Month: July 1992

Eugène Terre’Blanche, NewsRevue Lyric Actually Used, 26 July 1992

I like to think of Ogblog as the fifth emergency service. So when John White texted me on 1 January 2017 to say that he had my old Eugène Terre’blanche/Sweet Gene Vincent song giving him earworm and could I please Ogblog it sharpish…no sooner the word than the deed – click here for that hurried rescue piece.

But in truth, I wanted to write more about this lyric and in any case that original version from February 1992 was pre-NewsRevue (from my point of view) and never professionally performed.

By the summer of 1992 I was writing quite regularly for NewsRevue and, fortuitously (for me and for NewsRevue, not for the people of South Africa), Terre’blanche was back in the news.

Stalwarts of the show that summer were Jonathan Linsley and his then girlfriend Paula Tappenden. Both had a go at both acting and directing the show; at that juncture, Paula was directing and Jonathan was acting. That was good fortune for this song, as Jonathan was able to personify the ghastly Eugène Terre’Blanche very well.

I recall some excellent business in the intro where they would take the line “I like to watch springboks rutting” and get a member of the cast to do some suggestive puppetry with a pair of sneakers, only for Linsley/Terre’Blanche to yell, “I said springboks, not Reeboks”.

The female members of the cast would don deer masks and then dance around as a chorus of springboks. I recall that Dorothy (“Dot”) Atkinson was one of the springboks in that song but more importantly one of the supremely talented members of that cast.

Perhaps you had to be there – it was great. Paula and Jon (and indeed Dot); you were and are stars. It was one of the golden eras for NewsRevue.

In my delight and excitement at this triumph, I found, in Record and Tape Exchange, which is/was around the corner from my flat, an utterly ghastly album of Afrikaaner Oom-pah-pah music by Johnny Saffer and his Afrikaaner Pennywhistle Brass Band. OK, perhaps the band wasn’t called that, but the jolly looking chap on the cover “boer” a passing resemblance to Linsley/Terre’Blanche.

I gave the album to Paula and Jonathan. I think Jonathan and Paula enjoyed the wheeze. I wonder what became of that memento when they split? Perhaps this Ogblog piece will uncover one or both of  those lovely people and my question might even be answered.

Meanwhile, the lyrics that were actually used in NewsRevue follow:

                              EUGENE TERRE’BLANCHE – JULY 1992 VERSION

(To the tune of “Sweet Gene Vincent”)

 

INTRO BIT

 

{CHORUS:Eugene baby}

I like to get out of Cape Town sometimes and drive round the Karoo,

I like to eat Boerwors with right wing reporters who claim we don’t screw;

I like to watch the springboks rutting, I like to eat them barbecued.

Eugene Terre’Blanche, Neo-Nazi baas, Eugene Terre’Blanche.

{CHORUS:Who, who, who’s that baas?}

 

1st MAIN BIT

 

White face-black shirt, whites rich-blacks poor, Afrikaner-Hottentot, white’s right-black’s not:-

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

There’s one in every town;

I’m fond of dressing up like the Ku Klux Klan,

In a pointed hat and gown.

 

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

I am a crashing Boer;

Before we cede power to the ANC,

We’ll fight a civil war.

 

Well, the Nationalist Party is much too soft,

I think they’re Botha jerk,

But I’d still sooner have to take my Pik,

Than F.W. de Klerk.

 

2nd MAIN BIT

 

White Meneer-black Kaffir, whites vote-blacks don’t, Afrikaner-Bantu, hate blacks and Jews:-

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

They say that I’m like Himmler;

I haven’t yet caused as much violence as him,

But our accents sound quite similar.

 

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

I’m the baas laager lout;

We’re gonna cause trouble in the RSA,

Until we get thrown out.

 

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

I’m just a big fat git;

I’d like to end this song on a profound note,

But I’m afraid that’s it.

 

Click here or below for the Ian Dury and the Blockheads version.

