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BOLD AS BRASS

LYRICS

Crosstarn Traffic

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

That Punto in front of me car, has got me stuffed

Crawling less than a mile an hour, and I'm reight dischuffed

I'm gonna lose me rag, with all these total farts

Backed-up from Ardsley Hill to Stairfoot Rarndabart

 

I’m stuck in crosstarn traffic  -  Why’s it allus stuck on red?

Crosstarn traffic  -  Could have had this hour in bed!

Crosstarn traffic  -  Drive-Time Radio is sick

Tracy Chapman singing ‘Fast Car’ teks the mick!

 

Numpties in Four by Four’s, they’re art theer on the school-run

Their daily carbon footprint, must weigh a metric tonne

If it’s less than 90 yards, from your house to the school,

Then why not walk it theer and back, you gormless chuffing fool!?

 

Still here in crosstarn traffic  -  May as well be in reverse

Crosstarn traffic  -  Being cut-up by a hearse

Crosstarn traffic  -  There’s a gap; move forward mate

Or else I’ll beat you half-to-death with your hand-brake!

 

Been stuck for ovver an hour, and it’s quite unsportsmanlike

But I want to deck that bloke that just shot past on his push-bike

It’s total gridlock, and I’ve lost the will to live

You can honk that horn from noon to night for all the shits I give

 

That chuffin’ crosstarn traffic  -  it’s near burnt out me clutch  

I'm far from happy  -  nivver chuffin’ swore as much

Crosstarn traffic  -  there’s no movement and no power

And a definite lack of rush in this 'Rush Hour'

Flat-Packs

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

I'm no expert DIYer

I'm giving wordwork a miss
I see no point in dovetail joints
Got a million better things to do than this
I've flicked through the sheets of instructions in Greek
For a Billy bookcase, a bed and a sideboard
All supplied with a tool inside
And ar lass is stressed, she dun't look impressed

No instructions for me - stick yer Allen Key
Up your bracket with brass knobs on
Not got enough springs, they've been left in Beijing 
No I can’t get on with Flat-Packs

It's so horribly, horribly, horribly, horribly tricky
I'm four nuts short and now me doors protrude
The diagram makes it look slimmer
Now I'll never get the bugger to fit
With the shelves attached it's a dreadful sight
But I could try and set my eyes on the Turner Prize

I’m sure you'll agree - it's not for me
All these years I've not improved
I could chuck it all in to the nearest bin
No I can't get on with Flat-Packs
Yeah, I’m pretty pants at Flat-Packs

I'm not terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly picky
But I'm sure the drawers should not be upside down
Me patience is getting much thinner
Cos it's lookin' much worse in 3-D
After all those jobs there's more bits and bobs 
Than are out on view, at the B&Q

With hammer in hand it won't look grand
Me knob's on the wrong way round
The cupboard's in pieces, me temper increases
It teks the piss how it ended up like this! 

With hammer & nails, I'm no Chippendale
I'll just put me tool away
I'm in need of a screw but cuppa'll do
Cos I'm sick to death with Flat-Packs
And I'm reight stressed out with Flat-Packs
No I just can't do with Flat-Packs
I'm an epic fail with Flat-Packs
So stick your chuffing flatpacks

Pumping Muscles For Michelle

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

Björn had a reight crush on a local lass they called her Sally Tweedy
He thought she was a babe,

But she said that he was too weak and weedy
And as he sat and pondered why, his Swedish meatballs looking limp
It was then he saw her mate - he'd prove to her he was no wimp

 

Well he fancied Sally but he could not compete
Cos she likes blokes fit as hell
So now he's down the gym to impress her mate
He's pumping muscles for Michelle - Pumping muscles for Michelle

 

Drinking protein shakes and training darn the gym two times a day 
His abs and glutes have seen more action
Than a hooker in Bombay
From his torso to his toes, he's-no-Joe Pasqualé, he's King Kong
All his muscles, except one, are feeling stiff, but not for long

 

She looked beneath his tanktop - her heart began to beat
He's a Swede with pecs appeal
She can't resist a feel, and she's keen ('cos he's been)
Pumping muscles for Michelle

 

Now all the single ladies stop and stare below his mantlepiece
He'll stoke their fire with his poker now he's got the expertise
He's got the braun to brag about

