Intro
[Intro]
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Oh say I’m not the only one to fill with trepidation
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Walking across the forecourt of the fire station
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My wariness consumes me, yet still protects me from
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The dimmer switch and the membership of Britannia Music Club.
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I adventured for a fortnight in the valley of the Rhone
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Defied capricious mistrals on which tragedies are blown
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Dismounting at the roadside to lubricate my chain
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I heard the hounds of retribution barking their refrain:
Let’s go the Met Bar, and cause an altercation
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Let’s go the Groucho, and snap at rakish heels.
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For a month I went all floppy just to see where I’d end up
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The morgue was my considered guess, or maybe Martinique
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The stern grind of reality however took its course
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I stayed exactly where I was and suffered endless Feltz.
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Because you had a daughter and chose to call her Raine
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Because you didn’t indicate to go down Woodchurch Lane
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Your Am-Dram class had been postponed indefinitely
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‘Cos the root of Jesse’s just turned up in glorious majesty.
Singing “Sealed Knot Society, let’s see you try and do this one:
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Luton Town: Millwall, nineteen eighty-five”.
BB
Hand me down my silver trumpets, sound the revolution bell
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There’s a Cher impersonator rising up in Israel.
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Late Lunch audience: we’ve got all your addresses
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Lazy greedy farmers: pick your own strawberries
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Is that our phone ringing or is it on the telly?
Let’s do the bongo-laced twenty-second album!
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Vreni Schneider, you’re my downhill lady
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Vreni Schneider, you’re the queen of the slopes
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Vreni Schneider, you’re my downhill lady
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