 

Build A Rocket Or Two, NewsRevue Lyric, 26 July 1992

In truth I had no recollection of rewriting this one in the summer of 1992 nor of seeing it performed in NewsRevue – I simply remembered the generic version of it (shown at the bottom of this piece, dated 4 February 1991 in my jotter) as one of my earliest efforts of writing parody lyrics and performing them to friends.

Still, there it is in a running order I have rediscovered from Week Four of Paula Tappenden’s run – (w/e 31 July 1992).

I vaguely recall the subject of Saddam and his missiles being in the news again and discussing it at the writers’ meeting the week before, so I must have thought to myself, “I have a little something that will easily adapt to this story”.

The notion that Saddam had really nasty weapons squirrelled away somewhere seems to have been part of the general consensus amongst the savvy as early as 1992; an interesting note for the many historians who are surely reading the NewsRevue section of Ogblog as part of the authoritative historical record of the 1990’s era.

BUILD A ROCKET OR TWO – JULY 1992 VERSION

(A song for Saddam and Chorus to the tune of “Pick a Pocket or Two”)

 

VERSE ONE

In this world one thing counts,

On defence, large amounts;

Missiles like these, don’t grow on trees;

You’ve got to build a rocket or two,

You’ve got to build a rocket or two, boys,

You’ve got to build a rocket or two.

{CHORUS:Guns like these don’t grow on trees

You’ve got to build a rocket or two.}

 

VERSE TWO

Take a tip from Saddam,

Losing war is a sham;

Shrug of the loss, I’m still the boss;

But better hide a rocket or two,

I’d better hide a rocket or two, boys,

I’ll hide a vicious rocket or two.

{CHORUS:Yankee nerds can’t save the Kurds,

Saddam has hid a rocket or two.}

 

VERSE THREE

Iraqis, pay their tax,

For warheads, with Anthrax;

Splat Kurds en masse with mustard gas;

So build another rocket or two,

You’ve got to build a rocket or two, boys,

I’ll build a Shiite rocket or two.

{CHORUS:Germs like these don’t spread with ease,

So build another rocket or two.}

 

VERSE 4

UN force, who will lose,

Can my Scud, beat their Cruise? (Saddam looks worried, then has a thought)

Kill with aplomb by Neutron Bomb;

I’ll buy another rocket or two,

I like to buy a rocket or two, boys,

A very nasty rocket or two.

{CHORUS:Fallout?  These last centuries,

We’d better build a bunker or two.}

Here is Ron Moody singing “Pick A Pocket Or Two” from the movie version of Oliver!:

…and here are the lyrics to Pick A Pocket Or Two.

If by any chance there are some completists keen to see the original (February 1991) version of my “Rocket” lyrics, here it is:

BUILD A ROCKET OR TWO

(A Song to the tune of “Pick a Pocket or Two” from “Oliver!”)

VERSE ONE

In this world, one thing counts,
On defence, large amounts.
Missiles like these,
Don’t grow on trees;

You’ve got to build a rocket or two,
You’ve got to build a rocket or two, boys,
You’ve got to build a rocket or two.

Guns like these,
Don’t grow on trees,
You’ve got to build a rocket or two.

VERSE TWO

Why should we, pay more tax,
For warheads, with Anthrax?
Splat ’em en masse,
With mustard gas;

You’ve got to build a rocket or two,
You’ve got to build a rocket or two, boys,
You’ve got to build a rocket or two.

Germs like these,
Don’t spread with ease,
You’ve got to build a rocket or two.

VERSE THREE

If it’s Nukes, that you choose,
Build a Scud, or a Cruise.
Kill with aplomb,
By Neutron Bomb;

You’ve got to build a rocket or two,
You’ve got to build a rocket or two, boys,
You’ve got to build a rocket or two.

Fallout? These,
Last centuries,
You’d better build a bunker or two.

Steroids, NewsRevue Lyric, 25 July 1992

It was the Barcelona Olympics that summer and I thought the event needed the drugs treatment…

…as it were.

