PLACE OF SPADES

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Place Of Spades

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

I really like to grow me own

I'm darn at the allotment

You sow some, grow some - it's just the thing for me

It's a way to pass the day

While breaking up the loamy clay

I won't be tending to raised beds - no, you'll find me in me shed

It's the place of spades - the place of spades

Here I spend the summer months

Hiding from the missus

Growing runner beans,

While she claims I've gone to seed

I've got a massive pair of melons

They're tasty and they're cantaloupe

'Ar lass can't rant or moan,

‘Cos what I'm bringing home

Is her five a day, her five a day

I'll tell you how me garden grows

Got a pair of dirty hoes

And now me marrow's nice and weighty

Even with this British weather...

I'm quite the Alan Titchmarsh

Pruning buds I've planted

Don't take me plot for granted

Sow 'em and reap, lev-ell-ing the land again

With me plums to fertilise

They're getting big, they're twice the size

I even mek me own compost,

In this outhouse where I'm boss

The place of spades, it's the place of spades

I Don't Feel Like Camping

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

Me mate went mad in Millets

And I said 'What have you done?'

He used to have a life, but now he's found another one

Last week he did the 3 Peaks

This week he's in The Lakes

There's not a place on earth he'd go, without Kendal mint cake

Well, I'm no Ray Mears or the next Lord Baden Powell

There's nowt that's getting me to go outdoors

Dun't need nettle-rash when I'm oppening' me bowels

Cos on the (w)hole I find that's rather sore

But I don't feel like campin'

In the British wind and rain

Me heart is wheer me home is,

And me home can't blow away

And even if me tent stays put,

It's still a chuff to put away

So I don't feel like campin',

No sir, no campin' today

Don't feel like campin', campin'

With Dock leaves instead o' bog-roll

Don't feel like campin', campin'

Cos like Bear Grylls it's a pain in the hole

Don't feel like campin', campin'

Living off the land ain't so grand

No it's out of hand and it's reight cold

Hobbies come and hobbies go

But camping dun't appeal

The Great Outdoors is not so great,

In fact it's an ordeal

Rubbing sticks together,

Like the scouts, would leave me tired

But a pint or two or paraffin

Would sort out that camp-fire

So please understand

That I'm pretty far from grand

There's not a chance on earth I would relent

No, I can't pretend that I'm Mother Nature's friend

When there's swarms of wasps

Just buzzing round me tent

But I don't feel like campin',

Creepy crawlies aren't for me

I don't need to wait hour

To mek a luke warm cup o' tea

And if you really think canoeing's fun

Just get back in sea

Because I don't feel like campin',

No sir, no campin' for me

Don't feel like campin', campin'

Me get up and go, just got up and went

Don't feel like campin', campin'

Haven't a clue when erecting a tent

Don't feel like campin', campin'

How on God's green earth

Are all these tent pegs bent!?

I don't need the open air

Or being eaten by a bear

Just leave me be

‘Cos the Great Indoors is where I’m climatized

There's no chuffin' way I'm campin',

I don't care, I will not try

There's absolutely no appeal

To sleep under the sky,

There's creatures with more teeth and legs than me

To keep me terrified

I know I'd sooner make the choice

To stick pins in me eyes

Don't feel like campin', campin'

I dun't want flies crawling ovver me food

Don't feel like campin', campin'

Stick yer Spork cos I'm not in the mood?

Don't feel like campin', campin'

Rather be home with a roof

And a proper working loo

Mobile Phone

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

You just sit and tinker

With the world at your fingers

While you're lit up by a ghostly glow

An entire generation

Are lacking animation

Where's yer chuffin get up and go?

It's like some weird hypnosis

But you wouldn't even notice

Cos you're somewhere in the twilight zone

Putting multitudes of filters

On your Instagram pictures

While you're faffing on your mobile phone

(Mobile phone)

Fifty times you've changed your Facebook cover

Stop swiping right on Tinder for me mother!

You could lose entire days

While you're faffing on your mobile phone

You're so devastated when you've used up all your data

Cos it messes with your whole routine

While every gig you go to, the poor sods behind you

Have to watch it through your 4 inch screen

You can't wait to unlock it when it vibrates in yer pocket

When the WiFi's down you mope and groan

You're borderline unstable

With no power source or cable

When your battery's dead on your iPhone

(Mobile phone)

Omnipresent on Facebook Live or Twitter

Why d'ya need an app for ordering your dinner!?

