Fly Tipper 

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

He’s got a fridge freezer
He’s taking the easy way out
A knackered fridge freezer
And he’s taking the easy way out

Cos he’s a fly-tipper
He’s dumped a tyre and an armchair
It took him so long 
To off-load, by the road

He’s lacking a permit
For the Municipal Tip
And it won’t fit in his Transit 
Without taking a chainsaw to it

He’s got a mouldy carpet
Some plasterboard and dried-up grout
He packs it in nice and tight
Down the woods… chucks it out

Won’t take it at Oxfam
On eBay not one single bid
Barnsley Council could shift it
But they’d charge him 25 quid

And he’s a tight bugger
He won’t pay for that
Chuffin’ ‘ow much!?!?! 
Not a chance - he’s got plans

Fly Tipper - fridge freezer yeah
Fly Tipper - fan heater yeah
Fly Tipper - old speakers yeah
Fly Tipper - dodgy geezer yeah

 

​

Too Many Boring Farts

Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

Norman who works in accounting

At works do's always tries to maintain 

That he's the life and he's soul of the party

But can't help his mad obsession with trains

At St Pancras well he's logged every number

From Derby to Lime Street Liverpool 

He really gets his kicks out on Platform 6

With his biro, a notepad and dayglo kagool

 

There's too many boring farts in the world

The last thing you need is one talking to you

There's too many boring farts in the world

So try to stop them before they do.

 

Malcolm is encyclopaedic

On Popmaster he knows every act

Obscure facts about one hit wonders 

At pub quizzes he's so matter of fact

With certain bands he is almost obsessive

His recall is quite something to see

And he just can't help but inform you

Why the bass player left back in eighty-three!

 

There's too many boring farts in the world

The last thing you need is one talking to you

There's too many boring farts in the world

So try to stop them before they do.

 

Colin's always been a collector

Has a multitude of things round his home

Old Marmite Jars to vast stamp collections

And you can't move around his garden for gnomes

He has a complete set of scarce Batman comics

Wedgewood pottery, and rare cricket bats

He really doesn't think he's a hoarder

He says it's only a problem if you can't find your cat

 

There's too many boring farts in the world

The last thing you need is one talking to you

There's too many boring farts in the world

So try to stop them before they do.

 

Sheila's constipation's a nightmare

It's tragic but she just overshares

As she logs every stool by the hour

Each movement she so quickly compares

She keeps a diary of the roughage she's eaten

Exercise is detailed on her fit-bit

But when she's telling everyone at the bus stop 

Well just like her, you won't give a shit

 

Keith is a Games Workshop fanatic 

He loves anything with wizards or elves

Cosplays Warhammer and Dungeons n Dragons 

He's in his element when he's casting spells 

He's waved his big staff at the Orc hordes of Mordor 

Summoned elements of Fire and Ice

He's still searching for his Lady Galadriel

But he won't get laid with his twelve sided dice

 

There's too many boring farts in the world

The last thing you need is one talking to you

There's too many boring farts in the world

So try to stop them before they do.

 

There's too many boring farts in the world

The last thing you need is one talking to you

We all know a boring fart in this world

If you don't the boring fart might be you

​

​

Cut-Price Cowboy

Lyrics: Scott Doonican  

 

I can’t believe I got it so wrong

I didn’t notice being strung along

I should’ve spotted the crack of his arse

When he looked at me fusebox

But now I’m feeling quite ashamed

And how on earth can I explain

When the missus gets home

 

I only tried economising

When I booked him in to fix our lighting

But I’m sat here in the darkness

And my lights aren’t shining on me

 

He was a half-arsed cowboy

Who lied about his reference, 

Fabricated his portfolio

Just a cut-price cowboy

Fitting flimsy faulty fuses

Causing circuit-breaker overload

And smoke you can see reight up our road

 

Well I really can’t quite ascertain 

Why I’m lying here in so much pain

I vaguely recall the light switch at the top of the landing

It’s like a touched a Van De Graaff

I saw the banister as I shot past

As I cleared the whole staircase

 

