You can’t take a chicken by surprise, James You can’t take a chicken by surprise Nick don’t care how it dies Nick just likes chicken pies And you can’t take a chicken by surprise
You can’t eat your burger in peace, James You can’t eat your burger in peace Although Nick loves the grease Of the recently deceased You can’t eat your burger in peace
You can’t take your mother to the vets, Ed You can’t take your mother to the vets They might be great with pets But the BMA regrets That you can’t take your mother to the vets
You can’t take a chicken by surprise, James You can’t take a chicken by surprise You might deny their demise As food supply compromise But you can’t take a chicken by surprise
If you were listening to LBC today, you may have heard James O’Brien’s, admittedly unfinished, debate about the relative sentience of cows and chickens as justification for the various methods of their slaughter for food. Earlier, Nick Ferrari was comfortable not really caring how the chicken died so long as he could eat it.
Later on, the conversation in Eddie Mair’s show turned to assisted dying with a caller bemoaning that we treat terminally ill humans worse than we treat their pets.
If you halve child poverty, will they all be half as poor? Or will half be as poor as all they were before? What sort of compromise With government lies About austerity and poverty And children going hungry Says well, we’ll meet you halfway there
The judgement of Solomon is somehow lost on them The biblical rule said going halves ain’t cool What kind of compromise With folk that you despise Says, you know well maybe If we can’t have all the baby Says well, we’ll meet you halfway there
We went looking for the centre, but all we found was the system There ain’t no halfway there
The judgement of Solomon is somehow lost on them The biblical rule said going halves ain’t cool What kind of compromise With folk that you despise Says, you know well maybe If we can’t have all the baby Says well, we’ll meet you halfway there
We went looking for the centre, but all we found was the system There ain’t no halfway there
There ain’t no halfway There ain’t no halfway there
Mr Toothpaste squeezes the tube When the prince wants to brush his teeth Mr Toothpaste fences the loot That other dignitaries bequeath Mr Toothpaste directs the royal appendage When the prince can only use one hand And if you want a dodgy CBE Mr Toothpaste is your man
When you change your clothes five times a day You might need someone to put ‘em away In royal circles that’s called a valet And Prince Charles, he’s got four (if not more)
Mr Toothpaste squeezes the tube When the prince wants to brush his teeth Mr Toothpaste fences the loot That other dignitaries bequeath Mr Toothpaste directs the royal appendage When the prince can only use one hand And if you want a dodgy CBE Mr Toothpaste is your man
Breaking your arm is an inconvenience Lady Luck don’t show royals any lenience But Michael is a valet with such an allegiance He’ll hold it while the Prince has a piss (so he don’t miss)
Mr Toothpaste squeezes the tube When the prince wants to brush his teeth Mr Toothpaste fences the loot That other dignitaries bequeath Mr Toothpaste directs the royal appendage When the prince can only use one hand And if you want a dodgy CBE Mr Toothpaste is your man
The director of the royal cock holds a special place And he’ll never face a discrimination case Whatever happened anyway to the rape tapes Some things we’ll never know (ain’t that so?)
Mr Toothpaste squeezes the tube When the prince wants to brush his teeth Mr Toothpaste fences the loot That other dignitaries bequeath Mr Toothpaste directs the royal appendage When the prince can only use one hand And if you want a dodgy CBE Mr Toothpaste is your man
Now Prince Charles’ influence could help a fellow out But how to curry favour with a fellow of such clout? Well extravagant gifts will help, no doubt That Toothpaste will turn into cash (well that’s rash)
Mr Toothpaste squeezes the tube When the prince wants to brush his teeth Mr Toothpaste fences the loot That other dignitaries bequeath Mr Toothpaste directs the royal appendage When the prince can only use one hand And if you want a dodgy CBE Mr Toothpaste is your man
Now it turns out that what folk actually think is wrong Is accepting wads of cash in exchange for a gong Something I’m pretty sure they’ve done all along So Toothpaste’s fallen on his sword (once more)
Mr Toothpaste squeezes the tube When the prince wants to brush his teeth Mr Toothpaste fences the loot That other dignitaries bequeath Mr Toothpaste directs the royal appendage When the prince can only use one hand And if you want a dodgy CBE Mr Toothpaste is your man And when Prince Charles needs to pee Mr Toothpaste is your man
Father Michael only liked liturgical music But he never shot a folk singer in the head Even when atheist lyric and rhyme Where enough to make a man of god see red. Meanwhile north of Kabul, The Taliban Shot an Afghan man For singing songs they consider haram.
Father Michael only liked liturgical music And insisted it was on the curriculum But at least he wanted girls as well as boys To understand the music of Christendom. Meanwhile in the USA, The Texas pro-lifers, they say Are hitting women’s rights harder than That other mob in Afghanistan.
Father Michael only like liturgical music But he thought shooting folk singers was a sin. He never pronounced on the war on terror I suspect it was never expected of him, But on the issue of abortion He’d have exercised some caution And while decrying the Afghan Taliban coup Would wonder when the Texans would start shooting folk singers too.
