GIRLS COME AND GET ME (DON’T YOU HESITATE)
Well I woke up this morning found some sick on my shoes
Lawny lawdy mama got the hesitation blues
Tell me how long do I have to wait
Well the girls a-come and get me, lordy don’t you hesitate
Well I’m standing on the corner with a tenner in my hand
Looking for a woman needs a dirty old man
Tell me how long do I have to wait
Well the girls a-come and get me, lordy don’t you hesitate
I’m not a pheasant plucker, I’m a pheasant plucker’s son
I can pluck your pheasant ’til the pheasant plucker come
Tell me how long do I have to wait
Well the girls a-come and get me, lordy don’t you hesitate
Well I’m not a pheasant plucker, I’m a pheasant plucker’s mate
And I’m only plucking pheasants ‘cos the pheasant plucker’s late
Tell me how long do I have to wait
Well the girls a-come and get me, lordy don’t you hesitate
Well the rooster says “Cock-a-doodle-do”
But my sister says “Any dude’ll do
Tell me how long do I have to wait
Well the girls a-come and get me, lordy don’t you hesitate
Well there’s just one thing I don’t understand
Why a bow-legged woman loves a knock-kneed man
Tell me how long do I have to wait
Well the girls a-come and get me, lordy don’t you hesitate
Well I’m upside down and the way that I can tell
Is my nose runs and my feet smell
Tell me how long do I have to wait
Well the girls a-come and get me, lordy don’t you hesitate
Well there’s a whole lot of verses and this will be the last
I’d sing another chorus but I really can’t be arsed
Tell me how long do I have to wait
Well the girls a-come and get me, lordy don’t you hesitate
Well the girls a-come and get me, lordy don’t you hesitate
ON THE GOOD SHIP WINKY WANKY WOO
Har! Har! Now hold hard, me scurvy knaves!
Where be my buccaneers?
On either side of your buckin’ ‘ead!
Har! Well, be that as it may, I now calls on Seaman Staines to sing us
an old sea-dog’s song. Har! Har!
On the good ship Winky Wanky Woo, we are the gallant crew
We’ve got Sky Plus and beer and pies,
Fat bottom boys to sodomize
“All hands on dick!” the captain cries
On the good ship Winky Wanky Woo
On the good ship Winky Wanky Woo, the scurvy pervy crew.
We fornicate on distant shores.
We tug the ropes, we pull the oars.
Sorry chum, but I don’t think much of yours
On the good ship Winky Wanky Woo
On the good ship Winky Wanky Woo, we shagged a Kangaroo
An albatross and a large Great Dane
And a pirate bold from the Spanish main
Three Essex girls, then the kangaroo again
On the good ship Winky Wanky Woo
On the good ship Winky Wanky woo, we screw what we can screw
There’s a Page three photo we’ve applied
To a nice knot-hole that’s about so wide
And the first mate’s bending on the other side
On the good ship Winky Wanky woo
On the good ship winky wanky woo, we fart and follow through
We’ve got no lavs and the old poop deck
Is full of poop up to your neck
and the cabin boy’s full of…flippin’ heck!
On the good ship Winky Wanky Woo.
THE MAJORCA SONG (Just-About-Broadcastable-Version)
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
PUT SOME UKULELE IN YOUR DAY
When punk was king I bought a ukulele,
No-one played one then, not like today.
Now like a bell-end, or a blog on Face Tweet,
Every dick has got one so they say.
I played it with that old five finger shuffle
Learned from manipulation of my dong.
When I stood up before a crowd
They’d all shout “wanker!” right out loud,
Which gave me inspiration for a song.
(and) No-one can resist
A swift one off the wrist
That’s when I heard everybody say Hey!
If you need a reason to be cheerful
Pluck, pluck, pluck your plucking cares away… Hey!
And put some ukulele in your day
I put a record out, the Beeb they banned it
They said it was injurious to health
Mrs Mary Whitehouse went bananas
(There’s a) joke in there, just make it up yourself.
But Bishop bashin’s always been in fashion
So it went spurting up the hit parade.
And now there’s wankers worse than me
In parliament and on TV
So get a grip and do not be dismayed.
It’s time to take a stand
Give yourself a hand.
And that’s when you’ll hear everybody say….. Hey!
