Morris Dance (hidden track on CD version BEFORE Track 1 - press rewind to find it)

Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican / Amanda White

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You can dance if you want to

Stomp yer clogs - wave a garland high
You can Right-Hand Star your way to the bar 

And your tankard never will run dry

At the Olde Cock & Pullett
Join the Mummers as they start to mime

And as your sticks ascend, just shake your bell ends

Making sure you pull out on time    -    You can dance…

 

Border dance if you want to
It's tradition, it's not a trend 

It's a rare old place where a blacked-up face

Is not there to offend

Dance with swords if you want to
Face a partner who is parallel

And when you raise your shaft, you won't feel so daft

Cos the lads are raising theirs as well

 

And Morris Dance, Morris Dance - with accordion or violin

Morris Dance, Morris Dance - here your hankies don’t go in the bin

Morris Dance, Morris Dance - for Solstice or Equinox

Take a chance, you can prance, with your keks tucked in your socks

Morris Dance, oh yeah Morris dance 
Come on Morris Dance, Morris Dance

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Pace-egg if you want to
Or wear a hobby-horses head

Horn-dance like a stag if that is your bag

Or dance like a fool instead

On May Day, if you want to,
You can do it at the village fair

The size of your pole's a sight to behold

When erected for the people there

 

Morris dance Morris dance - if you're feeling that way inclined
Morris dance Morris dance - like it’s 1599

Morris dance Morris dance

Get your baldricks out tonight

Morris dance Morris dance

There’s nothing wrong with men in tights

Morris Dance, oh yeah Morris dance 
Come on Morris Dance, Morris Dance...

 

 

Bag For Life

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

We did the Big Shop yesterday…
Ar lass bought loads of stuff  - all nouvelle cuisine
And loads of two for one stuff that we dun’t need
She went crazy on promotions
Our bank account depleted as the trolley piled up
With loads of stuff - chuffing tonnes of stuff

On top I saw at least four free-range chickens
But as we started queuing up
There was shock horror at the check-out

Forgot the Bag for Life

Forgot the Bag for Life
 

I’m not the type who likes surprises
But she went beserk - wouldn’t let to go

She had a massive strop - and began to moan

She said “Asda saves us millions in prices,
But now we’re forced to pay for plastic carriers
You forgetful chuff - they’re 5 pence a bag
I said 5 PENCE A BAG!” - I said 5 PENCE A BAG!”

And then she starting going nuts
Like World War 3 there at the checkout,  when I…
 

Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life
Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life
Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life
Was just a Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life
Forgot the Bag for Life
 

Well I’d had about enough
Of ar lass whinging in me ear because

I forgot the Bag for Life - forgot the Bag for Life
 

Then she pipes up once again
‘bout the damage I’ve done - now she’s acting all Green

She might as well be telling me in Chinese

“The ice-caps will melt into the oceans
These things will stay in landfill for hundreds of years”

Oh shut up love - I’ve had more than enough
And why the clucking hell d’ya buy four chickens!?”
Well I am quite a patient guy

But I’ve never lost me shit before
Over a Bag for Life - It’s just a Bag for Life
A chuffing Bag for Life - It’s just a Bag for Life

I don’t need the strife - over a Bag for Life
Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life
Bag for Life, Bag for life

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Tarnlife

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

Competence is summat

That ain’t really goin’ on in what is known as (Tarnlife!)

And a Barnsley Chop can be avoided

If tha teks t’long route rarnd what is known as (Tarnlife!)

Fred’s gorra ferret darn ‘is keks

It’s not intimidated by t’smell o’ black puddin’

It loves a bit o’ it! (Tarnlife)

Who’s that skinny bugger o’er there?

Tha could do wi’ some snap young ‘un,

Git thissen t’ t’chip oil!

 

All the people - so many people

They all go cap in hand

Cap in hand through their Tarnlife

 

Does tha know worra mean?