Well his prices were so enticing

But there is really no disguising

You get what you pay for

And this clearly has backfired on me

 

He was a half-arsed cowboy

And I woke up on me arse in the middle of our patio

He was a cut-price cowboy

Who sloped off for his dinner

Leaving live wires half exposed

And it wasn’t his first rodeo

 

Well I was lucky still to be alive

Although me hair looked like The Jackson Five

And I don’t like to whinge, 

But the singed parts of me were quite sore

Now I’m all bandages and one huge bruise

I know where I’d shove that chuffin’ fuse

If he walked through the door

 

Turns out he faked online reviews and

I was a wazzock daft enough to choose him

But he took the money up-front so

I’ll never seen the bugger again

 

Just a half-arsed cowboy

Telling piles of porkies like a modern day Pinocchio 

He was a cut-price cowboy

Cutting corners on trip switches

And the sockets round me bungalow

 

Just a half-arsed cowboy

The consumer unit fitted isn’t really worth the guarantee

Just a cut-price cowboy

Ex-posed by Watchdog and Rogue Traders on the BBC

But I can’t watch it, cos he’s blown our TV

​

​

That's Not My Name 

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

It’s a four letter word, but it gets on me wick

It’s not difficult to remedy, I’m not being a dick

And it’s pretty annoying, cos I hold the band together

I’m here to keep the groove, in me slacks and knitted sweater

I’m a serious musician, but they’re tekkin’ the Mick

Because the moniker I’m after goes with Harry and Dick

But they never seem to remember it at all

And at every single show 

They just forget me name 

 

They call me Dave - Not on me tank-top

Have they amnesia? Are they insane?

That’s not my name - That’s not my name

That’s not my name - My name ain’t Dave!

 

Some call me Ken

And some shout Shaggy

Can’t cope with them

Are they deranged?

That’s not my name

That’s not my name

That’s not my name

My name ain’t Dave!

 

The band have missed the bus, yeah they’re droppin’ the ball

I’m the reason that you’re dancing, so I’m rather appalled 

Cos, Dave’s are common as muck, they’re ten a penny

But frankly, I’m a Tom, so that makes me legendary

So I’m not being rude, not tryna’ cause offence now

Something’s got to give and I’m not sitting on the fence 

I may be rankled and riled, but there’s one thing I promise

You’re not standing up for Spartacus 

Because I’m a Thomas 

 

They call me Dave - Not on me tank-top

Have they amnesia? Are they insane?

That’s not my name - That’s not my name

That’s not my name - My name ain’t Dave!

 

Don’t call me Rodney - Cos I’m no Cockney

And if you start that - I will complain

That’s not my name - That’s not my name

That’s not my name - My name ain’t Dave!

 

Don’t get your knickers in a twist now Dave

Don’t have another hissy fit, Dave

 

They call me Dave Don’t get your knickers in a twist now Dave

Not on my tank-top Don’t have another hissy fit, Dave

Have they amnesia?

Are they insane?

That’s not my name

That’s not my name

That’s not my name

My name ain’t Dave!

 

Some call me Ken Don’t have another hissy fit, Dave

And some shout Shaggy

Can’t cope with them

Are they deranged?

That’s not my name Don’t have another hissy fit, Dave

That’s not my name

That’s not my name

My name ain’t Dave!

 

They call me Dave Don’t get your knickers in a twist darlin’

Not on my tank-top

Have they amnesia?

Are they insane?

That’s not my name Don’t have another hissy fit, Dave

That’s not my name

That’s not my name

My name ain’t Dave!

 

Don’t call me Rodney Don’t get your knickers in a twist darlin’

Cos I’m no Cockney

And if you start that

I will complain

That’s not my name Don’t have another hissy fit, Dave

That’s not my name

That’s not my name

My name ain’t Dave!