If you need a reason to be cheerful Pluck, pluck, pluck your plucking cares away ….Hey! And put some ukulele in your day
MANSFIELD FM INTRODUCTION / THE WINKER’S SONG [MISPRINT]
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 VD
It’s available at any time and it’s absolutely free
And that’s why…
‘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’
Oh, Mrs Palm and your five lovely daughters
Thank you for having me and being oh so kind
I’ve got pains in my arms and my dong is getting shorter
My knees have turned to water and I think I’m going blind
He’s a wanker, he’s a wanker
And it does him good like it bloody well should
He’s a wanker, he’s a wanker
And he’s always pulling his pud’
UKULELE LADY (BACKING TRACK)
Written by Gus Kahn and Richard A. Whiting
Published by Francis Day & Hunter / EMI Music Ltd.
THE BALLAD OF BIG JESSE
There’s a cowboy whose name was Big Jesse
On his head was a big prairie hat
And a big prairie hat’s what they called him
Or something that sounded like that
He rolled down the trail on a gas stove
because he liked riding the range
He was known as an ornery cowpoke
’Til one pocked him back for a change
It tossed him high up on a cactus
One of them with the pointiest thorn
Then he slid down a branch with no pants on
And that’s how the yodel was born
“Ivor, are you all right?”
“Yes, I was yodelling”
“We thought you were having a seizure”
“I thought he was having a stroke”
“Don’t worry… He’s always having one of those”
“I didn’t notice his hand in his pocket”
“He’s worn the fingerprints right off his right hand”
“This is the sound engineer… can we get on with it?”
“Stand by pardners… here comes verse four”
He was hairy and hairy and scary
An outlaw, a fierce buckaroo
But the posse all called him a pussy
And the injuns had reservations too
In a showdown he faced Wild Bill Itchy-cock
Who was itching’ to fill him with lead
When he whipped out his weapon, poor Jesse
Lay dying, and here’s what he said
“Oh bury me out on the prairie
And send my regards to my mum
Tell her soon ‘neath the sod I’ll be lying
While the prairie dogs nest up my bum”
“Pour whiskey each day on my grave boys
For I sure have a terrible thirst”
So they splashed out on pints of Jack Daniels
But they passed it through our kidneys first
And his ghost rides the trail in the moonlight
But the cowboys don’t think much of that
‘cos whenever they think of Big Jesse
They remember that big prairie hat
I FEEL SO BAD
Ladies and Gentlemen the moment you’ve been waiting for
Will you welcome please the Arthur Negus of humour…
Mr. Ivor Biggun
Good evening Knebworth, hello
Well I feel so bad you know somebody done bulldozed the whorehouse down
Said I feel so bad you know somebody done bulldozed the whorehouse down
They used to call it the tandoori takeaway
It sold the hottest stuff in town
You know I feel so bad, every single thing is wrong
I feel so bad, every single motherfucking thing is wrong
‘Cos I got out of bed this morning
And I trod on the end of my dong
I’m a footballer baby and I wear those football boots
Said I’m a footballer baby and I wearing all those football boots
You know I love to stick my centre forward
And I dribble before I shoot
It takes a rocking chair to rock takes a roller coaster to roll
It takes a rocking chair to rock takes a roller coaster to roll
Takes some of those disgusting magazines on the top shelf of the tobacconist
To satisfy my soul
I’m a deep sea diver I touch bottom every single place that I goes
I’m a deep sea diver I touch bottom every single place that I goes
The women go crazy
When I reel out my hose
Well I feel so bad you know somebody done bulldozed the whorehouse down
Said I feel so bad you know somebody done bulldozed the whorehouse down
They used to call it the tandoori takeaway
It sold the hottest stuff in town
It takes a roller coaster to roll, it takes a rocking chair to rock
It takes a roller coaster to roll, it takes a rocking chair to rock
It takes a great big woman with enormous bazoomers
To satisfy my… soul
A rich girl wears a brassiere and a poor girl uses string
The rich girl wears a brassiere and a poor girl uses string
But my kind of girl don’t use nothing
She just lets the buggers swing
You know I feel so bad you know somebody done bulldozed it down
You know I feel so bad you know somebody done bulldozed the whorehouse down
They used to call it the tandoori takeaway
It sold the hottest stuff in town
IVOR BIGGUN IS MY NAME (LIVE)
Good evening music lovers
Ivor Biggun is my name
Wanking is my claim to fame
To hit the bathroom ceiling is my aim
A week ago last Tuesday I got just above the window frame
I’m gonna want ’til I go blind and lame
Until I paralyse my brain
Until my testicles burst into flame
Until Mrs. Mary Whitehouse (God bless her) starts to complain
And I’m gonna keep on walking again and again and again
And again and again and again
again and again and again
Until I feel all right
THE ONE WITH THE STOPS (LIVE)
You know it’s so hard to be in love with somebodyIt’s so hard to be in love with somebody that don’t love you
And it carries a heavy burden on your heartTo know that the someone you love is in love with your very best friend
When somebody else is rocking your cradle
Better than you can rock your cradle yourself
There’s only one thing left in this world for you to do
Turn around, pack your clothes, walk slowly out the door.