 

I gerrup when I fancy,

‘cept on Thursday when I go to collect me Giro

I put me flat cap on, have a pint o’ smooth,

And then think abart goin’ rarnd t’Tarn

I feed me whippets; I sometimes feed me ferrets too

It meks me feel full t’ t’brim wi’ Barnsley pride

Then I feel champion fo’ t’ rest on the day

Knowin’ you can tek the lad art o’ t’Tarn

But yer can’t tek t’Tarn art on t’lad

 

All the people - so many people

They all go cap in hand

Cap in hand through their Tarnlife

 

It’s got nowt to do wi’ yer Yorkshire Pud

And Roast Beef physique thannus

And it not abart all you chavs

That drive rarnd and rarnd and rarnd

 

All the people - so many people

They all go cap in hand

Cap in hand through their Tarnlife

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She’s From Dodworth

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Dr. Chris Sammon

 

She's from Dodworth, thinks she’s looking good 
Her Sanskrit tattoos are misunderstood 
Wears an Oompa Loompa fake tan when she’s on the lash 
While a carefully-placed vagazzle hides her shaving rash 

Wears a onesie to her local pub at half past 8 
And anyone who looks at her she wants to feight 
She has an electronic tag so must be home by 8

And she sups like Ollie Reed until she wants to feight

She also nicks consumer products from the Tarn 
An i-phone and an e-cig and a dressing gown 
Judge Rinder stopped her claim against the Aldi there 
‘cos the cucumber she took back  looked quite worse for wear

 

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Arse On Fire  

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

It’s 1 o’clock in the morning

And you’ve been rarnd the Tarn

And you’ve now got the munchies… you’re hungry

Like bees around honey, like a moth to a flame

You stagger off for a curry… no worries

Your legs work like a Sat Nav and tek you to the K2

You stumble in lookin’ plastered,

“I’ll have pork vindaloo”

They don’t hold back on the chillies,

They don’t hold back on the spice

And you wolf it darn quickly… so quickly

 

Bugger! Your mouth is on fire!

Woah! Can’t help but perspire!  

 

Now it’s early next morning,

You could drink a tap dry

Your mouth’s like Ghandi’s flip-flops,

But you cannot think why

And your head it is pounding and you can’t stop the pain

You’re feelin’ so dehydrated… so wasted

But your gut’s feeling jippy, you know it ain’t right

And then you remember... what you ate last night

And you push back the bedsheets, and you race to the bog

And you only just make it... you made it

 

Bugger! Your arse is on fire!

Woah! Now the temperature’s higher

 

Yes, your bum’s like a cherry, it’s red and it’s raw

You daren’t move from the toilet…

It feels incredibly sore

‘cos it seems that it’s hotter on the way out

Than going in in the first place,

You have good reason to shout

The toilet-roll’s on the fridge shelf,

Yes, you need some relief

But your Ring of Fire… it beggars belief

As your Khyber Pass suffers from Ghandi’s Revenge

It smelt so bad I could taste it… taste it

 

Bugger! Your arse is on fire!

Woah! With the flames burning higher!

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Walking In Man-Piss

Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican

 

Hit Tarn in me new suede shoes, blue with Cuban heels
Supped pints until nature called

The time had come to brek the seal  

W.C. was handy, but when I walked in it beggared belief 
There must’ve been a blockage

The urinal had overflowed and leaked
 

So I was walking in man piss

Wished I was walking ten feet off of the floor

Walking in man piss, and it was too bad to ignore
 

Had a neet art in Sheffield - I went to see Motley Crue

Took my place near the front of the stage

To get a real good view

The security laughed suddenly 

So I turned my back on the show 

But a suspect yellow pint, had suddenly took flight

And drenched me from head to toe

 

Yes I was covered in man piss 

It was dripping down me face and onto me shoes 
Soaked through with man piss - and there was nothing I could do…

 

I was stood there chuffing fuming                                        

And my rage it filled the air                                                        

‘cos my blue suede shoes, that were brand new                
They hadn't got a prayer                                                    

Now they were soaked with man piss                                 
 

I went to see the doctor - as my feet had both turned blue
I'd been scrubbing at them for weeks and weeks
And didn’t know what to do
He said “Son, it’s a chemical reaction 

Must be the dye leaked from your shoes
But that would need ammonia - can you give me any clues?”

Yes I’ve been walking in man piss

I know it sounds like a pretty weird thing to do
But I’ve been walking in man piss
And it has knackered me blue suede shoes?
They were ruined by man piss
They used to be a deep blue but now they're pale grey
Faded by man piss
Now I can’t even shift them on ebay

 

Had to bin my new suede shoes the very next day
Walked round lookin’ sad and blue in the middle of the pouring rain
Walked round lookin’ sad and blue in the middle of the pouring rain

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Since You’ve Been Ron

Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican / Amanda White

 

I get the same old dream, same time every night 
Of you in that dress and make up 
I still remember when you turned to me in bed and said 
Your life needed a shake up 
Six months of work in West Berlin 
But now my her has changed to a him 