Don't you know the world is passing by

While you're faffing on your mobile phone

Technology's advancing but yer phone isn't enhancing

Social skills that you're lacking in life

It replaces your camera, alarm clock 'n calender

Like a modern Swiss Army Knife

But for all those enhancements, and all those advancements

STOP BORING ME WITH YOUR RINGTONE!

Your fingers move like lightning

Which the girls would find exciting

If they weren't upon your mobile phone

(Mobile phone)

Yet another thing that I am condemning )

You're just blindly walking like a lemming

Wand'ring into the bus lane

Are you STILL playing Pokemon Go!?!

(Mobile phone)

I don't care if it's iOS or it's Android

If I had me way they'd all be destroyed

Can't we just turn back the clock

What ever happened to the old pay phone?

God Only Knows

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

I know I'll always love you

You're up there with the stars above you

But something indeed is quite clear

That you're not a centipede, dear

So God only knows why you need all those shoes

I only own a single pair of Nike Air Max

And some Hush Puppies that match my stage slacks

But your wardrobe makes me quite cross

You've got more pairs of high heels than Imelda Marcos

God only knows why you need all those shoes

Jimmy Choo, Prada, Gucchi

You've gora chuffin 'nuff of 'em to fill a marquee

And as well as footwear and gladrags

You've a metric tonne of matching handbags

God only knows why you need all those shoes

How Deep Is Your Glove?

Lyrics: Alan Doonican #2 / Scott Doonican / Amanda White

Went to Phuket for some winter sun

And on the way back, as I got off the plane

Me feet had barely touched ground

When I was dragged out of the customs lane

Officers quizzed me, and with a frown

With me tank top off and me trousers down

I screamed, “I need to know

How deep is your glove!?

How deep? How deep is your glove?

How far do you need to go?

Cos when I said I had a crack in me arse.

You misunderstood

I'm not a mule, you've took my dignity

With your hands colder than the North Sea

There is nothing nice

About finding out that lightning can strike twice.

When I went along to my GP

Because me choc’late locker din’t feel right.

I said “It takes an age when I try to pee"

She said "lay on your side, while I try to see"

All the clinic heard me shout

How deep is your glove!?

How deep? How deep is your glove?

That’s no hand it’s like a boiler shovel

I was suffering with me Jeremy Kyles

But she was all smiles

As the tears came to my eyes

I think she loved to see grown men cry

I could hit those notes like the Bee Gees

Are you past me ears? Christ, I dare not sneeze!

I’m not a human puppet show!

How deep is your glove?

How deep? How deep is your glove?

I’m really quite concerned

Don’t even think about a second opinion

Or I will break down

That is one thing I can guarantee

Thought you were ramming up a Christmas tree!

How deep? How deep is your glove?

You never bought me flowers or dinner

You didn’t even give me time to prepare,

Before you were there

Knuckles deep inside my derriere

Cos BUPA doesn’t cover wear and tear

How deep? How deep is your glove?

I’m not ashamed to say it

But I may have bit a hole in your bench

As I battened down

As your digit entered into me

Feels like you’re up there with a JCB

Doonicans' Rider

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

Doonicans rider, rider, rider...

Dear Sir or Madam,

Now our band's been booked

We've some big demands,

You'd better tek a look

There's a stack of stipulations

And you must adhere

So do be a star

And put the lot upon the Doonicans' rider,

Doonicans' rider.

We want our rock n roll excesses to become folklore

Did you get the droids that we were looking for?

A swimming pool for Alan, filled with asses milk

And a tonne of fleecy towels

Stick 'em all upon the Doonicans' rider,

Doonicans' rider.

Doonicans rider, rider, rider...

Fresh Spring Water sent from Katmandu

We'll have a hundred bottles, give or take a few.

And Björn wants meatballs shipped in from Ikea

And a llama called Dalai would be perfect

On the Doonicans' rider, Doonicans' rider

A corby trouser press and full length mirror

Hot Yorkshire tea, oysters in a chiller

Some pickled eggs and pies for our entourage

The severed head of Katie Hopkins

And a crate of beer, some lager and cider,

On the Doonicans' rider

Doonicans rider, rider, rider.

Doonicans' rider, Doonicans' rider

The Gasman Cometh

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

Well not that long ago

I can still remember

Feeling cold, cross and hostile

And if I'd been a wiser man

I’d have opted for their 4-star plan

And maybe I'd be cozy for a while

But Christmas Eve it made me shiver

Each room was icy like a blizzard

Rang the British Gas Man

Who turned up in his Gas Van

It cost 100 quid for him to peer inside

To merely shake his head, and turn and sigh

There was nowt he could do, I was mortified

The day me boiler died

Yes, I cried cos me boiler had died

It was colder in me bungalow than it was outside

And the gas man couldn’t fix it, only offer advice

“I'd condemn that knackered boiler outright”

Before he disappeared off into the night...

