EST. BARNSLEY ROCK CITY 2006
Morris Dance (hidden track on CD version BEFORE Track 1 - press rewind to find it)
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...
Bag For Life
Lyrics: Scott Doonican
We did the Big Shop yesterday…
Ar lass bought loads of stuff - all nouvelle cuisine
And loads of two for one stuff that we dun’t need
She went crazy on promotions
Our bank account depleted as the trolley piled up
With loads of stuff - chuffing tonnes of stuff
On top I saw at least four free-range chickens
But as we started queuing up
There was shock horror at the check-out
Forgot the Bag for Life
Forgot the Bag for Life
I’m not the type who likes surprises
But she went beserk - wouldn’t let to go
She had a massive strop - and began to moan
She said “Asda saves us millions in prices,
But now we’re forced to pay for plastic carriers
You forgetful chuff - they’re 5 pence a bag
I said 5 PENCE A BAG!” - I said 5 PENCE A BAG!”
And then she starting going nuts
Like World War 3 there at the checkout, when I…
Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life
Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life
Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life
Was just a Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life
Forgot the Bag for Life
Well I’d had about enough
Of ar lass whinging in me ear because
I forgot the Bag for Life - forgot the Bag for Life
Then she pipes up once again
‘bout the damage I’ve done - now she’s acting all Green
She might as well be telling me in Chinese
“The ice-caps will melt into the oceans
These things will stay in landfill for hundreds of years”
Oh shut up love - I’ve had more than enough
And why the clucking hell d’ya buy four chickens!?”
Well I am quite a patient guy
But I’ve never lost me shit before
Over a Bag for Life - It’s just a Bag for Life
A chuffing Bag for Life - It’s just a Bag for Life
I don’t need the strife - over a Bag for Life
Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life
Bag for Life, Bag for life
Tarnlife
Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White
Competence is summat
That ain’t really goin’ on in what is known as (Tarnlife!)
And a Barnsley Chop can be avoided
If tha teks t’long route rarnd what is known as (Tarnlife!)
Fred’s gorra ferret darn ‘is keks
It’s not intimidated by t’smell o’ black puddin’
It loves a bit o’ it! (Tarnlife)
Who’s that skinny bugger o’er there?
Tha could do wi’ some snap young ‘un,
Git thissen t’ t’chip oil!
All the people - so many people
They all go cap in hand
Cap in hand through their Tarnlife
Does tha know worra mean?
I gerrup when I fancy,
‘cept on Thursday when I go to collect me Giro
I put me flat cap on, have a pint o’ smooth,
And then think abart goin’ rarnd t’Tarn
I feed me whippets; I sometimes feed me ferrets too
It meks me feel full t’ t’brim wi’ Barnsley pride
Then I feel champion fo’ t’ rest on the day
Knowin’ you can tek the lad art o’ t’Tarn
But yer can’t tek t’Tarn art on t’lad
All the people - so many people
They all go cap in hand
Cap in hand through their Tarnlife
It’s got nowt to do wi’ yer Yorkshire Pud
And Roast Beef physique thannus
And it not abart all you chavs
That drive rarnd and rarnd and rarnd
All the people - so many people
They all go cap in hand
Cap in hand through their Tarnlife
She’s From Dodworth
Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Dr. Chris Sammon
She's from Dodworth, thinks she’s looking good
Her Sanskrit tattoos are misunderstood
Wears an Oompa Loompa fake tan when she’s on the lash
While a carefully-placed vagazzle hides her shaving rash
Wears a onesie to her local pub at half past 8
And anyone who looks at her she wants to feight
She has an electronic tag so must be home by 8
And she sups like Ollie Reed until she wants to feight
She also nicks consumer products from the Tarn
An i-phone and an e-cig and a dressing gown
Judge Rinder stopped her claim against the Aldi there
‘cos the cucumber she took back looked quite worse for wear
Arse On Fire
Lyrics: Scott Doonican
It’s 1 o’clock in the morning
And you’ve been rarnd the Tarn
And you’ve now got the munchies… you’re hungry
Like bees around honey, like a moth to a flame
You stagger off for a curry… no worries
Your legs work like a Sat Nav and tek you to the K2
You stumble in lookin’ plastered,
“I’ll have pork vindaloo”
They don’t hold back on the chillies,
They don’t hold back on the spice
And you wolf it darn quickly… so quickly
Bugger! Your mouth is on fire!
