Partners In Grime

(Let’s All)HIDE THE SAUSAGE (Rap Version)

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…
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

Well a little chippolata
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 wanker just…
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

Everybody
Hide the sausage, come on and hide the sausage
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

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


(NOBODY DOES IT LIKE) THE UKULELE MAN

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 ukulele
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 Ukulele 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 Ukulele 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 fiddle
s 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 Ukulele 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 Ukulele 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 Ukulele 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 Ukulele Man

“I’ve got crate of his 78’s and I’m his greatest fan”

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


CHANTILLY LACE

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

Written by J. P. Richardson
Published by Southern Music Ltd.
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


HALFWAY UP VIRGINIA

Now I’m just an old hillbilly boy, I ain’t no city slicker
My interests is incest, bestiality and liquor
I live on grits and catfish that muck around in the fountains
And I’m just a cont-cont-country boy and I fuck 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

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 gingham 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 cunt 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 fuck 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…

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


THE PUSSY SONG

Here pussy, pussy…
Miaow miaow miaow miaow

My girl has got a pussy
She keeps it hid from view
And everywhere that she goes
That pussy 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 pussy
That I love to stroke and rub”
But pussy 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 pussy 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 pussy that I thought was mine

Miaow… pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy

I miss that little pussy
It filled me with delight
But now I never see pussy 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 pussy 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 pussy that I thought was mine

Miaow… pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


PROBING ANDROMEDA

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 fuck!

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 manoeuvre

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 ukulele
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…

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


THE MAJORCA SONG

Unos, dos, tres Suzy Quatro

Every year when summer is here
I save up m’ money and fly
To the land of the sun, fornication 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 parasols, I prat around on the beach
All night I’m pissed 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 maracas
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 wanker
I wear reflective sunglasses to secretly stare at the tits
But I never drink the water, in case I get the shits

I’m going back to Majorca
To get up to m’ scrotum 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

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


SIXTY MINUTE MAN

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

Written by Rose Marks and Billy Ward
Published by Lark Music Ltd.
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


TOOLBAG TED FROM BIRKENHEAD

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 seems 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

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


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 rhubarb was rigid, it thrusted through the custard
But my rhubarb’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 never, 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

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


CUE FOR A SONG

“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 bugger, 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

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


I’VE GOT A MONSTER

“‘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 plonkers
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 fornicate
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.

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


GUMS AND PLUMS (live)

Well 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
You’ll notice I’m wearing glasses

For my name is Ivor Biggun and
I sing about them tits and them bums
Whoa now 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
A man of effluence and style
My ‘je ne sais quoi’ is obvious
‘Cause it sticks out a mile

Whoa my name is Ivor Biggun and
I sing about them tits and them bums
Whoa now you know my name you’d better
Get your gums around my plums

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 my name is Ivor Biggun and
I got my mojo workin’ well
Well you can press my button
Press my button and ring my bell

Well Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun
Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun
Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun, Ivor Biggun
I’m moderately well endowed
I’m Britain’s champion wanker
I’m renowned throughout the land
Everybody knows my name
But nobody wants to shake my hand

Whoa my name is Ivor Biggun and
I sing about them tits and them bums
Whoa now you know my name you’d better
Get your gums… around my plums

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


JOHN THOMAS ALLCOCK (live)

Spoken introduction

John Thomas Allcock
He lived north-east of Whitstable
He’s got that certain something
That the girls find irresit-stible
He’s a fine upstanding fella
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
He keeps it in his trousers tightly curled
It’s a yard-and-a-half if it’s a inch
And it’s more when it’s unfurled
He’s the man with the biggest plonker in the world

John Thomas Allcock
At school the kids all gathered ’round
And said “Please tell us what is that
Behind you, trailing on the ground?”
He said it was a python and
It had got the mumps
He stuck 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”

And that’s what’s known as Further Education
But you don’t get a certificate for it

Because… he was… the one and only…
The man… the man… talkin’ ’bout the man…
The man with the biggest plonker in the world
He keeps it in his trousers tightly curled
It’s a yard-and-a-half if it’s a inch
And it’s more when it’s unfurled
He’s the man with the biggest plonker in the world