Sat indoors in hat and gloves

While contemplating where to shove

The expansion vessel manifold

I’d lost my faith in British Gas

He could shove me boiler up his ass

My turkey had goose pimples, it was THAT cold

Well, at the time, it seemed too posh

But I wish I’d bought that Worcester Bosch

They had the best reviews

And now me house was like an igloo

It was safe to say I had come unstuck

My boiler would have to be chucked

Into a skip, cos it was… brok

The day me boiler died

I were freezin'

I cried cos me boiler had died

It was colder in me bungalow than it was outside

And I was searching for the answers

that they couldn’t provide

And I would have to let me tank-tops drip-dry

Have to let me tank-tops drip-dry

Now, on Christmas Day I was on the phone

To British Gas to rant and moan

Their engineer din’t call at noon

It felt like winter in Aberdeen

I shivered while venting me spleen

To the automated voice and Coldplay tunes

Well I sat in throughout Boxing Day

And still no gas man came my way

They seemed quite unconcerned

And my calls were not returned

And as our house went back to the Stone Age

I paced up and down, in fits of rage

Like a Yorkshire Gordon Ramsey in a cage

The day me boiler died

And I was fuming

I cried cos me boiler had died

It was colder in me bungalow than it was outside

Said they had ordered parts,

but then they never arrived

And I was pigged-off, cold and dissatisfied

Pigged-off, cold and dissatisfied

Me defeated heater didn’t fear the reaper

The house was cold, just like my demeanor

Eight degrees and falling fast

My mood was foul, I had not bathed

Or washed my hair for several days

But the gas man didn’t come… he cun’t be assed

So I had to wash, cold, in the sink

Me hands were blue, me crinklies, pink

Me feet they stunk like hell

As did other parts as well

And without that vital pilot light

There was not a chance it would ignite

My arse it froze for three more nights

After me boiler died

It was Baltic

I cried when me boiler had died

It was colder in me bungalow than it was outside

I was scared about the leaking

of car-bon monoxide

So I opened all me windows up wide

And only then did the Gas man arrive...

The boiler man came on New Year's Day

And he took that sodding thing away

And I was left with head in hands

I went down to the plumbing store

And underneath my breath I swore

And the man there said

“This one... it costs four grand”

And in my head, my wallet screamed

I’d lost my shit, or so it seemed

But not a word was spoken

Cos the old one was still broken

Since Christmas Day I’d watched the clock

And had to boil a kettle to wash

But I finally got that Worcester Bosch

After, me old boiler died

I were chuffin’ livid

I cried when me boiler had died

It was colder in me bungalow than it was outside

I should have called a priest

to have that thing exorcised

But the holy water wasn’t supplied

Holy water wasn’t supplied

And I’d been shiverin’…

I know why, me wretched boiler had died

Unlike me new one, it can do one,

cos the new one’s not shite

Efficient like Ze Germans,

who leave towels by poolsides

But mine was British and was badly designed

Sing

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

There's a singer that I'm sure you'll remember

He can't stand losing his hair

With every breath he takes

He used to be a teacher

And he's even done his bit for the rainforests

And he's into tantric sex

'Cos he likes to keep his clothes on on the job

And his name is STING

There's an emperor

That I'm sure you'll remember

He's mean and he's bald as an egg

With a goatee beard

He is the arch-nemesis

Of the hero Flash Gordon

And he wants to destroy

The Earth cos he's bored

And the clothes he wears are weird

And his name is MING

There's a crooner

That I'm sure you'll remember

He likes to smoke a pipe by the fire

With his slippers on

I'm sure that he's dreaming

Of a lovely White Christmas

And he was on The Road

Along with Bob Hope and Dorothy Lamour

And his name is BING

There's a little handy fellow

That I'm sure you'll remember

He was the pet in a box

Living with the Addams Fam'ly mob

He lived with Morticia-Gomez-Pugsley

Wednesday-and Uncle Fester

Who could power-up

A dirty great 100watt bulb

Just by sticking it in his gob

And his name was THING

Theres a singer

Who all the world will remember

He is ethical vegan

So he only eats his own hen's eggs

He used to be a Beatle

Along with John, George and Ringo

And he's buying Heather Mills

A plane for Christmas

So she can shave her other leg

And he was in WINGS

Paul McCartney and WINGS WINGS WINGS

Too Good To Be Jus

Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican

Why do they call it a "jus"?