Woah! Can’t help but perspire!
Now it’s early next morning,
You could drink a tap dry
Your mouth’s like Ghandi’s flip-flops,
But you cannot think why
And your head it is pounding and you can’t stop the pain
You’re feelin’ so dehydrated… so wasted
But your gut’s feeling jippy, you know it ain’t right
And then you remember... what you ate last night
And you push back the bedsheets, and you race to the bog
And you only just make it... you made it
Bugger! Your arse is on fire!
Woah! Now the temperature’s higher
Yes, your bum’s like a cherry, it’s red and it’s raw
You daren’t move from the toilet…
It feels incredibly sore
‘cos it seems that it’s hotter on the way out
Than going in in the first place,
You have good reason to shout
The toilet-roll’s on the fridge shelf,
Yes, you need some relief
But your Ring of Fire… it beggars belief
As your Khyber Pass suffers from Ghandi’s Revenge
It smelt so bad I could taste it… taste it
Bugger! Your arse is on fire!
Woah! With the flames burning higher!
Walking In Man-Piss
Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican
Hit Tarn in me new suede shoes, blue with Cuban heels
Supped pints until nature called
The time had come to brek the seal
W.C. was handy, but when I walked in it beggared belief
There must’ve been a blockage
The urinal had overflowed and leaked
So I was walking in man piss
Wished I was walking ten feet off of the floor
Walking in man piss, and it was too bad to ignore
Had a neet art in Sheffield - I went to see Motley Crue
Took my place near the front of the stage
To get a real good view
The security laughed suddenly
So I turned my back on the show
But a suspect yellow pint, had suddenly took flight
And drenched me from head to toe
Yes I was covered in man piss
It was dripping down me face and onto me shoes
Soaked through with man piss - and there was nothing I could do…
I was stood there chuffing fuming
And my rage it filled the air
‘cos my blue suede shoes, that were brand new
They hadn't got a prayer
Now they were soaked with man piss
I went to see the doctor - as my feet had both turned blue
I'd been scrubbing at them for weeks and weeks
And didn’t know what to do
He said “Son, it’s a chemical reaction
Must be the dye leaked from your shoes
But that would need ammonia - can you give me any clues?”
Yes I’ve been walking in man piss
I know it sounds like a pretty weird thing to do
But I’ve been walking in man piss
And it has knackered me blue suede shoes?
They were ruined by man piss
They used to be a deep blue but now they're pale grey
Faded by man piss
Now I can’t even shift them on ebay
Had to bin my new suede shoes the very next day
Walked round lookin’ sad and blue in the middle of the pouring rain
Walked round lookin’ sad and blue in the middle of the pouring rain
Since You’ve Been Ron
Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican / Amanda White
I get the same old dream, same time every night
Of you in that dress and make up
I still remember when you turned to me in bed and said
Your life needed a shake up
Six months of work in West Berlin
But now my her has changed to a him
Oh since you’ve been Ron, since you’ve been Ron
I’m struggling with the whole ‘man’ thing
It just seems so wrong, ‘cos since you’ve been Ron
Now you can wee while standing
I just can’t understand, why you want to be a man
Your curves were in the right places
Your chest is all hairy,
But still the weirdest thing for me is
Beards on both of our faces
I used to love to watch you dance
But now I’m scared of what’s in your pants
Oh since you’ve been Ron, your voice has gone
All gravelly like Joe Cocker’s
I’m far from impressed, you swapped your bra for a vest
I preferred you when you had knockers
I’ll make a bob or two
All your Jimmy Choo shoes are going on ebay…
Oh since you’ve been Ron, since you’ve been Ron
You’ve learnt how to leave pans soaking
Oh since you’ve been Ron, something’s gone wrong
I used to do all the poking
Ever since you’ve been Ron
If I Could Punch A Face…
Lyrics: Scott Doonican
There’s a fever sweeping ‘cross the country now
It’s even worse than all the fans of Glee
He’s on every bloody cover, of every magazine
Irritating normal folk like me
If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s
There’s not a trace of doubt in my mind
He’s a chuff - can’t stand Justin Bieber,
I hope he gets fever or even hives
He’s only twelve and he wrote his own biography
(in crayon)
His face adorns the shelves of every shop (it’s sickening)
All the girls go crazy; he’s the prince of pop
But what will happen when his bollocks drop?