The Colonel’s run out of chickens And Ronald’s run out of shakes Joe’s run away from the War On Terror Without admitting anyone’s mistakes. Now the media’s full of armchair experts And actual experts like Professor Glees (Although not an expert on the Middle East) Talking like Forever War high priests. Because the quickest way to transfer money From public purse to shareholder value Is to start a war in a foreign country And tell ‘em you’re installing democracy too, Then roll your eyes and blame ISIS For the inevitable refugee crisis. Don’t forget that Ben Wallace, MP Was the overseas director of an arms company And Blair’s advice never comes for free With his current interests in the UAE. From a botched Libyan intervention To WMD’s we never mention The war on a concept’s turned a pretty penny For the few at the expense of the very many. But now the Colonel’s run out of chickens And Ronald’s run out of shakes Joe’s run away from the War On Terror And the mess an imperialist adventure makes.
Yesterday, I couldn’t touch things Today, I can touch things Yesterday, I couldn’t sing Today, I’m singing I’m singing I’m singing
What about me? I’m CEV A year in isolation, cough free Does anyone care about my captivity?
Yesterday I couldn’t go out Today I can go out Yesterday, I couldn’t sing Today, I’m singing I’m singing I’m singing
Kids with vaccines Wanna live their dreams Sick of the disease Time to do what they please So, is it goodbye Jason and Joanna?
Yesterday, I couldn’t work things out Today, I still can’t work things out But yesterday, I couldn’t sing Today, I’m singing I’m singing I’m singing
What about me? I’m CEV A year in isolation, cough free Does anyone care about me?
Yesterday, I couldn’t touch things Today, I can touch things Yesterday, I couldn’t sing Today, I’m singing I’m singing I’m singing I’m singing I’m singing
Pricks in space Rich pricks in space Rich pricks who think they’re philanthropists In space In space
Jeff’s got a rocket Looks like a cock It’s a rich spaceman Delivery system If space is so much better He should just go and live there
Pricks in space Rich pricks in space Rich pricks who think they’re philanthropists In space In space
Richard was skint But now he’s got a mint To spunk on a rocket That looks like a cock It’s a rich spaceman Delivery system Only a space mission By the NASA definition
Cos there’s not enough to keep him here He loves a party near the edge of atmosphere
Pricks in space Rich pricks in space Rich pricks who think they’re philanthropists In space In space
Elon wants a rocket That looks like a cock It’s a burning ambition To fly a space mission So he’s looking for a lift with Dick Cos he thinks that Jeff’s a prick
Pricks in space Rich pricks in space Rich pricks who think they’re philanthropists In space In space In space In space
A beaming Kier Starmer is beamed into our homes Wearing an England top stitched by children in export processing zones, And who’s that posing by an England flag? Why it’s Owen Jones. It’s amazing what winning and taking the knee can do, Even Priti’s forgotten that she’d rather boo And that seems to go for her boss too With his England shirt worn over his clothes.
Keep the politicians out of football, but not the politics, ‘Cos it’s hard not to love a team that’s anti-racist And not afraid to make the boo boys face it. Who’ll speak truth to power and use their position Like Marcus, leader of the opposition, Got Spaffer to cough up on child nutrition. If there’s a righteous pass then they’re gonna chase it.
So, Lee Anderson can go unpack a box And take that wanker with him, Laurence Fox. In fact, all the politician bandwagon jumpers Who would never normally know their Arse from their Spurs Or their O’s from their Bees Can watch at home on TV While our players take the knee, Because just sticking to football ain’t the aim And Black Lives Matter in the People’s Game.
He’d punch his opponent Though punching weren’t allowed He’d wind up the ref And he’d wind up the crowd In his black leotard that only had one strap You knew you were in for a bit of a scrap Because his wrestling shenanigans should’ve got him banned And God help you if you tried to shake his outstretched hand ‘Cos dirty Sid came from Dirty Leeds Filling your Saturday teatime with dirty deeds Picking up public warnings for fun He’d often find himself undone By two falls, two submissions or a knockout ‘Cos rules really weren’t what he was about But now it’s goodnight grapple fans from Cyanide Sid At the end of a heel’s life well lived With a twisted smile as he’d twist a limb. If only Spaffer were as honest as him
Killing people’s okay But kissing ’em isn’t. Give your girl a job, But make sure you keep her distant Workplace lovin’ Brings a certain frisson But killing people’s okay And kissing ‘em isn’t
Hopeless Hancock had his cake and ate it Gave his girl a job, but now he might regret it If there’s a prize for incompetence, you think he’d probably get it But give ‘em extra marital, they won’t let you forget it
Professor Lockdown will tell ya, “It happened to me”. But Hopeless don’t take advice easily. Although he hands out contracts to friends and family It’s about him and Gina: Stars of CCTV
‘Cos sex sells papers, I’m sure you understand We live in saucy seaside postcard land It’s Carry On Government at it’s most grand And Hands Face Arse might get him banned