That runny stuff in me stew

It's like the menu's in Dutch

And that's how they can charge you so much.

Don't tell me that it's a sauce

Cos they come in bottles, of course

I'm so chuffin' narked I could sue

Those gret pillocks for calling it "jus"...

I implore you to pardon me please

It may be sauce... if it's cheese

But to call it a “jus” is just cheek

Such pretentious words that chefs speak

I like moisture in me meal

And there's only one word that's real.

So stop acting all Cordon Bleu

Before you get yer'sen a reight talking to

We call it gravy the only name that's right

We call it gravy none of that poncey shite

We call it gravy - hear us now when we say

We love our gravy over a Barnsley chop

We love our gravy on chip's from the chip shop

That's why we call it gravy cos its not “jus”

And when I watch Master Chef

I can't help but eff and Jeff

What is celeriac foam?

And who the chuff has consomê at home?

And when that say it's a glaze

I start to see a red haze

I'm not one for causing taboo

Have some sense and please stop calling it “jus”

We call it gravy the only name that's right

We call it gravy none of that poncey shite

We call it gravy - we’re frum the North and we say

We love our gravy over our corned beef hash

We love our gravy with Yorkshire puds and mash

That's why wecall it gravy cos its not “jus”

Bingo Night

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

Bingo night, Bingo night

Bingo night - Here we go - dabbers at the ready

Bingo night - Gonna beat Maureen, Maude and Betty

By 8 o’clock it’s Eyes Down

Cos Bingo night is always the best in town

Got to keep on dabbing - keep on dabbing

Bingo night

House is full - can you feel the tension?

Bingo night

Robbing two fat ladies of their pensions

My wrist action is in its prime

I can even handle seven cards at the same time

Got to keep on dabbing - keep on dabbing

Bingo night

Always packed, average age is 90

Bingo night

You can have a session five times nightly

Please pull me balls out tonight

I need Legs Eleven and Droopy Drawers to get this line

Got to keep on dabbing - keep on dabbing

A place where you’ll never feel down

It’s bingo night – it’s always the best in town

Got to keep on dabbing - keep on dabbing

Hey! Big Spider!

Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White

The minute you walked in the joint

I could see you had more teeth than The Osmonds

A hairy bugger

And quite jumpy when you’re confined

You’ve got me in a sweat, I’m going out of my mind

So let me get right to the point

It is safe to say you aren’t my cup of tea

Gret big spider

Stay the chuff away from me

Get me an elephant gun, gun, gun

Or flame-thrower the bath, bath, bath

I’m not having a good time

No I’m a having a shit time

The minute you walked in the joint

I went and sent ar lass for a pint glass

And 12-inch Record

While I was frozen, terrified

Well wouldn't you like to know

Just where I was at that time?

I was hiding behind the settee

As I sacrificed ar lass for the good of the team

To that reight big spider

Eight legged scuttler

Gonna need a dry cleaner

‘cos I may have soiled me jeans

Stand By Your Van

Lyrics: Scott Doonican

Sometimes it's hard to start in winter

It's done a hundred thousand miles

The accelerator and alternator

Have both been dodgy for a while

The engine packed up on the M1

Near Junction 30, southward bound

I rang the AA, answered a survey

And got these words of wisdom from the man:

"Stand by your van

And leave your hazards blinking

And wrap up warm because it's colder than a reindeer's goolies"

I'm not a fan

Of watching cars rush past me

Wishing I had a back-up plan

Instead of my crap van

The AA man

Just left me chuffing ages

I caused a massive traffic jam...

With my shit van

Amaretto

Lyrics: Alan Doonican / Scott Doonican

There's a habit forming

A ritual I do each morning

It might sound strange, to be fair

But it's my thing and I just don't care!

Mouthwash is far too minty

When you get out of bed

I like mine sweet and nutty

With a boozy kick instead

Cos I've been drinking Amaretto

Got it years ago from t'Netto

Better than Listerine or Dentyl

Because it tastes so almondy

Me morning fix of Amaretto

I gargle high and then just swallow

It helps me reach a nice falsetto

And lubricates me pipes for me

The alarm clock's ringing

Me voice is shot - me breath is minging

Sound like Tom Waits with asthma

But I can cure it, there's nowt faster

So do one laryngitis

Cos you have met your match

All I do is gargle

And then it's down the hatch!

A cheeky swig of Amaretto

They sell the good stuff now in Tesco

No longer sound like Yoko Ono

Cos it goes down so easily

Chugging down the Amaretto

I feel like I could dance Bolero

But I'll prob'ly wind up in the ghetto

Cos I'm not hooked on herbal tea