If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s
There’s not a trace of doubt in my mind
He’s an arse… I hate Justin Bieber singing “Baby-Oh”,
Like, a billion times
He’s got a stupid haircut, and his music’s crap
You couldn’t tire from giving him a slap
If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s
There’s not a trace of doubt in my mind
Switch his music off…
Destroy ‘Bieber Fever’ and poke Justin Bieber in the eye
If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s
Seek medical advice if you’ve got Bieber Fever
‘cos it’s worse than clap!
The Zipper
Lyrics: Scott Doonican
I’ve lost the power to talk after what I’ve gone through
Though it’s hurting me, I want no-one to see
Feeling deeply scarred from torment I have been through
Words cannot convey the pain I feel today
The zipper caught me balls
You could hear me wailing through the walls
I screamed a hundred decibels, because it hurts like chuffing hell
I tried to stay calm, but the shock it was horrendous
Looking down on my mistake
And my mangled trouser snake
I want to be free to let me dingles dangle
But how can I abandon ship, with me conkers in me zip?
Wish I’d been much more precise
I’ve tried to cool me plums with ice
But now I’ve got no tail to tell
Because me mojo’s trapped as well
The zipper trapped me balls
Yes I’m quite far from enthralled
Because this tragic injury
Has caused nowt but misery
I can hardly move, ‘cos it’s throbbing so bad
Frozen where I stand, it’s laid in tatters in my hand
I’ll say sorry in advance, to the paramedics
‘cos I know how much I’ll shout
When they pull the bugger out
The zipper caught me balls
Singing falsetto down the hall
Oh yes my strength was quickly sapped
When me space hoppers got trapped
And size it clearly matters not
Me chuffin’ zipper ate the lot
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
Massage In A Brothel
Lyrics: Scott Doonican
Lost in Amsterdam, so drunk that I can’t see, oh
And I can’t find me mates, there’s no-one left but me, oh
And on those cobbled streets, I slipped and put me back out
And I could hardly move, all I could was shout-out
A lass walked up to me, she was ever so polite
She said “My name’s Roxanne”, under crimson neon lights
She helped me to my feet, and walked me up some stairs
To a small red apartment, it was then that I got scared
I’d send an SMS to me bird
But I know that she’ll go completely berserk
I know I’ve really cocked up
I never meant to end up
Or even planned to get a massage in a brothel
I woke face down, I got up to get my coat
I knew by then it was time to depart
But she blocked the door, she was all dressed in leather
With a gimp mask and a riding crop, she’d break more than my heart
I’d send an SMS to me bird
But I know she’ll go completely berserk
I know Roxanne did not stop, and I could hardly stand up
Me back felt worse after that massage in a brothel
Woke up next morning, I don’t believe what I saw
Whips and chains and rubber objects scattered round the floor
It was then I screamed at the top of me lungs
As she gave me lacerations right across me plums
I’d send an SMS to me bird
But with me hands in chains it won’t work
I didn’t need a close-up, I know I nearly threw up
I never thought it would get messy in that brothel
Sendin’ out an SOS, rather than an SMS
I need some time to convalesce
After all of this undue stress
I’d send an SMS to me bird
But I know that she’d go completely berserk
I’m looking pretty messed up
She’ll say you better grow up
And to think it started with a massage in a brothel
Nandos
Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White / Elliot Smaje
It was dimly lit by candle
When I took you out for a romantic night of bliss
The waiter poured the Vino Blanco
Should have poured it darn the sink
Because it tasted just… too tart
I looked down at the menu,
And what I saw there, struck terror in my heart
It could’ve been in Esperanto
For all the sense it made, it was all Greek to me
No food should look so mangled
You know just where to shove your Piri-Piri recipe?