I remember Jonathan Linsley bellowing “Barcelona” at the end of the first line, to give the piece a topical feel, because it is, in truth, generic.

Still, it ran for several weeks and could run again. All it would need is a metaphorical shot in the arm.

STEROIDS

(To the Tune of “I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself”)

VERSE 1 – GIRL ATHLETE

I just don’t know what I’ve done to myself,

Don’t know just what I’ve done to my health;

Used to be soprano, now I’m baritone,

Once svelte, now I’m fourteen stone,

And chilled to the bone.

I can throw far and run like a shot,

Cos I’m built like a jet Aeroflot;

Where I once had bosoms, now I’ve large pectoids,

Don’t eat, I just take steroids;

I’ve great muscle tone,

Not human, more like hormone.

DRAMATIC MIDDLE BIT ONE – YOU CAN ALL JOIN IN

Barcelona games, we want to win the most,

We’ll do our best stuff to be first past the post.

VERSE 2 – A GROTESQUE BLOKE

I just don’t know what I’ve done to my glands,

Failed my drug test and now I’ve been banned,

Used to do athletics cos it kept me fit,

Now I just live for the hit,

When I put the shot,

It’s Cortisone in the bot.

DRAMATIC MIDDLE BIT TWO – YOU CAN ALL JOIN IN AGAIN

Barcelona games, there’ll be new records set,

We’ll take the most drugs in one Olympics yet.

VERSE 3 – TWO GROTESQUE BLOKES

We just don’t know what we’ve done to ourselves,

Get strange feelings in our brains and pelves;

Guess the trainer told us we would come in fast,

Girlfriends want our run to last;

A minute or two,

{GIRL – sounding a bit miffed}

But seven seconds won’t do.

In July 1996 I updated the lyric for the Atlanta Olympics, which gave it a new lease of life:

STEROIDS – ATLANTA 1996
(To the Tune of “I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself”)

VERSE 1 – GIRL ATHLETE

I just don’t know what I’ve done to myself,
Don’t know just what I’ve done to my health;
Used to be soprano, now I’m baritone,
Once svelte, now I’m fourteen stone,
And chilled to the bone.

I just don’t know what I’ve done to my glands,
Failed my drug test and now I’ve been banned,
Where I once had bosoms, now I’ve large pectoids,
Don’t eat, I just take steroids;
When I put the shot,
It’s Cortisone in the bot.

MIDDLE EIGHT ONE – YOU CAN ALL JOIN IN

The Atlanta games, we want to win the most,
We’ll do our best stuff to be first past the post.

VERSE 2 – TWO GROTESQUE BLOKES

We just don’t know what we’ve done to ourselves,
Get strange feelings in our brains and pelves;
Guess the trainer told us we would come in fast,
Girlfriends want our run to last;
A minute or two,
{GIRL – sounding a bit miffed}
But seven seconds won’t do.

MIDDLE EIGHT TWO – YOU CAN ALL JOIN IN AGAIN

The Atlanta games, there’ll be new records set,
Most cases of drugs in one Olympics yet.

VERSE 3 – MEDICS

We just don’t know why they’ve all done these drugs,
Cos they knew they’d get caught, they’re no mugs;
Maybe in Atlanta, something’s in the drink,
Athletes all land in the clink;
That’s why we all sing,
Try Coke, it’s the real thing!!

Here is Dusty Springfield singing I Just Don’t Know What To Do:

Here’s a link to the lyrics of I Just Don’t Know What To Do.

Come Back Labour, NewsRevue Lyric, 18 July 1992

I remember so clearly having a drink with this super cast; Jonathan Linsley, Dot Atkinson, Vanessa Peers and a spindly chap (was he named Paul?…update – no, he was named Peter Anthony Graham) who did Mick Jagger very well. Paula Tappenden was directing. The wonderful Dai Jenkins was the MD.

I asked them if they had any special requests.

Peter Anthony Graham aka “Spindly chap” wanted to sing a doo-wap song.

The girls wondered whether I could make a really taboo subject such as cancer amusing.