He's pumped some iron, now he's butch
They ask him to flex his pecs, but he likes his tanktop way too much

 

So he's ditched his flatpack, the six pack's now complete
He's a Swedish blonde bombshell
And Sally's sore as hell, cos Björn's keen 
To pump his muscle for Michelle

 

They're queuing down the alley, they're queuing darn the street
And he's got birds fit as hell
Just falling at his feet, but he's discrete
To pump his muscle for Michelle - Pump his muscle for Michelle

Get Messy

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

Hitting Tarn as sunlight’s dimming

And we’re only just beginning
Acting like God’s gift to women

And supping ‘til the room is spinning

 

Drink like rockstars, as we prop up the bar
Jar after jar, we can't take it too far

 

We’re quite content in the pub - we’ll sup and sup and we’ll sup
The bar-staff cannot keep up - "And I’m not drunk, I’m just merry"

We’re neckin’ real ale on tap - because the lager is crap
"It’s not a cob, it’s a bap!! And I’m not drunk, I’m just merry"

 

“Cos I’m not drunk, I’m just merry” x 4
 

You're gonna feel rough in the morning

When that hangover comes calling
And the realisation's dawning
That at work you'll feel appalling

 

Pint after pint - work up an appetite
We’ll down the lot, ‘til we’re left feeling shite

 

We’re all off darn to the club - we’ll sup and sup and we’ll sup
We’ll drop the bass like Daft Punk, "But I’m not drunk, I’m just tipsy"

We’re necking shot after shot – we’ll drink until we’ve forgot
I can’t remember a lot - "But I’m not drunk, I’m just tipsy"

 

But I’m not drunk I’m just tipsy x 4

Vocoded: We're up all neet to get… x 4
 

We're up all neet to get trollied 
We're up all neet to get bladdered
We're up all neet to get wasted
We're up all neet to get shitfaced

 

Oh God, it’s gonna get messy x 4
 

Wanna kebab... where's the chippy? x 4
 

You feel like hell, waking up in a cell

You went too far, peeing on that police-car

 

The morning isn't so great

When you have lost all your mates
They’ll say “You chuffin’ lightweight”
But now you're left feeling yucky

 

Hangover pounding your head

You look like the walking dead

You’ve thrown-up your garlic bread

And now you're left feeling yucky

 

And now you're left feeling yucky
And now you're left feeling yucky 
And now you're left feeling yucky
And now you're left feeling yucky

 

Your head's a shed, you feel yucky
Your head's a shed, you feel yucky
Your head's a shed, you feel yucky
Your head's a shed, you feel yucky

 

Oh God, it's gonna get messy....

 

 

I Can't Stand Him

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

Gary Barlow get on your bike
Stop trying to pull the wool over the public's eyes 

With that super smug grin that shines from you

All that I do is pray you'll pay your taxes 

Along with Starbucks too


For all your millions and your OBE

Not a single thing you've done has done a thing for me

And through the years everything's changed but you 

And I've no idea how you're still standing 

But I'm gonna blame Lulu


Don't you know that I can't stand him – true to say I never did

"Back For Good" and "Let It Shine" or any of his other shit

I can't stand him after all his crimes

Ever since he formed Take That in 1989

I can't stand him yeah yeah yeah
I can't stand him yeah yeah yeah

There was a glimpse of hope in ‘96
It looked like your pop career had had its chips

But even Robbie Williams couldn't take you down

And by the time that you released 'The Circus' 

I hoped for Killer Clowns

 

Don't you know that I can't stand him - true to say I never did
"Patience" or "Relight My Fire" or any of that other shit

I can't stand him after all these crimes

And then he went and reformed Take That in 2005

I can't stand him yeah yeah yeah
I can't stand him yeah yeah yeah

 

Don't you know that I can't stand him - true to say I never did
As a judge on the X-Factor, I always though he was a tit

 I can't stand him after all his crimes
And now he’s left with Mark and Howard, can’t he call it time?

