The moon hangs out on dirty nights
And stabs the cyclist in the eye
Between the drunken bouts of rain
A rural band compounds the crime
The nearby cows on bass trombones
And distant sheep for saxophones
All in the sodden summertime.
Unshaven, oval face set hard
Impossible three months ago
That such a concert
To a fractured nation
Ever might be played.
But bow in hand
He takes the stand.
And this is good.
Since sharps and flats
Make better balm than diplomats.
"Tune in, turn on, drop out, sneak off.
Then go and tell the FBI."
Leary this and Leary that
The sixties guru, groovy guy
Was all I heard when I was young
From prematurely-bearded stiffs
Who lolled around on mattresses
And got their chicks to roll the spliffs
A slightly different type of grass
Was what the man turned out to be
So never trust a hippy, kids.
Now... where's my Moby Grape LP?
If your passport's overdue
Then join a queue which gives to you
A ticket for another queue
Which only lasts a day or two
But if you've nothing else to do
Then why not come and stand about?
It builds the British character
And brings the Dunkirk spirit out
The reason for this misery
Is our old friend, Efficiency
He and his blushing bride-to-be
That gorgeous, pouting tart, IT
Have modernised the world for you
Go on, you love it. `Course you do.
It's why you're standing in the wet
And cannot have your passport yet.
But never mind, there's just a chance
If you're marooned in Petty France
Ann Widdecombe will hove in sight
That stately galleon of the right
To ply her gentle charms, so blue
Now there's a way to clear a queue
Sponsored by Viagra then:
A rugby team from Wales
It lifts the lads' libido
And it boosts Viagra's sales
A hurried bath and home to bed
Their wives won't cast aspersions
The after-match result just in:
Ten tries and nine conversionsReuse content