arse. My mum said I could cure piles if I stuck tea-leaves up my arse. But tea-leaves only made 'em worse. I went to the doctor and he took a look. He said "It's piles all right, and you're going to meet a tall, dark stranger and go on a long journey".
I got the piles so bad, I'm doubled up in pain
I got the piles so bad I'm walking like John Wayne
I got the piles so bad it's drivin' me bonkers
My bum looks like a big blue rubber glove that's full of conkers
I got piles of trouble
In my heart and in my soul (Heart Soul! Heart Soul! Heart Soul!)
I got piles of trouble... bum bum bum
Thank you, thank you, thank you... thankyou from the heart of my bottom...
With The Sugar Beet Boys
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Stiff Weapon
Lyrics reprinted by permission of Stiff Weapon
It is illegal to reprint the lyrics without permission of the publisher
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
YOU CAN'T HAVE A SNOG WITH A SNOWMAN (A Clean Version)
Well you can't have a snog with a snowman
'Cos his heart is made of snow
And it's just snow joke
From a frozen bloke
And he'll say "no" to an Eskimo
If you go where the wild blizzards blow, man
Well he just won't want to play
For the simple reason
That if he stops freezin'
Then he just might melt away.
Well you can't have a snog with a snowman
It's a plain and simple rule
'Cos if you cuddle
He'll turn to a puddle
And so he just can't lose his cool
Oh he might be a sweet whisper low man.
At minus ten degrees
Though he might be willin'
He's much too chillin'
And you'll need some antifreeze.
No No No! If you sit on his knee, could be
You'll get him miffed.
Snow Snow Snow! You'll get your assets frozen,
Just supposin' you get my drift.
So the next time that you make a snowman
Make a nice snow-lady too
Uh Oh so nice
From snow and Ice
For the snowman to love true.
And Santa Claus the Ho Ho Ho man
Will take them on his sleigh
To hug and squeeze
Where the penguins freeze
At the North Pole far away
At the North Pole far away
Written by Ivor Biggun
Copyright c 2006 Ivor Biggun
Published by Stiff Weapon
Lyrics reprinted by permission of Stiff Weapon
It is illegal to reprint the lyrics without the permission of the publisher
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
Songs from PARTNERS IN GRIME
This track is actually broadcastable! (sorry fans!!). Recorded at RMS, SE25 by Andy LeVien with Ivor demonstrating his Big Bopper to all and sundry... (It's real loose like a long-necked goose). Produced by Dermot Shanahan & Louise. Piano by John Sweet.
Hello baby... eerm yes, this is Ivor Biggun speaking
Ooh, you little bobby dazzler, do I what?
Will I what? I'd probably do myself a mischief but
Ooh baby you know what I like..
Chantilly lace and a pretty face
And a pony-tail a-hanging down
And a wiggle in her walk
And a giggle in her talk
Oh heck it makes the world go 'round
There ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl
To make me act so funny make me spend my money
Make me feel real loose like a long necked goose
Ooh baby you know what I like
Eerm... I beg your pardon but... but... but me bicycle's broken
But... but... oh you cheeky pup you should be ashamed of yourself
Ooh baby you know what I like
Chantilly lace and a pretty face
And a pony-tail a-hanging down
And a wiggle in her walk
And a giggle in her talk
Oh mother it makes the world go 'round
There ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl
To make me act so funny make me spend my money
Make me feel real loose like a long necked goose
Like a girl ooh baby that's what I like
Eerm... what's that honey? Pick you up at eight and don't be late
But I ain't got no money, honey and my mum insists that I'm in bed by half-past ten
What's that? Ooh baby you know what I like...
Chantilly lace and a pretty face
And a pony-tail a-hanging down
And a wiggle in her walk
And a giggle in her talk
By gum it makes the world go 'round
There ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl
To make me act so funny make me spend my money
Make me feel real loose like a long necked goose
Like a girl ooh baby that's what I like
With Ivors Jivers
Written by J. P. Richardson
Published by Southern Music Ltd.
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on Partners In Grime
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
"Mission Control (Captain Sensible) was recorded in a rehearsal room (Tin Pan Alley Studios by Chris Brandy) on a liberated BBC tape and the tape chopped up with razorblades to make it fit in the right places. Nowadays you'd do it with a sampler in seconds. It took me and Jilly B a whole day. The war-mongering Yankee b*st*rd & the blood-crazed Russian baby eater are portrayed by Vince Blaglamp - recorded by Geoff Owen Mobile. The derisive shout is provided by the Bradford Abbas Alcohol Abusers. Everything else recorded & mixed at Bigguntone."