​

Waiting In On Monday Afternoon

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

Well the boss man’s docked me half a day

To waste my chuffin’ time away

I’m hoping that the doorbell rings quite soon

I’d wish on them a pox

Cos it won’t slot through my letter box

I’m waiting in on Monday afternoon

 

Well my safe place isn’t a safe place today

Because you kicked it down the drive

In the rain and drove away

And I’ve tried to sit so patiently

But you take the piss so blatantly 

Waiting in all Tuesday afternoon

Until suppertime

I’m heading back online

To sort this pantomime

 

Well I’d need the skills of Sherlock Holmes

To track it over nine timezones

To a lorry stuck in Kent because of Brexit

But still I’m sitting here

For what feels like eighteen light years

Still waiting here on Wednesday afternoon 

 

They claimed that it was still in transit to appease

But I’m looking up the drive whilst your tracking App’s on freeze

I’ve ordered goods online before

But the chuffin’ thing’s still in Equador

But time’s stood still all Thursday afternoon

No they’re not on time

They’re clearly not inclined

To hit their deadline

 

Yodel chucked stuff in next door’s yard

Royal Mail left a big red card

And Fed-Ex are a bunch of chuffing useless vigilantes  

Every day is Groundhog Day cos DHL are MIA

And Hermes are so shite they changed their name to Evri

 

They said that it was sent ‘next day guaranteed’ 

I’ve got a grand piano on it’s way to me

Well I took both of the back doors off

It’s freezing cold and I’m well pigged off

Still waiting in all Friday afternoon

 

And then they arrive

And don’t apologise

When it has not survived

Taking a nose-dive

Into our neighbour's drive

I’m really not surprised

 

​

Spas

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White / Alan Doonican

 

The word on the street, is that nothing can beat
A relaxed country retreat, 
Where they’ll massage your feet - In spas
Wear your comfiest robe, and then try to embrace
A lovely warm tranquil zen, 
With tonnes of crap on your face - In spas

Seaweed body wraps and herbal facial masks
Apply a mud pack with cucumbers on eyes 
Epilate tough hair, til your body’s bare
But careful near your bits - it will sting your eyes

You can steamer your face, 
So your pores are unblocked, but 
Don’t swim after you eat 
Or you could sink like a rock - In spas
It’s a blissful escape, where you’ll never feel glum
You can have your lips plumped 
To look just like a chimp’s bum - In spas

Spray tan while you’re there, in paper underwear
Careful or you’ll look like the The Tango Man
Healthy food is great, but-some can irritate
Til your bum looks like the flag of Japan

Just unwind and relax, while they rub-down your back
They can hit you with twigs 
Or do your back, sack and crack - In spas
Protein shakes and hot towels, 
Stressful times here are sparse
You can clear out your bowels 
With a pipe up your arse - In spas

There’s reflexology, and nice warm jacuzis
Aromatherapy with lavender oil
Steam cabins and saunas, try to find nirvana 
While their expert staff are lancing your boils

​

​

Mr Pint-Sized

Lyrics: Rt. Rev. Jeremiah Rickenbacker Doonican III / Scott Doonican / Amanda White / Dave Harrison 

 

When Gary Barlow's on stage, he is doing just fine
He's on top of the world, feeling ten foot tall
But not at home with his kid who's incredibly big
Cos everything that's inside, has to be twice the size
Now there's so many things that put Gaz in a grump
Like his dangly legs when he's tekkin' a dump
And their fridge is immense, so his neck's in a crick
Cos it's omelettes for tea and he needs the eggs down
But they're on the middle shelf now
He has no hope 
He can't climb up past the Dairylea's
Cos he would need rope

The viral memes
Are wall-to-wall for all to see
There they are in black and white 
Poking fun about his height
Five foot eight is ordinary
Unless yer kid's a Giant Redwood tree
So that when they're pictured side by side
He's Mr Pint-Sized

​

Now he's a ball full of rage, an angry man all the time
Because next to his lad, he feels really small
When he towers above like Goliath or Kong
Then there's really no fun talking Father to Son
It's hard to talk heart-to-heart, and eye-to-eye is the pits 
When Gary's heart's by his balls and his eyes by his tits
So he tries to feel big by making money galore
Stores it safely away in a haven off shore now
He wants even more now
He can't be consoled
And every morning when he wakes 
He has been trolled

