Half Man Half Biscuit - Uffington Wassail Lyrics
Oh say I’m not the only one to fill with trepidationWalking across the forecourt of the fire stationMy wariness consumes me, yet still protects me fromThe dimmer switch, and the membership of Britannia Music ClubI adventured for a fortnight in the valley of the RhoneDefied capricious mistrals on which tragedies are blownDismounting at the roadside to lubricate my chainI heard the hounds of retribution barking their refrain:Let’s go the Met Bar, and cause an altercationLet’s go the Groucho, and snap at rakish heelsFor a month I went all floppy just to see where I’d end upThe morgue was my considered guess, or maybe MartiniqueThe stern grind of reality however took its courseI stayed exactly where I was and suffered endless FeltzBecause you had a daughter, and chose to call her RainBecause you didn’t indicate to go down Woodchurch LaneYour Am-Dram class has been postponed indefinitelyBecause the root of Jesse’s just turned up in glorious majestySinging Sealed Knot Society, let’s see you try and do this one:Luton Town – Millwall, nineteen eighty-fiveHand me down my silver trumpetsSound the revolution bellThere’s a Cher impersonatorRising up in IsraelLate Lunch audience, we’ve got all your addresses!Lazy greedy farmers, pick your own strawberries!Is that our phone ringing, or is it on the telly?Let’s do the bongo-laced twenty-second albumVreni Schneider – you’re my downhill lady!Vreni Schneider – you’re the queen of the slopes!Vreni Schneider – you’re my downhill lady!Vreni Schneider – you’re the queen of the slopes!