Look over your left shoulder, hang your head and sing..
If you ever think about me if I ever cross your mind
Girl if you ever think about me pretty baby
If I ever cross your mind.
Well, you know you know I’m yours and I..
I know you’re mine.
I’m so overcome with grief I wanna hear a Fearless Phil guitar solo. It goes like this..
Then you can’t stand it no more, you go on downtown to the pawn shop.
And when I’m talking about pawn shop, I’m talkin’ about a P.A.W.N shop
And not the kind of shop that you dirty buggers go into.
Which I went into earlier on this afternoon.
There was a very nice book entitled “Big Thomas Goes Camping In Copenhagen” very nice it was.
…and “The Day That King Henry Got His Hampton Court/caught” very very nice.
You go into the pawn shop and you buy yourself a pistol
..and then you make it out on the scene
where your loved one and your best friend are now together.
You run up the stairs
Run up the stairs, Chris!
That’s Chris running up the stairs. He lives in a very, very tall house.
..and you bust down the door. Bust down the door, Chris!
A very big rough door.
And there is your loved one and your best friend at it, humping and pumping, like hammer and tongs, at it like a dog and a cat (eh?) in and out, the old in and out, the old one two three.
This really makes you blow your top, and you say “What the heck are you two doing?”
And she looks at him and says “There you are! I told you he was stupid.”
This really makes you blow your top
And you draw your pistol to your heart,
(this is what Bobby Marchan actually says) and you shoot him
And you shoot your baby.
Ooh it is a violent song this, isn’t it?
And realizing what you’ve done
You say, baby, please forgive meI’m sorry
And with her last dying breath
She looks up at you and says (superb heckle)
Do do do do, whoa, oh
Why’d you break my heart?
Why’d you break my heart in three places?
I mean them sheets and pillers torn to pieces,
I’m feeling bad baby,
I’ve got them walls, them walls, them walls all drippin’ red.
I shot the silvery moonlight clean through her bald head.
(Last two lines stolen from “Bloodstains” by Frank ‘Honeyboy’ Patt and “She Put The Whammy” by Screaming Jay Hawkins)
THE WINKER’S ROCK N ROLL
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
SEND FOR DR. CLAP (LIVE)
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
PILES OF TROUBLE
Well the blues is a musical form where yo’ sing the first line twice
(I said) th’ blues is a musical form where yo’ sing the first line twice
That gives you 8 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 & my piles’ve 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 & 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 and 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..etc…
NO! NO! NO! (REHEARSAL)
At the appliance shop I bought a filthy book
Locked in the lav I had a bloody good look
There was a naked nude lady and a man dressed the same
Doing something very rude with a funny foreign name
I think it was called ‘ferrét… fell-off-the-back-of-a-lorry-o
I went to my girlfriend but she said “Ooh
That’s not very nice and I don’t want to know”
So I tactfully said “Forget that it’s a cock
Pretend your at the seaside, and it’s a stick of rock”
She wasn’t’ swallowing that..
She said “No! No! No!, no that’s flat
I could never never do a filthy thing like that”
She said “No! No! No!, no that’s flat
I could never never do a filthy thing like that”
SKANKING AND WANKING
A wanker is the type of chap who peers down lady’s blouses
With a great big hole in the pockets of his wanker’s baggy trousers.
He wears wanker’s anorak that reaches to his anus,
A Thompson Fuckin’ Twins T shirt and a pair of niffy trainers
His hands are damp and squelchy, his bollocks are like prunes,
The bags beneath his eyes are like the scrotums of baboons.
His palms are rough and calloused, he trembles at the knee,
His breath comes in short pants, and coincidentally, so does he.