I can't stand him yeah yeah yeah
I can't stand him yeah yeah yeah

I can't stand him yeah yeah yeah

I can't stand him yeah yeah yeah

 

Morris Dance

Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican / Amanda White

You can dance if you want to

Stomp yer clogs - wave a garland high
You can Right-Hand Star your way to the bar 

And your tankard never will run dry

At the Olde Cock & Pullett
Join the Mummers as they start to mime

And as your sticks ascend, just shake your bell ends

Making sure you pull out on time    -    You can dance…

 

Border dance if you want to
It's tradition, it's not a trend 

It's a rare old place where a blacked-up face

Is not there to offend

Dance with swords if you want to
Face a partner who is parallel

And when you raise your shaft, you won't feel so daft

Cos the lads are raising theirs as well

 

And Morris Dance, Morris Dance - with accordion or violin

Morris Dance, Morris Dance - here your hankies don’t go in the bin

Morris Dance, Morris Dance - for Solstice or Equinox

Take a chance, you can prance, with your keks tucked in your socks

Morris Dance, oh yeah Morris dance 
Come on Morris Dance, Morris Dance

Pace-egg if you want to
Or wear a hobby-horses head

Horn-dance like a stag if that is your bag

Or dance like a fool instead

On May Day, if you want to,
You can do it at the village fair

The size of your pole's a sight to behold

When erected for the people there

 

Morris dance Morris dance - if you're feeling that way inclined
Morris dance Morris dance - like it’s 1599

Morris dance Morris dance

Get your baldricks out tonight

Morris dance Morris dance

There’s nothing wrong with men in tights

Morris Dance, oh yeah Morris dance 
Come on Morris Dance, Morris Dance...

 

Paint 'em Back

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

I saw you from behind but was ta-ken aback

When you turned round I nearly had a heart attack

I see girls pass me by, but I’m far from aroused
What makes you do the things you do with your eyebrows?

 

Why pluck your eyebrows out and then just draw them back?
Especially if it’s clear you haven’t got the knack

They look like they were drawn on by a three year old

Who’s used a magic marker, wearing a blindfold

 

And there’s the metro guys who try to stay ‘on fleek’

You need to get art more, you narcissistic freaks

Why can’t they face the facts like Burt on Sesame Street

Instead of sculpting their monobrow with a metric tonne of Veet

 

Some lasses shave them off and draw them back too high

I’d tell them to their face, but they’d still look surprised

Armed with huge tweezers that they got from Marks & Sparks

Why take ‘em off and draw ‘em back like Groucho Marx?

 

That pained expression that you drew for all to see

You’d still look narked off, if you won the lottery

I see folks shake their heads and quickly run and hide
They’re like angry caterpillars in formaldehyde

 

Don’t wanna to see ‘em painted, painted, painted, painted back
Black and wide

You dun’t need ‘em stencilled on - looking cross or surprised

Don’t want to see ‘em painted, painted, painted, painted back

  

All The Dinner Ladies

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

All the dinner ladies  (All the dinner ladies)
All the dinner ladies  (All the dinner ladies)

All the dinner ladies  (All the dinner ladies)

All the dinner ladies  -  Now put your hands up

 

They’re giving us grub, just served up
Sausage, mash-spuds and peas

The bigger kids, are getting first dibs

There’s bugger all left for me

Dun’t mek ‘em cross, ‘cos they’re the boss
And you’ll only end up in detention
They’ve been there for years, it’ll end in tears
They’re meaner than Mohammed Ali

 

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

You mightn’t like it, cos it’s gonna have a skin on it

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

 

Oh, no, no - No, no, no, no, no, no - No, no, no
Oh, no, no - No, no, no, no, no, no - No, no, no

 

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

You mightn’t like it, cos it’s gonna have a skin on it

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

 

Serving rock hard chips, can’t get to grips
With cauliflower cheese or stir-fry

But dun’t act up, they’ll mess you up
After giving you the evil eye

Stop chatting, just eat! Stay in your seat!