That weekend I attempted both. Only one worked.

This one worked and ran in the show for quite some time. I still like the song, although the line about John Smith possibly having a dicky heart went off as soon as he did actually have a massive heart attack and die. Kinda spoilt the joke.

COME BACK LABOUR

(To the Tune of “Come Back My Love”)

(You’ll have to supply most of the “do-wops” yourselves)

 

(John Smith is reading a boring speech about Labour Party policy – all the others are fidgeting and looking intensely uncomfortable)

 

SMITH:….once we’ve controlled unemployment, then we can concentrate on inflation and the balance of trade.

 

Clause Four of the Labour Party constitution has for many years been a vital issue……..

 

KINNOCK:John, for crying out loud.  This isn’t what Labour needs.  The people need a rallying cry to bring them back to the party.  A new vision, a new voice, a new tune.

 

SMITH:Och, Neil, maybe you’re right.

 

INTRO – JOHN SMITH ON LEAD VOCALS

Woh, oh, oh;

Come back Labour, don’t fade away,

Come back voters, come back to stay;

It’s our darkest hour, been so long without power,

We need to win so badly:

 

Wop {do,do,do} do de wang {do,do,do} do de wop, do de wang, do de wop.

 

CHORUS 1 – OTHER SINGERS START TAKING OVER (TO JOHN’S ANNOYANCE)

Oh won’t you come back Labour, don’t fade away,

We need new ideas, we need to pray;

We bicker too much and when we have a putsch,

The Liberals look happy.

 

Jim Callaghan, he was a man,

The British voters just couldn’t stand,

We failed in the South, put our Foot in our mouth,

And lost even more badly.

 

MIDDLE BIT 1 – JOHN IS BEING UPSTAGED

Now every party makes, some mistakes, in its choice of leader,

But Labour has a knack for, choosing an unelectable bleeder,

{Wo-ah, wo-ah, wo-ah}

 

CHORUS 2

Come back Wilson, whatcha leave for?

We last won elections in ’74,

We’ve floundered so much, we need your winning touch,

Cos since we’ve done so badly.

 

INSTRUMENTAL WITH LOTS OF “WOP A DO WOPS” AND THAT SORT OF THING

JOHN SMITH:Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce:

Neil Kinnock on keyboards,

Margaret Beckett on do-dos,

Harriet Harman on wop-bops,

David Blunkett on eye-drops,

And me, John Smith, on (pointedly) lead vocals.

 

MIDDLE BIT 2 – JOHN SMITH IS BRIEFLY BACK ON LEAD VOCALS

The papers spread the myth, that John Smith, isn’t up to the fast pace,

But in the Labour Party, they know that my heart is in the right place,

{CHORUS: and beating.}

 

CHORUS 3 – BUT IT WAS FUTILE, JOHN IS MARGINALISED AGAIN

Come back Kinnock, don’t go away,

We want you back, we want you to stay,

We all liked your style, tho’ you lost every while;

We’re used to doing badly,

{KINNOCK:Re-re-re-really?}

We keep on doing sadly,

{KINNOCK:You mean it?}

We want to win so badly.

 

OUTRO

KINNOCK:Oh, I can make one of my rabble rousing speeches, like the one in Sheffield.

ALL:Perhaps we’d better stick with John Smith for a while.

Here are Darts singing Come Back My Love.

…and the lyrics can be found here.

Lumps, Attempted NewsRevue Lyric (Mercifully Unused), 18 July 1992

I remember so clearly having a drink with this super cast; Jonathan Linsley, Dot Atkinson, Vanessa Peers and a spindly chap (was he named Paul?…no, Peter Anthony Graham) who did Mick Jagger very well. Paula Tappenden was directing.

I asked them if they had any special requests.

Peter (aka “spindly chap”) wanted to sing a doo-wap song.

The girls wondered whether I could make a really taboo subject such as cancer amusing.

That weekend I attempted both. Only one worked.

Lumps, the cancer song, didn’t work. Nor (mercifully) did the team use it, despite having requested it.