It haunts his dreams

That their milkman's six foot three

His giant son he can't forgive 
Cos he makes him look diminutive 
But now Mark Owen stands by him
Cos it's in their contract, written in 
So when they're pictured side by side
Mark's Mr Pint-Sized

​

​

Useless Uber

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

I am sick and tired of sitting here
Been an hour long wait in the snow
I jab my phone, impatiently freezing
Wishing that it wasn't such a shitshow
I was glad to hear the sound of you approaching 
Hoping that I'll be alright
But another bus crawls past
I feeling full of rage tonight

I booked a useless Uber, when are you arriving
This ain't chuffing fun
Booked at 10.21
And already an hour has gone
And then the stupid Uber, mobile app reminds me
That your overdue
The air is fifty shades of blue
While I wonder where you're driving to

Another twenty minutes pass and then
I get the first glimpse of Tony
Pulling up and he grunts "You getting in?"
While I turn my death stare to stoney
I-clamber into the back seat of his Hyundai
And homeward bound we then depart
And when I ask: "Have you been busy?"
Tony picks his nose and farts

I booked a useless Uber, and I am surmising
Tony's just begun
To have some impish fun
Playing Back to Bedlam by James Blunt
And then my useless Uber driver starts imparting
His expert world views
On Trump and Brexit news
I'm ignoring his misspelt tattoos

I just can't wait til we arrive
I wish that you would shut your trap and simply drive
And when you claim these days are Woke
I'm still polite 
Cos now I know I'll never stop you talking shite

Inside this useless Uber, oh my god it's frightening
He's texting as he drives
Weaving cross the lines
No one's getting out alive
I booked a useless Uber, and its not surprising
Why I'm so dischuffed
I'd waited long enough
But now I wish I'd caught that bus

Inside this useless Uber, Tony is deriding
Everyone but him
I can't be convinced
Because I'm not as thick as mince
And whilst my Uber driver's ranting about Pride week
I just won't feel blue
Cos once this ride is through
I'll be adding to your bad reviews

 

​

Lost In Munich

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

We're off to Munich 

No looking back

Our bags have been packed 

We're off to Munich 

 

We're off to Munich

We're off to imbibe

And to check out the vibe 

We're off to Munich 

 

Oktoberfest is underway

And here we are on holiday

Oh the anticipation

Took the U-Bahn to the Marstall Tent

The Weissbier's nice at 5 percent 

No need for moderation 

 

I have never seen 

So many tourists staggering 

My legs no longer function

Here lederhosen are allowed

But with thirteen steins of Lowenbrau

Ich bin wirklich betrunken

 

They shout “Prost!” in Munich 

Which translates as “Cheers!”

Clank those big steins of beer 

And shout “Prost!” in Munich 

 

When the Mayor of Munich’s

First barrel's been tapped

Festival tents are packed 

We’re sloshed in Munich 

 

The atmosphere's a fine delight

Where Oompah music plays all night

Accordions and phat tubas

Six rounds of Euros have been spent

It's crazy times in this huge tent

Until we're all in a stupor 

 

Shut up liver, do your job

Got a bratwurst rammed into me gob

To soak up some of this strong booze

I was enjoying festivities 

But I wandered off to have a wee

Can't find me mates or the loos

 

I'm lost in Munich

Way off the map

Me internal SatNav is crap 

So I'm lost in Munich

 

Woke up with no wallet 

And me passport weren’t there

I’ve got nowt to declare, 

Except I'm lost in Munich 

 

Turns out me mates had found me 

And hid them for a joke

Me head feels like it’s broke 

Me mind was lost in Munich 

 

Crazy times in Munich 

Same time next year?

