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I feel like a beggar accepting alms Then being pelted with figs I study my steadily declining chart placings They greet me with freezing cold inhospitality Hey, where did that bloke go who said I was vital? I possess the mild air of a retail tobacconist That's because I'm a retail tobacconist But the mayflies on a Berkshire trout river Would probably tell you a different story About ham-fisted diadems and momentary daydreams Of mythical dividends and illusory boardroom suits Letras de cancionesIn the room festooned with fat beef certificates From county shows Duff leg Bryn had drank too much again Most of Wem was steering clear of him I've got no time for this 12th consecutive Rose Bowl Cos at Sunday next at ten to four I've got an invitation for A trip around Katharine Hamnett's warehouse Followed by dinner with David Emmanuel Whom I can't wait to tell about my dream In which the almost illegal Elton Welsby Is dressed as a French maid on a moonless byway Licking his lips as he creeps ever closer Fast falls the eventide Fast falls the eventide The public appearance of bitter ex-soap stars Who thought they could go on and do other things beside The Centre Court amusement at the ballboy's mishap That bobbing up and down thing that they do at the Proms Opinionated weather forecasters telling me it's going to be a miserable day Miserable to who? I quite like a bit of drizzle so stick to the facts Channel 4 presents Blowjob Introduced by Adrian and Sophie Horn Who is of course one bloke with a pierced dick Who's just had the nod from Planet 24 Hear him say surreal, bizarre, sad git Yes indeedy, completely and utterly footy anorak and respect Before whipping the audience up into doing the Time Warp Watch him take us live to The Queen's Arse and Firkin Where Joseph Bloggs and his amazing Technicolour shellsuit Are about to abort their Steely Dan routine And instead embark upon 15 minutes of mantra-filled Oompah 15 minutes of mantra-filled Oompah 15 minutes of mantra-filled Oompah Adrian / Sophie wants us, the viewers, to ring in And say how we think the punters will react (These are a few of my favourite things) I'm incredibly bored with the word millennium And with the Jehovah's Witnesses Millions now earmarked will later be wasted Her Majesty, marvellous, mother the musical The fireworks lighting up the Houses of Parliament Death in Trafalgar Square, death in the armchair Of clichéd old spinsters who never been loved Every day is Australia day Sons and Daughters and Home and Away But then the news comes on and the sound goes down Cos she can't be bothered with all them politicians They're all just a bunch of flamin' drongos She died with her telly on, 87 and confused With not enough hospital beds cos all the money's been used On the end of the century party preparations And they reckon that the last thing she saw in her life was Sting, singing on the roof of the Barbican Sting, singing on the roof of the Barbican T for Toxteth T for Tennessee T for Toxteth, T for Tennessee T for Thatcher, that girl that made a wreck out of me Old lady labelled me an idle Old lady labelled me an idle Old lady labelled me an idle layabout Layabout Layabout From Letras Mania