You better be paying attention!
It’ll only get worse, if you aven’t ‘ad yer firsts
You can kiss yer afters goodbye

 

Bringing custard but it’s allus got a skin on it

Bringing custard but it’s allus got a skin on it

You may like it, but it’s gonna have a skin on it

Bringing custard but it’s allus got a skin on it

 

Oh, no, no - No, no, no, no, no, no - No, no, no
Oh, no, no - No, no, no, no, no, no - No, no, no

 

Take your trays and go and scrape ‘em in the bin, poppet

Take your trays and go and scrape ‘em in the bin, poppet

And if you spill, they’ll keep you in until they can mop it

Take your trays and go and scrape ‘em in the bin, poppet


Out you go

Go, go, go, go, go, go
Go, go, go

 

Out you go
Go, go, go, go, go, go
Go, go, go

 

Out you go

Go, go, go, go, go, go
Go, go, go

 

Out you go
Go, go, go, go, go, go
Go, go, go

 

They’ll blow the whistle and it allus got a string on it

They’ll blow the whistle and it allus got a string on it

When the bell goes it’s allus got a ring on it

They’ll blow the whistle and it allus got a string on it

 

If it’s spitting then they’re gonna get you in for it

If it’s spitting then they’re gonna get you in for it

If you act silly in the classroom then you’re in for it

If it’s spitting then they’re gonna get you in for it

 

Oh no no

Every Time She Tries To Park... 

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

I ain't got the guts to tell her
That there's one vital statistic that she lacks
And as she starts moving nearer
I just lose my nerve, as she reverses back

Every time she tries to park it's tragic
Every time I try to be polite
She's really in her stride when moving forwards
But when she's moving backwards she's just poor...

I don't have to tell the story
It is clear spatial awareness is amiss
She claims the reason she's still struggling 
Is I lied about how long 8 inches is 

Every time she tries to park's traumatic
You could say her twelve point turn was slow
Even when there is no sign of traffic
She's had as many hits as Status Quo

There's every chance, she'd mess it up
A hundred times a day
And though I sound a sexist pratt
Her reverse park's a cliché
To relieve the fears that grip me
Now our poor car's past its prime
Got her a colouring book for Christmas
To practise staying in the lines

Every time she tries to park it's tragic
She's moving in and out, it takes so long
Pretty much just like the Pope's a Catholic
You can guarantee she'll get wrong

 

And when she loses her rag, it get's drastic
Her reversing to space should be condemned
But she has got a gift like Uri Gellar
There's not a single metal she can't bend


Every time she tries to park 

Every time she tries to park

Every time she tries to park

It’s tragic

Wokkin' The Dog

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

North Korea, have no fear
Your Supreme Leader has a great idea
They're all scared, none get spared
On the menu all breeds prepared

Wokking the dog 
They're just a wokking the dog 
Well, there's a hundred ways to cook 'em 
North Koreans love to wok the dog 

Don't be surprised, don't drop your fork
If the waiter says it tastes like pork 
Hairs stand on end, cos that ain't swine
I heard it out the back, a small whimpering whine

Wokking the dog 
They're just a wokking the dog 
Well, there's a hundred ways to cook 'em 
North Koreans love to wok the dog 

They have poodle served with noodles
Or King Charles Spaniel stew
There's quite a queue for Shih-tzu Vindaloo
Don't have chihuahua - there's not much to go round
But you can feed the People's Army with an Irish Wolf Hound 

 

Wokking the dog 
They're just a wokking the dog 
Well, there's a hundred ways to cook 'em 
North Koreans love to wok the dog 

Well, there's a hundred ways to cook 'em 
North Koreans love to wok the dog 
Well, there's a hundred ways to cook 'em 
North Koreans love to wok the dog 

Bono's No Woman To Me

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

He can win an award, without being a girl

And he’ll ruin your faith in what’s good in this world
He’s got twenty-two Grammys, honorary degrees
And he can act like a tit, but Bono’s no woman to me

 

He has fought for world peace, and he met with Obama
And he could free Tibet, from the back of a llama

And he could save the planet for you and for me
But forget all that Glamour, cos Bono’s no woman to me

 

So, he puts it on his shelf

Next to his Brit Awards
Cos he thinks that it’s fine

Oh, and he never gives up
And he never gives in
And he never declines

 

He’s had number one albums, and mansion-sized homes

But I’m still pretty sure, he’s got both chromosomes

So how was he chosen as a nominee

Unless science has failed us, then Bono’s no woman to me

 

So, he puts it on his shelf
By his platinum discs

For The Unforgettable Fire

Oh, and he never gives up
And he never gives in
Though his music’s still dire

 

Were the judges all blind, had they been over-ruled

Could they not spot his tackle, was it too miniscule?