What happens in Munich… 

Stays in Munich

​

​

Clio

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

You're on the bumper of me Ford Capri

With full beam on your head lights

You're like a silent maniac

Nearly took out that push bike

With the windows down and the bass turned up

And your mirrored Ray Bans for impact

You think you've got the Va Va Voom 

But you're just a posing twat  

 

His Electric Clio cost him over 20 grand

But-he-drives-it like a knob he really should be banned

He dun’t shut up about it, you’d think he’d understand

Nobody cares cos there’s no electric Clio fans

 

Diamond cut alloy wheels 

500 mile range from A to B

But for the millionth time

It dun’t mean a thing to me

I don’t mind that it hardly pollutes 

But I really couldn’t give a toss 

About your 400 litre boot  

 

His E-Tech Clio really is the pride of France

Or so he tells us every time he gets the chance

My adaptive cruise control it really is the best

Mate, it’s still a Clio - does it look like we’re impressed

 

I’ll concede that It’s alright 

If you’re only driving across town 

But go out and drive round the M25 

That stupid thing’s poor battery won’t survive

Don’t take that chance 'cause luck ain’t on your side

I’ll tell you something, I don’t need convincing

It’s so bloody slow you could get out and milk it 

 

His Electric Clio is like a milk float or golf cart

And I’d charge it with a lightning rod shoved up his arse

He can smoke at the charging point, if a charging point is there

But it takes four top-ups to get to Weston Super Mare

 

His Electric Clio is new fangled and equipped

With advanced assistance systems, but still he drives like shit

You can harp on all day long about all its benefits

But even in a Tesla, you’d still be a boring git

 

His electric Clio - drop it in the Rio Grande!

​

​

The Strongest Wine

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

Ohhhh ohh oh oh - it is mighty fine
Ohhhh ohh oh oh - Alan’s hobby…

 

Alan’s got himself a new pastime
It’s amazing what you find online
He has the tubing, rubber bungs
And food-grade lubing
And all his tackle has been sanitised

 

Now he slips off in the dead of night
To the shed to work on his delight
He’s made a breakthrough
Now he’s dabbling with home-brew
Because he is working on the strongest wine

   

Ohh ohh oh oh – Alan’s home-brew wine
Ohh ohh oh oh – is the bestest… 

 

Fills his bathtub to the top with grapes
Jumps on them like Tarzan of the Apes
He looks demented
But just wait til it’s fermented
It's pretty lethal stuff, his bootleg wine

 

The effects can last rather long 
I once lost two days and woke up in Hong Kong
Paralysed from my neck to my hair
But I didn't have a care 
And I can't feel my legs still

 

Raids his hedgerows, til all fruit is gone
His airing cupboard's packed with demi-johns
Forget Chianti 
He meks that bugger taste like Shandy, 
Tops it up with Brandy so it's fortified

 

Just beware his Pinot Noir

Even a glass could impede your brain power

His best brewer’s yeast, can enhance every feast

But if his grapes are too ripe

Then he might get his plums out

 

Sommelier’s will need a spittoon 

Its could fuel a rocket to the moon 

Intoxicating 
It gets a Keith Floyd 5-Pint rating, even
Shane McGowan would be terrified

 

Oz Clarke couldn't be too critical
It’s got a greater kick than methanol
It's quite enchanting 
It won’t be long til you’re not standing 
Really don't have too much or you’ll end up blind

 

Ohh ohh oh oh – Alan’s homebrew wine

Ohh ohh oh oh - really is sublime

Ohh ohh oh oh – Alan’s homebrew wine
Ohh ohh oh oh – is the strongest wine

 

​

Turkey Teeth

Lyrics: Dave Doonican / Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

Well when you went to Istanbul last year 

You topped up your tan 

But then stepped things up a gear

And I know it’s all in style

But now every time you smile

I’m almost blinded by your new veneers

 

Cos they’re bright, dead bright, they’re bright, so bright 

You can't miss your pearly whites

And they’re neat, real neat, they’re neat so neat 

You really love your Turkey teeth

You really love your Turkey teeth

Your Turkey teeth

Your Turkey teeth

Your Turkey teeth

 

If you only wanted them to be in place

You could have opted for an orthodontic brace

I can see them in dark

They're even worse than Rylan Clarke’s

Now your gnashers look like tombstones without names

 

Cos they’re dazzling bright, but not quite right 

You can't miss your pearly whites

And they’re neat, real neat, but not petite

You really love your Turkey teeth

You really love your Turkey teeth

Your Turkey teeth

Your Turkey teeth

Your Turkey teeth

 