I closed my eyes and hoped and prayed
That what they brought was fish n chips with peas
There was summat on me plate last night
The food was shite at Nando’s
I dunno what it was they brought to eat
It smelt like feet at Nando’s
Although it seemed that there was tonnes of choice
I had regrets
If I had to do the same today
I’d say “No way” to Nando’s
I acted smooth like Marlon Brando
In ‘The Wild One’ back in 1953
But my plate looked like John Rambo
Had attacked the lot with an unsharpened machete
And if the chicken was free-range
I’m pretty sure that it was not happy.
There was very little I could do
It tasted poo at Nando’s
It smelt just like a septic tank
The food was rank at Nando’s
And when they brought the bill
My wallet broke into a sweat
And even if I could forget the smell
I’d say to hell with Nando's
Even Abba wouldn’t take a chance
The food was pants at Nando’s
Dun’t know what it was that took us there
I found a hair at Nando’s
And though I try to block that image out
I can’t forget
I wouldn’t recommend the pitta wrap
It tasted poor at Nando's
Festival Heroes
Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican
From May until September, across our lovely land
There’s loads of folk who hit the road, with tents or campervans
The festival’s a Mecca for the likes of you and me
But there are folk, it’s not a joke, who take things to extremes…
You know, the weirdos; you know the festival weirdos
Give them all a wide birth
It doesn’t take that, to spot a real twat
Starting with the lad dressed as a Smurf
So many weirdos
Like the hippies in kaftans wanting to free Tibet
Or the posh-bird called Grace, who wants to embrace
All the folk in the dance-tent on ket… dance-tent on ket
Then there’s those who buy their tickets, but dun't go to see a band
Who spend their weekend sat in chairs
Outside a clapped-out transit van
That seventh can of Stella isn’t helping her Tourettes
They’re Neighbours from hell, who share a brain cell
The sort you can't forget...
This lot aren’t weirdos, they’re just festival bell-ends
And their time is mis-spent
They use all of the night, to talk absolute shite
When they should be asleep in a tent
They're chuffing morons
They spend most of the evening talking bollocks but then
He goes to his car, gets an acoustic guitar
And plays Wonderwall badly again... again and again
The hipsters taking selfies, fashion-conscious, self-obsessed
Wait for the band’s hit single, but then talk through all the rest
The pillocks on their camping chairs, in the moshpit what a farce
Dun’t stand-in-front-of-me-with-your-flag,
Or that pole goes up yer arse
Give me torpedoes; give me a sawn-off machine-gun
And I’d sort them I know
I’d start with the lad filming on his i-pad
Is it so hard to just watch the show?
Or all the zeroes, who can never be happy,
They were just born to moan
‘Bout the state of the ground, the line-up, the sound
The weather or charging their phone
Why not stop at home?
To all those folk I sing this song, as I count to ten and breathe
You think you’re so original, shouting Alan! Alan! Steve!
Just remember often this thing’s run by volunteers
And they all work bloody hard, so raise yer glasses and say CHEERS!
Cos they're the heroes, they're the festival heroes
And you know that I'm right
They're doing their best, to make a success
So we all have a chuffin’ good time
Yeah they're the heroes, they're the festival heroes
Making things run okay
Planning months in advance, just so we all get chance
To come here for beautiful days
For such beautiful days
The Ornithologist Waltz
Lyrics: Alan 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!
How Deep Is Your Glove?
Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican / Amanda White
Went to Phuket for some winter sun
And on the way back, as I got off the plane
Me feet had barely touched ground
When I was dragged out of the customs lane
Officers quizzed me, and with a frown
With me tank top off and me trousers down
I screamed, “I need to know
How deep is your glove!?
How deep? How deep is your glove?
How far do you need to go?
Cos when I said I had a crack in me arse.
You misunderstood
I'm not a mule, you've took my dignity
With your hands colder than the North Sea
There is nothing nice
About finding out that lightning can strike twice.
When I went along to my GP
Because me choc’late locker din’t feel right.