John Thomas Allcock
He grew up and he went to sea
Modelling for masts
And for chimneys for the admiralty
Then he got married and he had five kids
And it comes as no surprise
He’s got a lovely wife
With a rather strange expression in her eyes

She just stands there and she goes baawaaagh…
And it hardly surprising because she’s married to…
The one and only… the man… the one and only man…
A very extraordinary man…
The man with the biggest plonker in the world
He keeps it in his trousers tightly curled
It’s a yard-and-a-half if it’s a inch
And it’s more when it’s unfurled
He’s the man with the biggest plonker in the world

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 daddies dongler
Dangling through the clouds
And when it’s dark and midnight
You can hear the ladies sigh
And whisper when the ghost
Of old John Tom goes slithering by
Dragging his enormous equipment behind him

Because… they know… that he… is… the…
Man with the biggest plonker in the world
He keeps it in his trousers tightly curled
It’s a yard-and-a-half if it’s a inch
And it’s more when it’s unfurled
He’s the man with the biggest plonker
What an enormous stonker
He’s the man with the biggest plonker in the world

Written by Ivor Biggun
Published by Universal Music Publishing Ltd./ Momentum 3
Lyrics reprinted by permission of the publishers


CUCUMBER NUMBER (Live)

Now come on my children and gather around
I’ll sing about the fruit makes world go ’round
And in the garden of Eden, Eve started the fall
But the fruit that she liked weren’t an apple at all

It was Adam’s cucumber (sing the song)
‘Ee a great cucumber (two feet long)
An enormous cucumber (big and strong)
Great big cucumber (like an elephant’s dong)

In a cucumber frame one cucumber grows
And it stretches from m’ knees up to my nose
It’ll fill up your belly make you feel alright
You can gobble the fruit each and every night
Delicious cucumber (big and strong)
‘Ee a monstrous cucumber (two feet long)
Nice firm cucumber (big and strong)
Enormous cucumber (like an elephant’s dong)

Now down by the Humber
The wife of a plumber
She did the rhumba
On my cucumber
She went and got her neighbours
And a sister or two
And the district nurse and they all said
Ooh look at that cucumber (big and strong)
‘Ee a monstrous cucumber (two feet long)
Great big cucumber (big and strong)
Enormous cucumber (like an elephant’s dong)

My fruity friend satisfied them so
So I got m’ cap and jacket getting ready to go
I said “Did you like my big cucumber?”
They all said “make your cucumber do one more number”
Big cucumber (big and strong)
Great big cucumber (two feet long)
Enormous cucumber (big and strong)
Great big cucumber (like an elephant’s dong)


THE WINKER’S SONG (misprint) (Live)

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 wanker, I’m a wanker
And it does me good like it bloody well should
I’m a wanker, I’m a wanker
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 Herpes
It’s available at any time and it’s absolutely free

And that’s why…
I’m a wanker, I’m a wanker
And it does me good like it bloody well should
I’m a wanker, I’m a wanker
And I’m always pulling my pud’

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 wanked over Italy, I’ve wanked over Spain
I’ve wanked in an omnibus, I’ve even had a wank 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…
I’m a wanker, I’m a wanker
And it does me good like it bloody well should
I’m a wanker, I’m a wanker
And I’m always pulling my pud’

So wankers of the world unite
You’ve nothing to lose except your sight
Pull your pud for the joy of the feeling
Aim for the stars you might hit the ceiling
Remember that walking is the martini of sex
Anytime, anyplace, anywhere
Get in there, it’s perfectly free

I pulled my penis in Torremolinas
I beat my meat in Crete
In Majorca I got such a stalker that I
Wacked it in the street
I’ve bashed the bishop near and far
From Stoke to Sunderland
Its ruined my sight I think I might
End up with a pregnant hand

And that’s why…
I’m a wanker, I’m a wanker
And it does me good like it bloody well should
I’m a wanker, I’m a wanker
And I’m always pulling my pud’


WHERE DID THE LEAD IN MY PENCIL GO? Kazoo Version

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

Get Down

She was sweet sixteen and sharp as a knife
I said where have you been all of my life
She looked at me and she said with scorn
Well for most of it I wasn’t even born
Then she guzzled down her lager and lime
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 stole the slider from me old trombone?
Who broke the needle on me gramophone?