I tried.

I’D A LUMP IN MY GUT

(To the Tune of “You’re the One That I Want”)

 

VERSE 1 – HIS HOLINESS

I’ve got cells, they’re multiplying,

May be losing my bowel;

Cos the pain the lumps applying,

Its intensifying {Its intensifying, its intensifying, its intensifying}.

 

VERSE 1 – OLIVIA

You’d better shape up, cos we need a Pope, with a healthy intestine;

You’d better shape up, if you’re gonna cope, the growth better be benign;

 

CHORUS 1 – BACK TO HIS HOLINESS

Yes it is, the prognosis is divine.

I’d a lump in my gut, {how big’s the lump you’ve got?}, Oooh, ooh, ooh, sister;

Like a small coconut, {where did it hurt a lot?}, Oooh, ooh, ooh, brother;

Like a pain in the butt; {he has a lot of pluck}, Oooh, ooh, ooh,

That neoplasm, had me in spasm.

 

VERSE 2 – OLIVIA (COMING ON A BIT STRONG WITH HIS HOLINESS)

Keep abreast of the tabloids,

They’d go bust for a rumour;

‘Bout the state of my mam’roids,

Pap tumour.

 

VERSE 2 – HIS HOLINESS (SLIGHTLY OUT OF CHARACTER I FEEL)

You’d better shape up, Miss Olivia, cos you’re well known for your bust,

I’d better shut up, cos my own career, will be over if I lust,

{OLIVIA:Are you sure?}Yes, abstention is a must.

 

CHORUS 2 – OLIVIA

Now the one on the left, {look at the udder one}, is a lot bigger,

Than the one on the right, {titter at nipple puns}, which is much smaller,

Than the one on the left, {I read it in the Sun}, Ooh, ooh ,ooh;

It’s not neurosis, it’s carcinosis.

 

Now my tit has gone bust, {cancer’s a lot of fun}, ooh, ooh, ooh,

STOP (The music and dancing stops) – I can’t go on singing this pap:

It brings a lump to my throat.

 

(Looks of horror on the other faces and then quickly BLACKOUT)

Here is the video of You’re The One That I Want from Grease:

...and here are the lyrics.

Goebbels Diaries, NewsRevue Lyric (Unused), 12 July 1992

I guess I was still learning as I went along back then – I had only been writing for NewsRevue for a dozen or so weeks still…

…but this one doesn’t/didn’t/couldn’t have worked.

It has one or two good lines in it and gives a feel for the news story that was doing the rounds at the time.

Still, I had been enjoying a creative weekend that weekend – the day before was my first session with Michael over the idea that became Clean Business Cuisine – but that’s another story to be Ogblogged separately.

Back to Goebbels:

GOEBBELS DIARY – A SONG FOR FUHRER AND CHORUS

(To the Tune of “Nobody’s Diary”)

VERSE 1

Joseph Goebbel’s was my right hand man for sure,

We spread propaganda and we went to war;

Now his wretched diary gets publicity,

Folks are gonna remember him and forget me,

So I’m angry.

 

VERSE 2

Back in 38 we planned the Krystalnacht, {Ohhhh, ohhhh}

But by 45 we were completely facht;

The fire in the Reichstag, The Night of Long Knives,

Its a fact that we Nazi’s had eventful lives,

And The Big Lie.

 

CHORUS 1

FUHRER:For the times we had I want to be,

CHORUS:Star in Goebbels’ diary

FUHRER:Say, I was really bad, so write about me,

CHORUS:In the Goebbels’ diary

FUHRER:Hey, the translator’s mad, he says he likes me,

In every page, of Goebbels’ diary.

 

VERSE 3

Revisionists like Irving say we weren’t that base, {Oh-oh, oh-oh}

I think Irving’s theories are a damn disgrace;

We should be remembered as a bunch of shits,

We were evil and don’t forget who caused the Blitz,

We were violent gits,

The pits.