I said “It takes an age when I try to pee"
She said "lay on your side, while I try to see"
All the clinic heard me shout
How deep is your glove!?
How deep? How deep is your glove?
That’s no hand it’s like a boiler shovel
I was suffering with me Jeremy Kyles
But she was all smiles
As the tears came to my eyes
I think she loved to see grown men cry
I could hit those notes like the Bee Gees
Are you past me ears? Christ, I dare not sneeze!
I’m not a human puppet show!
How deep is your glove?
How deep? How deep is your glove?
I’m really quite concerned
Don’t even think about a second opinion
Or I will break down
That is one thing I can guarantee
Thought you were ramming up a Christmas tree!
How deep? How deep is your glove?
You never bought me flowers or dinner
You didn’t even give me time to prepare,
Before you were there
Knuckles deep inside my derriere
Cos BUPA doesn’t cover wear and tear
How deep? How deep is your glove?
I’m not ashamed to say it
But I may have bit a hole in your bench
As I battened down
As your digit entered into me
Feels like you’re up there with a JCB
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
Silent Farter
Lyrics: Alan Doonican
Methane eminato, Trouser fumigator, Secret botty burper, Nasal persecutor
I'm a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter
You're a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter
I'm a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter
He who smelt it dealt it, Fragrance of a cesspit
Surreptitious tooter. Atmosphere polluter
I'm a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter
You're a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter
Naturally furtive, Stink bomb detonator
Socially explosive,Noxious fume emitter
I'm a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter
You're a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter
I'm a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter
The Lady In Greggs
Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White
I’ve nivver seen your baps
Look as lovely as they did tonight
They looked tasty, wholemeal and white
I’ve nivver known a lass
Who really knew the way to a man’s heart
A gorgeous muffin and a good lookin’ tart
And I have never seen quite a dressing
As the stuff you’re packing into that baguette
You’ve got me in a sweat
The Lady in Greggs, she meks pasties for me through the week
And when she meks sausage rolls I forget how to speak
She’s really got technique
And I can’t resist her steak bakes on the side
I’ll nivver forget the super snap that she supplied
Nivver had a BLT taste as gorgeous as it did tonight
Tonsils tingling with savo’ry delight, and smokey bacon
I’ve nivver seen a chocolate éclair
With such a creamy inside
And then I turn to you and smile
‘cos it teks me breath away
And I’ve nivver had such a feeling
The feeling that I’m well and truly stuffed,
But I’m satisfied
The Lady in Greggs, she meks pasties for me through the week
And with muffins so moist, my knees just go weak
They really are unique
And I am so sure, her goods they won’t turn stale
I’ll nivver forget the gorgeous grub she’d got on sale
B.I.S.T.O.
Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White / Kay Fitzpatrick
I like it spicy and hot… I like it thick but runny
I like it in big warm jugs... with all the fat spooned off
I like it moist and meaty… I like it at simmering point
The juices exude from it… I like it with fagots
You need B.I.S.T.O.
It is B (Bloomin’ tasty)
It is I (In yer cupboard)
Go and S (Shove the kettle on)
And then T (Tip the watter in)
And then O-O-OOOOOHHHH
It is B (Brill with mixed grill)
It is I (In yer meat pie)
Not for S (Southern fairies)
What's for Tea (Tastebuds tingle)
It tastes O-O-OOOOOHHHH
Come dunk your meatballs… Smother your sausage
Ahhhh Bisto… Ahhhhhh!
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
The Devil Went Darn To Barnsley
Lyrics: Scott Doonican
The Devil went darn to Barnsley Tarn
He war lookin’ for a soul to steal.
He war in a bind ‘cos he war way behind
And he war willin’ to mek a deal
When he came across this young ‘un
Laikin’ on t’fiddle and playin’ shit ‘ot.
And t’Devil jumped up like a big daft lump and said,
“Ey up, let me tell thee what.
I guess you didn’t know it, but I’m a fiddle player, too.
And if you’d care, to tek a dare, I’ll mek a bet with you.
Now, you play pretty good fiddle, lad,
But I’m gunna mek thee see.