So rip up the rule book, because I guarantee

If his next souvenir, is ‘Playmate of the Year’
Then Bono’s no woman to me

Pub DJ

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Bjorn Doonicansson / Amanda White

‘Ar lass dragged me here, said I could have a beer

A little bit of buffet, then we’d disappear

But my heart just sank when I saw your van

Can we go, love? (No we can’t!)

Uptown Funk, a bit o’ Daft Punk

Brown Eyed Girl and Love Shack

Don’t Stop Believing and I Gotta Feeling

There’s just no end to this crap

 

How are you still in business? God you’re tekkin the biscuit

Playing all I despise

I can’t tell what you’re saying

But know that if you play the Macarena I will gouge out your eyes

 

You’re just another Pub DJ, Playing Summer of 69

When you gonna stop DJ? Cos I’d rather drink turpentine

 

More Dick Van Dyk than Paul Van Dyk

Announcing the buffet, as you mumble down the mic

The Cha Cha Slide, Sweet Child O’ Mine

And Gazza & Lindisfarne’s ‘Fog On The Tyne’

You just sup, but the grans are up

Dancing like their doing Zumba

And I’ll more than frown, and you’ll get knocked down

If you try playing Chumbawumba

 

Don't play The Smiths to appease me, every song you play's cheesy

Please stop dropping the beat

I just need a breather, from your six foot speakers

And the Village People stuck on repeat

 

You're just a reight bad Pub DJ, with a tonne of naff flashing lights

And ‘cool’ is what you’re not, DJ? About as smooth as Vanilla Ice

So why don’t you just stop DJ? Your awful playlists are just non-stop

Get out and see some bands DJ, playing instruments not laptops

 

The Megamix from Grease, it’s a breach of the peace

And you know that it’s wrong

Like Lionel Richie I’m easy, but if you're playin' that… I’m gone!

 

But still you carry on, DJ, while little kids on the dancefloor slide

It’s gone a bit Pete Tong, DJ, why on earth are you amplified?

You're just an awful Pub DJ, making lasses round handbags jive

Have a few nights off, DJ, because we'd rather keep music live

The Cockwombling Song

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

When life isn't fine, or you've had a bad day

Or you're feeling quite dejected, or you're filled with dismay

Once you hear these words of wisdom, you'll be feeling okay...

Remember, remember, remember, remember

Remember, remember, remember (member-member)

 

Kanye West is a Cockwomble (Kanye West is a Cockwomble)

Kanye West is a Cockwomble (Kanye West is a Cockwomble)

Kanye West is a Cockwomble (Kanye West is a Cockwomble)

Kanye West is a Cockwomble (Kanye West is a Cockwomble)

Just remember-member-member what an absolute Cockwomble he is

 

When things have got you down, and you are far from okay

And you need an instant pick me up, then all I can say

Is at least you’re not a racist with an awful toupee

Remember, remember, remember, remember

Remember, remember, remember (member-member)

 

Donald Trump is a Cockwomble (Trump is a Cockwomble)

Donald Trump is a Cockwomble (Trump is a Cockwomble)

Donald Trump is a Cockwomble (Trump is a Cockwomble)

Donald Trump is a Cockwomble (Trump is a Cockwomble)

Just remember-member-member what an absolute Cockwomble he is

 

When you listen to the radio, and it all sounds the same

There’s a hundred million wannabes, all hunting for fame

But there really is just one bloke that’s truly to blame

Remember, remember, remember, remember

Remember, remember, remember (member-member)

 

Simon Cowell is a Cockwomble (Cowell is a Cockwomble)

Simon Cowell is a Cockwomble (Cowell is a Cockwomble)

Simon Cowell is a Cockwomble (Cowell is a Cockwomble)

Simon Cowell is a Cockwomble (Cowell is a Cockwomble)

Just remember-member-member what an absolute Cockwomble he is

 

Gordon Ramsey’s a Cockwomble (Ramsey’s a Cockwomble!)

Michael Gove is a Cockwomble (Gove is a Cockwomble!)

Geldof’s a Cockwomble (Geldof’s a Cockwomble!)