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”

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 mother said that to keep good health
I never, never should abuse myself
And if I had a W. A. N. K.
I’d shorten my life by one whole day
Well actually if that were true
I should have died in nineteen thirty two
So really I’m doing fine
And bugger you Old Man Time


LET’S ALL GET DEMENTED

When Mum locked me in the coal-shed, after the incident
With the chain-saw and the latex rabbit and the girl guides in the tent
She fed me pancakes under the door, she gave me a radio.
I’d drool and smile and swivel that dial to “The Dr Demento Show”.
I’ve stayed tuned-in for twenty years, but now it’s plain as plain,
Aw c’mon Mum and let me out! Compared to him, I’m sane!

Well bless my little pointed head,
I’m howling at the moon.
I’m nutty as a fruitcake when
the Doctor plays my tune.
Dementians and Dementites
From St Lou to Sacramento
Know the wierdo with the beard-o
That the kids all call Demento
Listen each week
And you might just freak and your senses will grow dim
You’ll hit that crackpot jackpot
And end up just like him.
Calling all the Funny Farms, it’s crazy time again.
Bring out the beer.
The Doctor’s here to scramble up your brain.
Oh! Oh! Oh! He’s the guy
The reason why
Your funny-bone was invented
If you’re inclined to lose your mind, well, Let’s All Get Demented!
D-E-M-E-N-T-O Doctor Demento!

He’s the chap that Norman Bates
Would take home to his mum
With songs about “Dead Puppies”
And “Fish Heads” eat ‘em up, yum.
“Crazy Words And Crazy Tune”
Spike Jones and little bit of Punk there
He don’t give a (HONK!) about middle of the road
Unless there’s a “Dead Skunk” there.
Flo and Eddie, Cheech and Chong
And discs that won’t go platinum
Sung by folks that they keep locked up
So other folks can’t get at in ‘em.
Calling all the crazy houses
Every padded cell
I’ve run amuck (quack quack)
I’m Donald Duck
“Napoleon” as well
My My My radio brings me that show that keeps me so contented
I’m King Of The Zulus
I’ve got a screw loose Let’s All Get Demented!
D-E-M-E-N-T-O Doctor Demento!

Exackerly A to “Zacherele”
It’s “Barnes And Barnes” “The Goons”
“Steve Martin” “Shaving Foam”
And “National Lampoon”
“They’re Coming To Take Me Away! Ha! Ha!”
A “Geek With A Neck Like A Pencil”
“Monty Python” “Loudon Wainwright”
“Gumby” “Ogden Edsel”
“Zappa” and “Elvira”
And “Weird Al Yancovic”
It goes to show that Demento
Is one weird son of a (WOOF!)
Calling all around the world
It’s time to get delirious.
Try Doctor D and then you’ll see
“You Cannot Be Serious!”
If you’d complain that he’s insane
He’d be so complimented
Don’t touch that dial!
Go hog wild! Let’s All Get Demented!
D-E-M-E-N-T-O Doctor Demento!


ALPHA PETS JINGLE
Alpha Pets is a pet shop
With so many things to see
Like fishtanks here, pet food there
Fishing tackle, horse feed
Even fish and tank weed
Alpha Pets is a pet shop
With so many things to see

For a huge selection of fish, birds and small animals visit Alpha Pets


THE PUSSY SONG (DEMO)

Miaow miaow miaow miaow
Miaow miaow miaow miaow

My girl has got a pussy
She keeps it hid from view
And everywhere that she goes
That pussy 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 pussy
That I love to stroke and rub”
But pussy wasn’t willing
And it was plain to see
Someone had already been there and
That someone wasn’t me

so.. somebody else is stroking
The pussy 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 pussy that I thought was mine

Miaow… pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy


SUPREME CAT SHOW ADVERT

Hello This is Doc Cox and, if you’re a cat lover like me, you won’t want to miss the major event of the feline year. Ye, it’s the Supreme Cat Show. Come and see the cream of the cat world, the pedigrees, the new breeds and don’t forget the moggies:- this show has them all. You can also browse among the trade stands and find everything you could possibly need for you and your cat. It’s the Supreme Cat Show supported by Whiskas at the NEC, Birmingham. Saturday the 20th, 10.30 to 4.30. I’ll be there, hope you will be too.