Mission Control at Mablethorpe TEN
Good ship Herpes on the launching pad NINE
Some syrup of figs from m' Grandma EIGHT
An' trouser-clips from m' dad SEVEN
Seconds away from blast off PIG
Waiting for the final command FIVE
Sitting here in a tin can FOUR
With me helmet in me hand THREE
Final check-up on me modules TWO
And the best of British Luck ONE
Eer, hang on a minute! I've changed me mind...
Get shut of I'm Oh f*ck!
And I'm floatin' in a most peculiar way
I'm heading for Uranus so it's really not your day
To boldly go where no bold bastard ever boldly flew
But I've got to get back by Tuesday 'cos me lib'ry book's overdue
This is your Captain speaking...
What's your height and attitude?
I'm five foot seven in me Y-fronts and pig-ignorant and rude
What's the status of your airlocks?
Eer, they're danglin' in the breezes
Are you yanking on your joystick?
No! I'm dodging Zanussi freezers...
What course are you taking for the asteroids?
Suppositories twice daily
Have you seen the comets?
No, I haven't even seen Bill Haley
But I'm floating in a most peculiar way
An' feeling Major Tom and dick
As the capsule starts to sway
You can't spew down the lavatory in zero gravity
You've got to heave in the Hoover
I've been 'round Venus with me hands on me penis
Looking for a docking manoevure
We have a small problem Herpes
Eyoop! The light's gone out!
We're losing radio contact...
Well, I'll open up the window and shout...
The chip pan's alight, me biro won't write
The android's blown a circuit
Me inflatable lady has just sprung a leak
And I haven't got a puncture repair kit
Oh bollocks! This is Ivor Biggun
Hello Mission Control
I've bust me ukelele
And I can't find the toilet roll
Now where's my little portable job?
I might feel better if I twiddle the knob
By Jupiter Mr. President
Just look at the radar glass
It-ain't-one-of-ours-so-it-must-be-one-of-theirs
So let's press a button and bust some ass
Igor Beaver sonofabitch, there on the radar look
A million Yankee missiles press-a-button-and-blow-'em-all-to...
Oooh dear, planet Earth just blew and there's nothing I can do
And just to think I only came up her to get an aerial view
Over the Sutton-On-Sea nudist beach
Isn't life full of surprises...
I'm floating in a most peculiar way...
Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL STUDIO SHEET
" You'll see that the words are a bit different here as well. Hmmm... the nudist camp was in Sutton On Sea in the released version (nearer to Mablethorpe than Rotherham)."
With The Spiders from Market Rasen and starring Captain Sensible as Mission Control
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on Partners In Grime
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
THE MAJORCA SONG (Just-About-Broadcastable-Version)
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... With lyrics as clean as a blue flag beach!
Uno, dos, tres Suzy Quatro
Every year when summer is here
I save up m' money and fly
To the land of the sun for some vino and fun
Where the girls have a twinkle in their eye
Buenos knockers por favor
As I sniff up the breezes
There's a whiff in the air
Of ambro solaire
And Julio Inglesias
All day I eat risotto and pose around on the beach
At night I'm multo blotto and incapable of speech
But I'm going back to Majorca
To the prettiest girl that I've found
She nearly went crackers
When I shook my maraccas
And waved my sombrero around
She was topless, I was legless, we boogied the moonlight away
Oh that corker I met in Majorca
Oh blimey, O' Reilly, olé
I said that corker I met in Majorca
Oh blimey, O' Reilly, olé
Olé, 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
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... silly sausage
I wear reflective sunglasses and peep at the girls lots and lots
But I never drink the water in case I get the trots
So I'm going back to Majorca
For some sangria, sunshine and 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 that corker I met in Majorca
Oh blimey, O' Reilly, olé
I said that corker I met in Majorca
Oh blimey, O' Reilly, olé
But when I get back to Gatwick
With me duty free and air sickness pills
I'll dream of that sweet senorita
Whose kisses were sweeter than la dolce vita
'Cause she thought I was Adrian Mills
With Ivors Jivers
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Originally released on a single
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
The Quintet-de-Hot-Club-de Grimethorpe are Bob B.B. Salmons - Guitar, R.G. Cox - Uke, Dixton P. Salmons - Bass, Gary Smith - Guitar, Harry Grounghog Smith - Lap Steel Guitar and Phil E. Stein - Violin. All recorded at Bigguntone. The Pubiquaires are Norma Lee Soba, Creeping Al O'Petia & (from Ghana) Hugh J'Nobbonim. Mixed at St. Mary Studio, Perivale.