Oh since you’ve been Ron, since you’ve been Ron 
I’m struggling with the whole ‘man’ thing 
It just seems so wrong, ‘cos since you’ve been Ron 
Now you can wee while standing 

I just can’t understand, why you want to be a man 
Your curves were in the right places 
Your chest is all hairy,

But still the weirdest thing for me is 
Beards on both of our faces 
I used to love to watch you dance 
But now I’m scared of what’s in your pants 

Oh since you’ve been Ron, your voice has gone 
All gravelly like Joe Cocker’s 
I’m far from impressed, you swapped your bra for a vest 
I preferred you when you had knockers 

I’ll make a bob or two

All your Jimmy Choo shoes are going on ebay… 

Oh since you’ve been Ron, since you’ve been Ron 
You’ve learnt how to leave pans soaking 
Oh since you’ve been Ron, something’s gone wrong 
I used to do all the poking 

 

Ever since you’ve been Ron

 

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If I Could Punch A Face…  

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

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There’s a fever sweeping ‘cross the country now

It’s even worse than all the fans of Glee

He’s on every bloody cover, of every magazine

Irritating normal folk like me

 

If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s

There’s not a trace of doubt in my mind

He’s a chuff - can’t stand Justin Bieber,

I hope he gets fever or even hives

 

He’s only twelve and he wrote his own biography

(in crayon)

His face adorns the shelves of every shop (it’s sickening)

All the girls go crazy; he’s the prince of pop

But what will happen when his bollocks drop?

 

If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s
There’s not a trace of doubt in my mind

He’s an arse… I hate Justin Bieber singing “Baby-Oh”,

Like, a billion times

 

He’s got a stupid haircut, and his music’s crap

You couldn’t tire from giving him a slap

If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s

There’s not a trace of doubt in my mind

Switch his music off…

Destroy ‘Bieber Fever’ and poke Justin Bieber in the eye

 

If I could punch a face… it’d be Justin Bieber’s

Seek medical advice if you’ve got Bieber Fever

‘cos it’s worse than clap!

 

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The Zipper

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

I’ve lost the power to talk after what I’ve gone through 
Though it’s hurting me, I want no-one to see 
Feeling deeply scarred from torment I have been through 
Words cannot convey the pain I feel today 

The zipper caught me balls 
You could hear me wailing through the walls 
I screamed a hundred decibels, because it hurts like chuffing hell 

I tried to stay calm, but the shock it was horrendous 
Looking down on my mistake

And my mangled trouser snake 
I want to be free to let me dingles dangle 
But how can I abandon ship, with me conkers in me zip? 

Wish I’d been much more precise 
I’ve tried to cool me plums with ice 
But now I’ve got no tail to tell 
Because me mojo’s trapped as well 
The zipper trapped me balls 
Yes I’m quite far from enthralled 
Because this tragic injury 
Has caused nowt but misery 

I can hardly move, ‘cos it’s throbbing so bad 
Frozen where I stand, it’s laid in tatters in my hand 
I’ll say sorry in advance, to the paramedics 
‘cos I know how much I’ll shout

When they pull the bugger out 

The zipper caught me balls 
Singing falsetto down the hall 
Oh yes my strength was quickly sapped 
When me space hoppers got trapped 
And size it clearly matters not 
Me chuffin’ zipper ate the lot

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All The Dinner Ladies

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

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All the dinner ladies  (All the dinner ladies)
All the dinner ladies  (All the dinner ladies)

All the dinner ladies  (All the dinner ladies)

All the dinner ladies  -  Now put your hands up

 

They’re giving us grub, just served up
Sausage, mash-spuds and peas

The bigger kids, are getting first dibs

There’s bugger all left for me

Dun’t mek ‘em cross, ‘cos they’re the boss
And you’ll only end up in detention
They’ve been there for years, it’ll end in tears
They’re meaner than Mohammed Ali

 

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

You mightn’t like it, cos it’s gonna have a skin on it

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

 

Oh, no, no - No, no, no, no, no, no - No, no, no
Oh, no, no - No, no, no, no, no, no - No, no, no
 

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

You mightn’t like it, cos it’s gonna have a skin on it

They’ve got gravy but it’s allus got a skin on it

 

Serving rock hard chips, can’t get to grips
With cauliflower cheese or stir-fry

But dun’t act up, they’ll mess you up
After giving you the evil eye

Stop chatting, just eat! Stay in your seat!