I’ll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul,
‘cos I think I’m better than thee.”
The lad said, “Me name’s Björn, and it might be a sin.
But I’ll take your bet, you big red get
‘cos I’m t’best that’s ever bin.”
Björn you better get yer bow and play yer fiddle hard,
‘cos hell’s brok loose in Barnsley Tarn
And t’Devil deals the cards.
And if you win you get his shiny fiddle med of gold.
But if you lose, the devil gets yer soul.
The devil got his fiddle, and he said, “Reight, off we go!”
And fire flew from his fingertips
And he put on quite a show
Then he brought in Graham from Saxon
And Eliza Carthy as well
These stranger’s in t’night, they din’t sound shite
No they rocked like bloody Hell!
When the devil finished, Björn just said,
“Thar pretty good, t’old lad,
But sit darn ovver theer for a bit
And I’ll mek thee look reight bad!”
A Doonican from Sweden livin’ in t’Tarn
I show thee what’s the crack, I’m t’best ararnd
The Devil’s goin’ darn cos he’s Number One
Playing them hits with The Bar-Steward Sons
The devil bowed his head
Because he knew that he’d bin beat.
And he laid that golden fiddle on t’ground at Björn’s feet
Björn said, “Devil, just come on back
If thy ever wants to try ageeain.
‘cos I told thee once, you big daft chuff,
I’m the best that’s ever been.”
A Doonican from Sweden livin’ in t’Tarn
I show thee what’s the crack, I’m t’best ararnd
The Devil’s goin’ darn cos he’s Number One
Playing them hits with The Bar-Steward Sons
Jump Ararnd
Lyrics: Scott Doonican
Listen up, listen in, we’re ‘bart to begin
Well I came to sing, bugger me, what a sin
But dun’t git yer backs up, if we turn t’sarnd up
That’s how we roll, till the whole room just cracks up
Get up, stand up, come on, chuck yer hands up
When the crowd are reelin’, we mek ‘em hit the ceilin’
I dun’t wear a string vest, ‘not like I’m a hunk,
But I’ll eat a pork pie and then I’ll tek the crust home
Think it, thunk it, we ha’n’t gorra drum-kit
We’ve got more beats than seeds in a pumpkin
Dun’t be shocked, sure ‘nuff we wain’t stop,
‘cos we’ve got more hits than New Kids On t’Block
We came to get darn, we came to get darn
So get art ‘yer seats ‘n jump ararnd
Jump ararnd, jump ararnd, jump ararnd
Jump up, jump up and get darn.
Just serve me a pint of Acorn on draught
I’m nowt like a brush, ‘cos I’ve nivver bin daft
Well word to yer mother, I’m ‘ere wi’ me brothers
And I’ve got more rhymes than a cart-load of others
But just like a Bar-Steward Son I’ve returned
For anyone rocking but gently’s concerned
We rewrite lyrics for you to have fun
So if you’ve come to see us, hope you have some
Me rappin’ dun’t scan when I run art of breath
We wear tank-tops, so we dun’t catch us death
Yes we dress to kill, us hair it looks brill
We’re t’Bar-Steward Sons and we aim to thrill
We came to get darn, we came to get darn
So get art ‘yer seats ‘n jump ararnd
Jump ararnd, jump ararnd, jump ararnd
Jump up, jump up and get darn.
We’re the cream o’ t’crop, we rise to t’top
But we ain’t the kinda stuff
They stick on Top Of The Pops
But y’know we work greater than Mr Motivator
As a personal trainer for Mr Johnny Vegas
But we ain’t going out like no daft chuffs
You know we’ve got style, you know we’re the right stuff
We go art rarnd tarn, sup the pints darn
Fill up yer heead until you wek up
Like t’Dawn of the Deead
We’re coming to get ya, coming to get ya
Spittin’ art lyrics… Westwood, we’ve bet ya!
We came to get darn, we came to get darn
So get art ‘yer seats ‘n jump ararnd
Jump ararnd, jump ararnd, jump ararnd
Jump up, jump up and get darn.
© All lyrics copyright of Moon-On-A-Stick Records