The kind of men that women need
Are built for comfort, not for speed
Sixty minute man, he's a sixty minute man
Sixty minute man, he's a sixty minute man
Look a-here gals I'm telling you now
They call me lovin' Dan
I'll rock 'em roll 'em all night long
He's a sixty minute man
And if you don't believe I'm all I say
Come up and take my hand
And when I let you go you'll cry
"Oh yeah... he's a sixty minute man"
There'll be fifteen minutes of kissin'
Then you'll holler "Please don't stop"
Fifteen minutes of teasin'
Fifteen minutes of squeezin'
And fifteen minutes of blowin' my top
If your man ain't treatin' you right
Come up and see ol' Dan
I'll rock 'em roll 'em all night long
'Cause I'm a sixty minute man
Sixty minute man, sixty minute man
Look a-here girls I'm telling you now
They call him lovin' Dan
He'll rock ya, roll ya all night long
I'm a sixty minute man
And if you don't believe a word I say
Come up and take his... hand
And when he lets you go you'll holler
"Whoa... he's a sixty minute man"
There'll be fifteen minutes of kissin'
Then you holler "Please don't stop"
Fifteen minutes of pleasin'
Fifteen minutes of teasin'
And fifteen minutes of blowin' his top
If your man ain't treatin' you right
Go up and see ol' Dan
He'll rock 'em roll 'em all night long
He's a sixty minute man
Sixty... minute man...
They call him... lovin' Dan
A rock... a roll... all night long
He's a sixty minute man
Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL STUDIO SHEET
"There's some very flashy chords in there. Not played by me, I might add"
With The Quintet de Hot Club de Grimethorpe featuring Norma Sarsonner & The Pubiquaires
Written by Marks and Ward
Published by Lark Music Ltd.
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on Partners In Grime
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
A Bigguntone backing track. Everything else done by Chris Skornia at PBS, West Drayton. Ted was paid cash-in-hand, no V.A.T. and exceeded his estimate by 50%
I always have been handy, I did a bit of do it myself
Until it knackered my eyesight and compromised my health
Then a geezer popped his napper, over the garden wall
"Good day", he said "My name is Ted
Can I be of any help at all?"
Well I should have said, "No ta, no thanks, no probs"
But instead I told 'im all my little jobs
An' now he's round my house as soon as I walk out my door
Rippin' my missuses drawer's out and banging on the bedroom floor
He's Toolbag Ted from Birkenhead, the randy handy man
He walks in when I walk out
And does a bloody sight better than ever I can
When a lady says "I'm desperate
An' only your spanner will do"
Old Ted he sems to understand
He bolts 'round at their command
With his nuts held tightly in his hand
Rub rub, hammer hammer, bang, screw
Where does he get the energy?
How can he manage it all?
He flashes all around the chimney
He hammers up and down the hall
If a lady's got a problem
That's been troubling her all day
An expert prod with his dyno-rod
And the problem goes away
Mi-ssis Brown she called him on the phone
"Oh please come round my husbands not at home..."
He re-arranged her portico
And banged her beam all day
Stripping her chimney breast out
And sticking in his R.S.J.
He's Toolbag Ted from Birkenhead, the randy handy-man
No job too big, no job too small
He'll be there whenever he can
And if a damsel in distress says "What am I to do?"
He services her every need
With charm, discretion, tact and speed
And satisfaction guaranteed
Rub rub, hammer hammer, bang, screw
Look at that easy action!
Look at that grace and style!
As a general rule his expert tool
Makes all the ladies smile
He's pulling out his plunger
And pumping fit to burst
In the capable hands of Toolbag Ted
The customer comes first
This merry Merseysider is always making housecalls
The ladies ring his number and this randy handy scouse calls
Some husbands do not like it when he does what he does best
But most let him get on with it, they're grateful for the rest
And aren't you glad, when an expert comes to call
And sorts out your old boiler and doesn't charge at all?
And in her darkest corners he will make a final stand
Halfway up her skirting with his stopcock in his hand
Toolbag Ted from Birkenhead, the randy handy-man
A knight in shining overalls
He'll be there whenever he can
He never leaves a job half done and always sees it through
A set of drawers might need a knob
A whatsit need a thingummy bob
In fact he's always on the job
Rub rub, hammer hammer, bang, screw
Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL STUDIO SHEET
"Here's Toolbag Ted... again with the odd word different. I think my favourite line is the 'Knight in shining overalls'."