He lives with his parents (and a gerbil) on the dodgy end of Ealing,
..and to improve his aim he’s drawn a target on his bedroom ceiling.
He reads one-handed-literature with themes bizarre and sexual
The kind of thing that makes The Sunday Sport look intellectual.
He drives a J reg Escort, has beans on toast for tea.
Hang on a minute! Fuck my boots! That cunt sounds just like me!
THE BAKER’S BOY AND THE CHANDLER’S WIFE
Now the baker’s boy to the chandler went
Some oatmeal for to buy
But nobody was there in the shop
No-one he could espy
And just as he was about to leave
Thinking that all was dead
He heard the sound of a CLANG-A-LANG
Right above his head
Ooooooohh
Now the baker’s boy was cunning and wise
And he crept up those stairs
And he crept up so silently
He caught them unawares
And there he saw the chandler’s lad
Between his mistress’ thighs
And they were having a CLANG-A-LANG
Right before his eyes
Ooooooohh
Now the chandler’s wife was much distressed
And leaping from the bed
She turned unto the baker’s boy
And this is what she said
“Oh if you will my secret keep
Just bear this fact in mind
You can always come ‘round for a CLANG-A-LANG
Whenever you feel inclined
Ooooooohh
Now the baker’s boy was much amused
At the prospect of such fun
He vowed he’d leap upon the bed
When the chandler’s boy was done
And as he got to the shorter strokes
How he kissed that chandler’s wife
He vowed he’d have a CLANG-A-LANG
Every day of his life
Ooooooohh
Next Monday morn when he awoke
All over he did shake
His back was sore, his bum was raw
All over he did quake
And when he looked at old John Tom
He saw he’d done the trick
The consequences of his CLANG-A-LANG
Was pimples on his… elbow
Ooooooohh
So the baker’s boy to the doctor went
Some ointment for to buy
The doctor looked him up and down
And heaved a mighty sigh
“My boy, my boy” the doctor said
You’ve been a bloody fool
You’ll never more have CLANG-A-LANG
I’m going to cut off your… broadband connection
Ooooooohh
So listen to the baker’s boy
And heed his tale of woe
An enthusiastic amateur
Is worse than any pro
And if you must a-wooing go
And want to keep your health
Instead of having a CLANG-A-LANG
Stick to do-it-yourself
Ooooooohh
PLEASANT AND DELIGHTFUL (THE MELODEON SONG)
With my dearest darling I decided to spend
Bird watching in Suffolk, a romantic weekend
We saw hawks and harriers all round Minsmere way
And the larks they sang melodious at the closing of the day
In a quiet country pub as I plied her with gin
The back door burst open and some folksingers come in
With banjos and fiddles and a Yoo-ka-lay-lay
And the bastards played melodeons at the closing of the day
The fiddles went diddle, the banjos went “plink!”
And one big squeeze-boxer gave my wife a wink
And she smiled right back at him, just as much as to say
“Won’t you show me your melodeon at the closing of the day”
He led her to the car park, that big hairy man
And to teach her his technique he promptly began
He showed her where to push-and-tug, to finger and play
And she squeezed his old melodeon at the closing of the day
I sat there disconsolate, when a sailor next to me
He blew me a kiss and put his hand on my knee
Said”There’s plenty more fish in the sea nowadays
Oh the larks we’d have, the both of us, if you swung both ways”
We went back six times and coincident-lee
We now have six children and there’s none look like me
They’re hairy, they’re hairy and suffice to say
The bastards play melodeons at the closing of the day
She left me for the hairy man, but I don’t grieve or gripe
I decided that the sailor-boy was much more my type
We’ve a bachelor residence down Aldeburgh way
And we play on our melodeons at the closing of the day
PLOUGHMAN’S LUNCH
’Twas an afternoon in a wet July
Oh I was hungry and I was dry
And in a pub called “The Ivy Bunch”
The landlord served me a ploughman’s lunch
Landlord listen here, for your bread is old
This is margarine and not Kerrygold
The pickled onions are like concrete
And the Cheddar smells like an old man’s feet
And this tiny tub of Lidl’s churn-ee
Has a sell by date of nineteen seventy three
This isn’t coleslaw it’s a Monster Munch
And I don’t call this a ploughman’s lunch
Well the landlord bold punched me in the snout
Then he boxed my ears and he threw me out
He said ”Oi smartarse! I’ll make it clear
That’s what the ploughmen all eat ‘round here!”