They've an incandescent glare

That only sunglasses could bear

I'm sure we could see 

Your mouth from outer space

 

Cos they’re bright, so bright, turn off the lights
You can't miss your pearly whites
And they neat, so neat
But really not discrete 

You really love your Turkey teeth

You really love your Turkey teeth

Your Turkey teeth

Your Turkey teeth

Your Turkey teeth

​

​

Hidden Track: Red Card

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

Well the Tango Tyrant rolled out of bed

And again he addressed his nation

Slapped an executive order on his neighbouring borders   

25 percent rise in taxation

 

He just changed the law

He just changed the law

Started a trade war 

When he changed the law

 

Well the Tangerine Toddler hit the ground runnin'

Saying “I won the bigly election!”

Signed executive orders, so American borders

Treated migrants with an act of aggression

 

He sent them on their way

They don't know that they're going

To Guantanamo Bay

He made it a crime for them to be there

Typical Trump with his awful persona

That Juan and Julio can’t get a green card 

No Juan and Julio can’t get a green card 

 

And after less than a day, Canada had its say
To try and chill it out a fraction
The PM told the press, we’re not having this mess
And told them of affirmative action

 

So he said “No way
I don’t know who you’re kidding
Go on, get on your way
I'm not your mate or your 51st State
Does your alpha male stance, give you a huge boner

Well we stand up to bullies out in the school yard 
And I’m Justin Trudeau I’ve played my Trump Card”

​

The Apprentice in Command's dick-waving demands

Spread disharmony across the whole globe

What really were the chances with all the advances

That that shooter only could hit his earlobe?

He said he'll build a wall 

He said he’ll build a wall 

Can't we just build a wall

To surround that asshole

 

But the Fake Tanned Arse carried on with the farce

Making power grabs planned to expand

More executive orders saw the world’s reporters

Saying that he’ll take Gaza and Greenland

 

Thinks he’s got his way

But we all know where where it’s heading

If you have a say

Well now’s the time

To get in that line

To tell him out, and Elon as his donor

The world doesn’t need it

Show Trump the Red Card 

No we’re not gonna take it

Show Trump the Red Card 

 

Don’t let him pave Palestine and put up a parking lot

​

Hidden Track: Sup It Up

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

The evenin’ starts when we let loose

Cos we’re not on orange juice

Hoovered up the bar snacks

“Make mine a double Jack”

Barmaid said “What the chuff?

Alreight lads, you’ve had enough

You’re not William Shakespeare

So don’t end up barred 

 

Sup it up

Do it once and repeat it

Sup it up

Even if you don’t need it

 

Head on to The Barley Mow

“Get it chugged, you’re far too slow”

For pints of real ale, pulled by hand

The Nags Head is the promised land

But now you’re there it’s packed and pokey

Hit The Plough for karaoke 

 

Sup it up

It’s more than appealin’

Sup it up

Singin’ Don’t Stop Believin’

 

At The Black Bull there’s Beer Pong

A step too far, it could go wrong

There’s dominoes for the old farts

Foosball, cribbage, pool and darts

While Alan thinks he’s Eric Bristoe

At The Crown it’s indie disco

Throwing shapes to Blue Monday

Pulp and The Cure 

 

Sup it up

It numbs the week’s troubles

Sup it up

And then we’ll move on to doubles

 

Now my legs they feel like lead

Last orders at The Kings Head

A cover band plays Stereophonics

And it’s sounding catastrophic 

It’s rather torturous, but 

We don’t feel unfortunate

The lock-in’s at The Dog and Duck

And now we do not give a monkeys

 

Sup it up

It might not be cultured

Sup it up

Just do it for Yorkshire

 

Sup it up

Everyone is competing

Sup it up

And eating is cheating

 

Sup it up

And don’t heed the warnings

Sup it up

Til one in the morning

Two in the morning    

Three in the morning

Four in the morning

Five in the morning

Six in the morning

Oh God it’s morning!

​

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