With the D-Cups
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on Partners In Grime
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
WHERE DID THE LEAD IN MY PENCIL GO?
Where did the lead in my pencil go?
Who stole the plonker from my banjo?
Tell me please 'cos I really gotta know
Who broke the string on my yo-yo?
I was a real humdinger when i was young
Women buzzing 'round me like flies 'round dung
I had a black bomber jacket and a gold medallion
Henry Cooper aftershave and balls like a stallion
But now I'm past my prime
He's a bugger is Old Man Time
I can't shift my gears like I did before
The tiger in me tank won't even roar
And I can't push me pedal right down to the floor
And the goddam piston won't pump no more
Who got me muscles and turned them into jelly?
Took 'em off me arms and wrapped 'em 'round me belly
Who took the slider from me old trombone?
Who bent the needle on me gramophone?
Who broke the bone that the doctor can't mend?
Who took the credit from me flexible friend?
Who took the wind out of my balloon?
Who took me cucumber and left me with a prune
I'll make a most vulgar sign
If I ever meet Old Man Time
I can't shift my gears like I did before
The tiger in me tank won't even roar
And I can't push me pedal right down to the floor
And the goddam piston won't pump no more
My rhubard was rigid, it thrusted through the custard
But my rhubard's crumbled and I'm ffff flippin' disgusted
I'm a creaking squeaking, leaking antique
My spirit's willing but my flesh is weak
But when I die and they lay me out
With flowers and weeping women all about
Some of those women might point and grin
And say "Look rigor mortis is setting in
To waste it would be a crime
He's a bugger is Old Man Time"
My mother said that to keep good health
I nevr, never should abuse myself
And if I had a W. a enn kay
I'd shorten my life by one whole day
Well actually if that were true
I should have died in nineteen fifty two
So really I'm doing fine
And bugger you Old Man Time
Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL STUDIO SHEET
"It begins with the hellishly difficult "What cha gonna DOOO 'bout it" ripped-off-riff... Sorry to the Small Faces and Solomon Burke. Again, there's a word or two different. This is the sheet that BLUES AND JAZZ LEGEND Dick Heckstall-Smith had to try and make sense of. And he did!"
With Ivors Jivers & The Brassoles (neither use nor hornament).
Recorded at Triplex, Acton by Gavin Lewis. Nigel Appleton - Drums and Mick Phillips - Bass.
The Brassoles are Colin Brind - Trombone, Brian Gulland - Sax and Dick Heckstall-Smith - Sax
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on Partners In Grime
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
"What do you find in men's trousers and on billiard tables?"
"Pockets!"
"Well, that's not the answer I was expecting but gentlemen,
It reminds me of a song..."
"Well sing, you b*gger, sing"
A poor old snooker player
Stood with hand on cue
His balls before him
Red, yellow, black and blue
A cruel barman
He sneered and dimmed the light
Please leave those balls alone
You'll play no more tonight
The chalk-stained veteran
He turned with anxious gaze
His game half over
His balls still on the baize
His eyes they filled with tears
His heart with pain
And as they flung him out
He sang this sad refrain
Oh please, oh please don't take my balls away
I used to play with them at least ten times a day
Once they were lovely but now they're old and grey
Oh please don't take my precious balls away
The busty barmaid
An Irish lass named Mabel
Said "Pick up your balls please
Don't leave them on the table
Though I have travelled far
From the Dublin shore
I've never seen such dirty balls before
Chorus
It's cruel winter
Outside the blizzard squalls
Oh landlord, give me time
To pocket all my balls
The icy wind doth blow
And if I roam
I may not have my balls
When I get home
Chorus
Next day they found him
The snow lay all around
They searched in vain, too late
His balls could not be found
They laid him by the fire
They watched him thaw
Then through the chilblains
He sang this song once more
Chorus
Click here to see IVOR's ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT
"As you can see, the original title was a bit more clever, but since I used to try and keep Doc and Ivor as separate entities, we looked around for another title and I think that Jilly suggested the alternative."
"The Red Nosed Burglars were the Grasshoppers again at the same session as 'Ukelelelelelele Man'. The piano player was a BBC engineer and is now rather high-up in the wacky world of television, I'm told. When we used to do this 'live' we had a sheet with the words on for the audience to read. This was often held up by a gorgeous girl called Freda. On one occasion she held it up whilst wearing a rubber nurses outfit and hardly anybody sang, because they couldn't concentrate."
With The Red-Nosed Burglars and Mr. Nicholas Robinson (Piano Grade 1 failed) on the ivory keys. Recorded by Ian Shaw at Grannies, Fulham.