So I hied me down to the Eastbridge shore
To the Eels Foot as oft times before
The landlord said” I have got a hunch
That what you need is a ploughman’s lunch”
There was a salad green and tomatoes bright
And a bap the size of the Isle of Wight
And a piece of cheese twice as big as me
And chutney thick as Wayne Roo-nee
There were apples red and best Suffolk ham
And pickled onions much bigger than
The bollocks found on a Suffolk Punch
Now that’s what I call a ploughman’s lunch!
So when I die, pickle me in brine
With a Spanish onion and slice me fine
And pretty maidens for Sunday bunch
Will eat me up as a ploughman’s lunch!
MY GRANDFATHERS FROCK
(Traditional. New words & arrangement by Peter White)
My grandfather’s frock was bought straight off the shelf
From the Co-op in Leamington Spa.
It was hid ‘neath the bed by the old man himself
With a pair of frilly knickers and a bra.
He would wear them to clubs and the more broad-minded pubs
‘cos he always was game for a lark,
Till an undercover cop brought his fun to a stop
In the toilets in St James’s Park.
(Yes, an undercover cop brought his fun to a stop
In the toilets in St James’s Park!)
He appeared in the dock still wearing his frock
And His Honour was less than impressed. (Than impressed!)
He said, ‘You’ll do time for the grave and serious crime
Of walking around in a dress”. (In a dress!)
Then they took the old man in a plain white Serco van
To his home for the next fourteen days (Far away!)
Where he whiled away the hours with some big lads in the showers
In a place aptly known as Strangeways. (Sad to say!).
For two weeks he was pondering.
‘Bout his next nocturnal wandering.
When they let the old man go, he went straight back to Soho
Though he stopped off in Topshop on the way.
(On the way)
THE CAPTAIN’S MESSAGE
Hello there it’s Sensible here, Captain Sensible
Just going through some of my old piles of rubbish and carnage and chaos
and I found one of your fantastic demos that you so kindly sent me all those years back
“You Can’t Have A Shag With A Snowman”
Yeah, brilliant they don’t write ‘em like that anymore.
Maybe you should sell that to Westlife
Cheers.
YOU CAN’T HAVE A SNOG WITH A SNOWMAN
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 squeez
e Where the penguins freeze
At the North Pole far away
At the North Pole far away
CHRISTMAS MAKES ME SPEW
It’s a fookin’ rotten job to be a Santa,
In a grotto in a big department store,
Telling lies to stinking children who are pissing on your tunic,
You get your cards at Christmas ‘cos they don’t want you no more.
“Well done!” they say “You’ve brought good cheer.
Now don’t come back until next year.
You’re sacked! Now fuck off out of here!”
So here’s a Christmas greeting just for you
‘cos Christmas Makes Me Spew.
Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you!
Parents queue up outside my chipboard grotto
And dump their disgusting smelly kids on my knee.
With horrible howls,
Their bladders and their bowels,
They immediately empty on me.
Sometimes a gallon or two,
That’s why Christmas Makes Me Spew.
The ill proportioned ungulate propped up by the exit
Representing Rudolph is made from fibreglass.
Some nasty little Herbert
Has filled his ears with sherbet
And stuffed his jammy fingers up his arse.
Rudolph share my view
Christmas Makes Us Spew.
Santa! Santa! We love you!
Santa! Santa! We do!
We know you’re a wino dressed in a red suit
But if we pretend to believe and act cute
And try to ignore the way you smell funny
Our Mummies and Daddies will spend lots of money.
It’s simple, but it’s true
Oh Santa! We love you!
As round me they hurtle, screaming “Mutant Ninja Turtle”
I stuff their grubby paws with something dangerous instead,
With pointy bits that fly out and might poke an eye out
With paint that contains a quite lethal dose of lead.
It’s Ozone hostile too!
Christmas Makes Me Spew.
But here in the grotto, perseverance is my motto,
Till Boxing Day dawns I’ll dispense Xmas cheer.
Then I’ll sing “Good King Wenceslas” and drink myself senseless-las
Merry Christmas! (burp) Happy New Year.
Incidentally, bollocks to you!
Because Christmas Makes Me Spew.
Santa! Santa! We love you!
Santa! Santa! We do! (Oh! Get your hands off my squeezebox will you!)