You better be paying attention!
It’ll only get worse, if you aven’t ‘ad yer firsts
You can kiss yer afters goodbye

 

Bringing custard but it’s allus got a skin on it

Bringing custard but it’s allus got a skin on it

You may like it, but it’s gonna have a skin on it

Bringing custard but it’s allus got a skin on it

 

Oh, no, no - No, no, no, no, no, no - No, no, no
Oh, no, no - No, no, no, no, no, no - No, no, no
 

Take your trays and go and scrape ‘em in the bin, poppet

Take your trays and go and scrape ‘em in the bin, poppet

And if you spill, they’ll keep you in until they can mop it

Take your trays and go and scrape ‘em in the bin, poppet

Out you go

Go, go, go, go, go, go
Go, go, go
 

Out you go
Go, go, go, go, go, go
Go, go, go
 

Out you go

Go, go, go, go, go, go
Go, go, go
 

Out you go
Go, go, go, go, go, go
Go, go, go
 

They’ll blow the whistle and it allus got a string on it

They’ll blow the whistle and it allus got a string on it

When the bell goes it’s allus got a ring on it

They’ll blow the whistle and it allus got a string on it

 

If it’s spitting then they’re gonna get you in for it

If it’s spitting then they’re gonna get you in for it

If you act silly in the classroom then you’re in for it

If it’s spitting then they’re gonna get you in for it

 

Oh no no

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Massage In A Brothel

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

 

Lost in Amsterdam, so drunk that I can’t see, oh 
And I can’t find me mates, there’s no-one left but me, oh 
And on those cobbled streets, I slipped and put me back out 
And I could hardly move, all I could was shout-out 
 

A lass walked up to me, she was ever so polite 
She said “My name’s Roxanne”, under crimson neon lights 
She helped me to my feet, and walked me up some stairs 
To a small red apartment, it was then that I got scared 

I’d send an SMS to me bird

But I know that she’ll go completely berserk 
I know I’ve really cocked up

I never meant to end up 
Or even planned to get a massage in a brothel 

I woke face down, I got up to get my coat 
I knew by then it was time to depart 
But she blocked the door, she was all dressed in leather 
With a gimp mask and a riding crop, she’d break more than my heart 
 

I’d send an SMS to me bird

But I know she’ll go completely berserk 
I know Roxanne did not stop, and I could hardly stand up 
Me back felt worse after that massage in a brothel 

Woke up next morning, I don’t believe what I saw 
Whips and chains and rubber objects scattered round the floor 
It was then I screamed at the top of me lungs 
As she gave me lacerations right across me plums 

I’d send an SMS to me bird

But with me hands in chains it won’t work 
I didn’t need a close-up, I know I nearly threw up 
I never thought it would get messy in that brothel 
 

Sendin’ out an SOS, rather than an SMS 
I need some time to convalesce

After all of this undue stress 

I’d send an SMS to me bird

But I know that she’d go completely berserk 
I’m looking pretty messed up

She’ll say you better grow up 
And to think it started with a massage in a brothel

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Nandos

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White / Elliot Smaje

 

It was dimly lit by candle

When I took you out for a romantic night of bliss

The waiter poured the Vino Blanco

Should have poured it darn the sink

Because it tasted just… too tart

I looked down at the menu,

And what I saw there, struck terror in my heart

 

It could’ve been in Esperanto

For all the sense it made, it was all Greek to me

No food should look so mangled

You know just where to shove your Piri-Piri recipe?

I closed my eyes and hoped and prayed

That what they brought was fish n chips with peas

 

There was summat on me plate last night

The food was shite at Nando’s

I dunno what it was they brought to eat

It smelt like feet at Nando’s

Although it seemed that there was tonnes of choice

I had regrets

If I had to do the same today

I’d say “No way” to Nando’s

 

I acted smooth like Marlon Brando

In ‘The Wild One’ back in 1953

But my plate looked like John Rambo

Had attacked the lot with an unsharpened machete

And if the chicken was free-range

I’m pretty sure that it was not happy.