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Original version released on Partners In Grime
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
And here are the PARTNERS IN GRIME credits...
Ivors Jivers (The Wonder Band) more-or-less consist of...
Charismatic Chris Perry - Drums / Fearless Phil Drury - good Guitar / R. George Cox - not so good Guitar / Enigmatic Eddy Masters - Bass / Pete 'The Professor' Terry - Keyboards / Tony 'Blues Boy' Barker - Blues Harp (except when too p*ss*d to perform, when substitutes were fielded.
The Red-Nosed Burglars are... regulars from the 'Swan', Fulham...plus...some of the Amazing Rhythm Burglars... John Penny, Otis, Tom from Dead Badger, Les 'Snapper' Wilson & members of the Twickenham Grasshoppers RFC... Vicky Bird... Paw...Stef... Billy Bones... Andy the roadie... Tony & Pete... and a cast of thousands!
Bigguntone 4-track Studios (guaranteed non-digital) provided many of the musical backings. Mr. Biggun (experienced as he is at playing with himself) multi-tracked various ill-tuned instruments and he is entirely to blame.
Produced by Jilly B.
Special thanks to:-
Les Wilson - cover photograph
Tape One - disc cutting
Tony Brainsby - publicity
The Majorcan Tourist board
Ealing Music Centre
Gary Bushell, Dr. Demento, Tom & Plug (the world's most unrealistic policemen (see sleeve)... and Fletcher the polecat. The whole revolting exercise is dedicated to Mr. George Wright of Sheffield... Ivors grandad.
This ‘live’ version of ‘Dr Clap’, a cautionary tale in a ragamuffin rub-a-dub style, was recorded in front of a small but noisy, blind drunk audience in a boozer in Southall, Middlesex and was one of the Vulgar Band's first live gigs. Ivor dun the recording himself, on portable gear, and despite the fact that you can’t hear his guitar (or maybe because of it) it has captured the atmosphere very well. You can almost smell the St. Bruno and the big white mothballs in the gent’s urinals. There's some drunk shouting "Manchester!" on it... goodness knows why. The filthy gag in the middle comes from a book of rugby jokes that Ivor was given at a previous gig, by the man making the bird noises at this one. The song appeared originally in a very ropey studio version on the "W*nker’s Rock’n’Roll" E.P, and this vastly superior attempt is now released 'due to popular demand'.
Well if you've got something wrong
With the end of your dong
And a pain in your old chap
Send for, send for, send for Dr. Clap
If you're feeling grotty
And your dongler's spotty
That's no great mishap
Send for, send for, send for Dr. Clap
If you've got a throb in the end of your knob
And it's dangling like a strap
Send for, send for, send for Dr. Clap
If you've got a pain or a varicose vein
Where it didn't ought to be
You gotta send for, send for, send for Clap M.D.
'Cause he's the man who will make you good as new
He's the man who will cure you of your ills
He's the man who will paint your privates blue
He's got a great big hypodermic and some great big pills
Well if you're feeling grotty
And your dongler's spotty
Well that's no great mishap
Send for, send for, send for Dr. Clap (In a Babylon)
Ad-lib rap
You gotta send for, send for, send for Dr. Clap
Performed by Ivor's Jivers
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Previously unreleased version
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun
THE WINKER'S ROCK 'N' ROLL (Live)
This was recorded "live" at the "Gun Tavern" in Croydon, digitally recorded and edited by Tim Beaton. It comes from the same session as the "Live" section of the Handling Swollen Goods album.
Now when I was a kid in 1956
My big brother showed m' some disgusting tricks
Sitting in the bathroom on my own
Wanking to the rhythm of m' 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 wanker's rock 'n' roll
Well I tried to do the shimmy and 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 wanker's rock 'n' roll
Ad lib
Give me a 'W'
Please give me an 'A'
Now give me an 'N'
Can you guess what it is yet?
Now give me a 'K'
Please give me an 'E'
Now give me a 'R'
And stick 'em all together and what's that spell?
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
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 wanker's rock 'n' roll
I've got Great Balls Of Fire
I've got blisters on me palms
I've got the Willie And The Hand-Jive
And muscular arms
The Teds call me "Wanker"
When I'm walking down the street
'Cause I love to jerk me gherkin
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 wanker's rock 'n' roll
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 wanker's rock 'n' roll
Performed by Ivor Biggun and The Vulgar Band
Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers
Previously unreleased version
Available on the CD album More Fruity Bits - The Rest of Ivor Biggun