We know you’re a wino dressed in a red suit
But if we pretend to believe and act cute(Oh look you’ve got jam all over my chromatics now!)
And try to ignore the way you smell funny (Get away!)
Our Mummies and Daddies will spend lots of money (Go on! Bugger off!)
It’s simple, but it’s true
Oh Santa! We love you!
Look, why don’t you go and play with Rudolph The Red Nosed Rottweiler?
Keep your nasty children away from me,
They might have the whooping cough
They crap on my lap.
Oh! Please! My knees
Are shat on, don’t put your brat onto me, take it off! Take it off!
Stuff you, you little bastards
‘cos Christmas Makes Me Spew.
Repeat last two verses at the same time.
Christmas Makes Me Spew!
Oh look! That’s where that sixpence went out of the Christmas pudding! Well I never did!
RUDOLPH DID A WHOOPSIE ON MY ROOFTOP
When I was a spotty, grotty, snotty littler-pubescent
I asked my daddy”Who brings Christmas presents?”
He told me rubbish I didn’t believe
A magic flight on Christmas Eve
Some reindeer and a sled
And a grand-dad dressed in red
But that night I heard the echo of a “Ho Ho Ho”
Jingle bells and hoof beats in the snow
I ran to the window just to be sure
Pulled back the curtains and then I saw
Something left behind
That made me change my mind
Rudolph did a whoopsie on my rooftop
That red-nosed rat-bag made me eat my “wuds”
There upon the tiles
Were several steaming piles
Three quarters of a hundred weight of great big reindeer “tuds”
Father! Bring a gas mask and a shovel!
Let Rudolph fertilise out Christmas tree
For on this silent night
He’s had a violent… What’s the word?…Fright
And gone and left a present just for me
Rudolph did a whoopsie on my rooftop
Deep nd crisp and even I suppose
He left a number two
And a great big pile of poo
He had to strain so hard that’s why he’s got that big red nose
Some said it was next doors cat what done it
Some said it was pigeons in a tree
But someone defecated
Where my chimney stack’s located
And I can tell you now it wasn’t me
It came upon a midnight clear
Poo! What a whiff! Let’s get out of here
May those steeple bells be rung
Dung! Dung! Dung!
Yes, Rudolph did a whoopsie on my rooftop
He was taken short on Christmas morn
He had a reindeer dump
And then left me a clump
Of little Christmas puddings that lay steaming in the dawn
So if you don’t believe and say “Bah! Humbug!”
On the next day after Santa comes to call
Look for a pony roof-full
And then you’ll know I’m truthful
A very Happy Christmas to you all
A very Happy Christmas to you all!
GIVE US A WANK FOR CHRISTMAS
I dreamed my snowman came to life and walking in the air
He led me to a magic land of toys, I know not where
Ho ho “What do you want for Christmas?” said old Santa, bold and stout
I pointed at his fairies and I began to shout…
Give us a wank for Christmas
I’ve been good all year and that’s a fact
Give us a wank for Christmas
Then you’ll see what Santa Claus has brung you in his sack
Give us a wank for Christmas
Stir my pud’ and wipe it on your sleeve
Give us a wank and by way of saying thanks
I’ll rub your tits until it’s New Years eve
Give us a wank for Christmas
Tug that bell rope, hear that old ding-dong
Give us a wank for Christmas
I’ve not sworn, nor drunk, nor told a lie the whole year long
Give us a wank for Christmas
It only comes but once a year they say
Manipulate my member for the last week in December
And I’ll rub your tits until it’s New Years day
Santa’s coming, Santa’s coming
Coming as he’s riding on his sleigh
Gazing, it’s quite plaid dear
At the rear ends of his reindeer
I guess he’s funny that way
So… Give us a wank for Christmas
Shake my spruce until the needles drop
Give us a wank for Christmas
Now’s the time to strangle the last turkey in the shop
Give us a wank for Christmas
Shake the big balls on my Christmas tree
Pull my cracker, ho-ho-ho
Stuff your drawers with mistletoe
And I’ll rub your tits until it’s January
Oh come on… please… just for Christmas
Just this once… it won’t take very long… it never does
MISS SADIE BENDS
Oh Lord! I really don’t want
A Mercedes Benz
My neighbour is a nudist
With a lot of pretty friends
She dances in the garden
And over she bends
Oh Lord! Won’t you buy me
A telephoto lens
Eh? Uh?
Oh buggeration…
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