 

There was very little I could do

It tasted poo at Nando’s

It smelt just like a septic tank

The food was rank at Nando’s

And when they brought the bill

My wallet broke into a sweat

And even if I could forget the smell

I’d say to hell with Nando's

 

Even Abba wouldn’t take a chance

The food was pants at Nando’s

Dun’t know what it was that took us there

I found a hair at Nando’s

And though I try to block that image out

I can’t forget

I wouldn’t recommend the pitta wrap

It tasted poor at Nando's

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Festival Heroes

Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican

 

From May until September, across our lovely land

There’s loads of folk who hit the road, with tents or campervans

The festival’s a Mecca for the likes of you and me

But there are folk, it’s not a joke, who take things to extremes…

 

You know, the weirdos; you know the festival weirdos

Give them all a wide birth

It doesn’t take that, to spot a real twat

Starting with the lad dressed as a Smurf

So many weirdos

Like the hippies in kaftans wanting to free Tibet

Or the posh-bird called Grace, who wants to embrace

All the folk in the dance-tent on ket… dance-tent on ket

 

Then there’s those who buy their tickets, but dun't go to see a band
Who spend their weekend sat in chairs

Outside a clapped-out transit van
That seventh can of Stella isn’t helping her Tourettes 
They’re Neighbours from hell, who share a brain cell

The sort you can't forget...

This lot aren’t weirdos, they’re just festival bell-ends 
And their time is mis-spent

They use all of the night, to talk absolute shite
When they should be asleep in a tent
They're chuffing morons 
They spend most of the evening talking bollocks but then

He goes to his car, gets an acoustic guitar
And plays Wonderwall badly again... again and again 
 

The hipsters taking selfies, fashion-conscious, self-obsessed

Wait for the band’s hit single, but then talk through all the rest

The pillocks on their camping chairs, in the moshpit what a farce

Dun’t stand-in-front-of-me-with-your-flag,

Or that pole goes up yer arse

 

Give me torpedoes; give me a sawn-off machine-gun

And I’d sort them I know

I’d start with the lad filming on his i-pad

Is it so hard to just watch the show?

Or all the zeroes, who can never be happy,

They were just born to moan

‘Bout the state of the ground, the line-up, the sound

The weather or charging their phone

Why not stop at home?

 

To all those folk I sing this song, as I count to ten and breathe

You think you’re so original, shouting Alan! Alan! Steve!

Just remember often this thing’s run by volunteers
And they all work bloody hard, so raise yer glasses and say CHEERS!

Cos they're the heroes, they're the festival heroes
And you know that I'm right
They're doing their best, to make a success
So we all have a chuffin’ good time
Yeah they're the heroes, they're the festival heroes
Making things run okay
Planning months in advance, just so we all get chance
To come here for beautiful days
For such beautiful days

 

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The Ornithologist Waltz

Lyrics: Alan Doonican 

 

I met her on Facebook in April
Because I'm incredibly shy
I saw her photos, and her videos
She’s up for it and so am I

We met down the pub, it was Quiz Night
She whipped out her clipboard and pen
She said “I love birds”, I was lost for words

I couldn't believe what she said then…

You've got a handsome Cock Robin (Nice Cock!)
I've got a pair of Great Tits (Great Tits!)
Her down the road, she's got nothing but Thrush
But her Twitter gets plenty of hits (lots of hits)
Cos we like to twitch in the garden (the garden)
Seeing what birds we can bag (we can bag)
Some folk go pale, when they see a Wagtail 
But I'm on the hunt for a Shag

She said if I go round one morning
She'd happily show me her Chuff 
A new one to me, but I just had to see
I went often... once wasn't enough
I promised to show her my Red Shank 
If she would help me tempt it out
So we waited a while, then he came out in style
When she saw it she let out a shout!

You've got a handsome Cock Robin (Nice Cock!)
I've got a pair of Great Tits (Great Tits!)
Her down the road, she's got nothing but Thrush
But her Twitter gets plenty of hits (lots of hits)
Cos we like to twitch in the garden (the garden)
Seeing what birds we can bag (we can bag)
Some folk go pale, when they see a Wagtail 
But I'm on the hunt for a Shag

Now romance it started to blossom
As winter turned slowly to spring
We found lots to do, waiting for the Cuckoo
And the Lark on the morning to sing
I told her I’d seen a Brown Booby
Though we still didn’t spot that Cuckoo
But my Dickcissel pic, would take something to lick
But then she got a Great Cockatoo

(She said) You've got a handsome Cock Robin (Nice Cock!)
I've got a pair of Great Tits (Great Tits!)
Her down the road she's got nothing but Thrush
But her Twitter gets plenty of hits (lots of hits)
Cos we like to Twitch in the garden (the garden)
Seeing what birds we can bag (we can bag)
Now Spring has sprung, the Summer has come
And I finally got my first Shag!

 

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