Jeremy Kyle is a Cockwomble (Kyle is a Cockwomble)

Just remember-member-member there’s a hundred more Cockwombles…

Jeremy Clarkson’s a Cockwomble (Clarkson’s a Cockwomble!)

Katie Price is a Cockwomble (Jordan’s a Cockwomble)

Piers Morgan’s a Cockwomble (Morgan’s a Cockwomble)

And Katie Hopkins is an arsehole (Hopkins is an arsehole)

Just remember-member-member there’s 1000 more Cockwombles out there

Wheels Of Steel

Lyrics: Graham Oliver / Paul Quinn / Peter Gill / Peter Byford / Steve Dawson

 

When my foots on the throttle there's no looking back
I leave the motor tickin' over when she's back on the track
I've got a 68 Chevy with pipes on the side
You know she's my idea of beauty, that's what I drive

 

She's got wheels, wheels of steel
She's got wheels of steel
Wheels of steel
Talking 'bout my wheels of steel

 

I don't take no jibe from the motorway pigs
When I'm crusin' down the freeway I don't get no lifts
If you see me coming get out of my way
You know a Trans Am didn't, I blew it away

 

She's got wheels, wheels of steel
She's got wheels of steel
Wheels of steel
My my my my wheels of steel

 

I'm burnin' aviation fuel my foot's to the floor
Ya know she's crusin one-forty she'd do even more
I'm burnin' solid rubber I don't take no bull
'Cause my wheels of steel are rolling
They're rolling your way

 

She's got wheels, wheels of steel
Wheels of steel
My my my wheels of steel
Wheels of steel
Talking 'bout my wheels of steel

I'm burnin' aviation fuel my foot's to the floor
Ya know she's crusin' one- forty she'd do even more
I'm burnin' solid rubber I don't take no bull (shit)
'Cause my wheels of steel are rolling
If you're comin' come quick

 

She's got wheels, wheels of steel
She's got wheels of steel
Wheels of steel
My my my wheels of steel
Wheels of steel

Talking 'bout my wheels of steel
Wheels of steel
Wheels of steel
My my wheels of steel

The Ornithologist Waltz

Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican

 

I met her on Facebook in April
Because I'm incredibly shy
I saw her photos, and her videos
She’s up for it and so am I

We met down the pub, it was Quiz Night
She whipped out her clipboard and pen
She said “I love birds”, I was lost for words

I couldn't believe what she said then…

You've got a handsome Cock Robin (Nice Cock!)
I've got a pair of Great Tits (Great Tits!)
Her down the road, she's got nothing but Thrush
But her Twitter gets plenty of hits (lots of hits)
Cos we like to twitch in the garden (the garden)
Seeing what birds we can bag (we can bag)
Some folk go pale, when they see a Wagtail 
But I'm on the hunt for a Shag

She said if I go round one morning
She'd happily show me her Chuff 
A new one to me, but I just had to see
I went often... once wasn't enough
I promised to show her my Red Shank 
If she would help me tempt it out
So we waited a while, then he came out in style
When she saw it she let out a shout!

You've got a handsome Cock Robin (Nice Cock!)
I've got a pair of Great Tits (Great Tits!)
Her down the road, she's got nothing but Thrush
But her Twitter gets plenty of hits (lots of hits)
Cos we like to twitch in the garden (the garden)
Seeing what birds we can bag (we can bag)
Some folk go pale, when they see a Wagtail 
But I'm on the hunt for a Shag

Now romance it started to blossom
As winter turned slowly to spring
We found lots to do, waiting for the Cuckoo
And the Lark on the morning to sing
I told her I’d seen a Brown Booby
Though we still didn’t spot that Cuckoo
But my Dickcissel pic, would take something to lick
But then she got a Great Cockatoo


(She said) You've got a handsome Cock Robin (Nice Cock!)
I've got a pair of Great Tits (Great Tits!)
Her down the road she's got nothing but Thrush
But her Twitter gets plenty of hits (lots of hits)
Cos we like to Twitch in the garden (the garden)
Seeing what birds we can bag (we can bag)
Now Spring has sprung, the Summer has come
And I finally got my first Shag!

 

© All lyrics copyright of Moon-On-A-Stick Records 

© 2019 The Bar-Steward Sons of  Val Doonican. All Rights Reserved.

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