 

CHORUS 2

FUHRER:Could the Sunday Times have been deceived,

CHORUS:Like with Hitler’s Diaries,

FUHRER:Say, after all this time do you want to read,

CHORUS:Joseph Goebbels’ diary (page)?

FUHRER:Was the Sunday Times inspired by greed,

To print each page of Goebbels’ diary.

Here is Yazoo singing Nobody’s Diary:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vh1C1VDlmmk

…and here is a link to the Yazoo lyrics.

Meet Me In Panama, NewsRevue Lyric, Unused, 11 July 1992

A busy weekend of writing; this particular day was also my first session with Michael Mainelli to discuss the idea that became Clean Business Cuisine – but that’s another story to be Ogblogged separately.

I’ll guess that I wrote this lyric in the morning before having lunch with Michael…

…guessing that neither my creative mind nor my alcohol-addled brain will have been up to much after the long lunchtime session.

Anyway, this lyric is about the Noriega saga (Panama) which was in the news at the time. It has a few decent lines in it, but didn’t make the cut for the show and I can understand why.

MEET ME IN PANAMA

(To the Tune of “Meet Me on the Corner”)

 

VERSE 1 – US MARINES SEIZE MANUEL NORIEGA

Hey Mr Noriega, how have you been,

Tell me, have you Coke folks can snort?

We came along, to seize you by the shlong,

And to seize the blow you export.

 

You and your mates, must come back to the States,

Where we’re gonna jam you in gaol,

You are Commie gits, and you have a lot of zits,

So I schmeck that our law suit won’t fail.

 

CHORUS 1 – US MARINES SEIZE MANUEL NORIAGA

Meet us in Panama,

When the drugs are passing through,

And we’ll be there, to snatch you by the hair.

We’ll check up you’re ass,

And if we find a trace of grass,

Then your conviction will be fair.

 

VERSE 2 – US JUDGE LECTURES NORIEGA

O, Mr Noriega see what you’ve done,

You’re a dealer, pusher and slime;

You hustle for hours, but our court has the powers,

And it nose that you’ll do lots of time.

 

CHORUS 2 – US MARINES RETURN

 

Meet us in Panama,

When the Coke is passing through,

We’ll blow the place, to try and crack the case;

Manuel’s tried to make a pile by flogging passing flake,

Now Noriega’s in disgrace.

 

VERSE 3 – US JUDGE SENTENCES NORIEGA

You rock the court with your three hours of blort,

But we won’t let detail toot our goal,

You’re jury of peers has laid on forty years,

And for that long you won’t get parole.

Here is a vid with Lindisfarne singing the superb song, Meet Me On The Corner,  with their lyrics showing on the screen:

Song To Persecute You, A Private Joke Lyric For John Random, 9 July 1992

I have not often wondered precisely when it was that John Random took me to one side and explained the facts of NewsRevue song-writing life to me.

But my discovery of this little private joke lyric, dated 9 July 1992, is a piece of incontrovertible evidence. John must have taught me the facts of life a week or so before.

John explained to me that certain tunes were so over-used that NewsRevue aficionados would not consider their use under any circumstances. That was the reason, from his point of view, that, for example:

…had not been used and would not be used on his watch.

Indeed, John said, he considered such lyrics, set to excessively-used tunes, to be a form of torture.

Chattanooga Choo-Choo was another notable example that John specifically mentioned as excessively used and torturous.

I had no recollection of the following little lyric at all, so it was a surprise to me when I discovered it. I must have written this specifically as a joke for John and (presumably) handed it to him at the NewsRevue writers’ meeting that week, on 9 July:

SONG TO PERSECUTE YOU

(To the tune of “Chattanooga Choo-Choo”)

Pardon me John,

I wrote this song to persecute you;

Catch 22,

To edit the Newsrevue.

 

The public pay,

When they,

Can hear the tunes they know and like;

So Chattanooga Choo-Choo,

Shouldn’t always hit the spike.

 

Copyright 1992  “The Chattanooga Choo-Choo Liberation Front”.

Here is a great Glenn Miller vid of the song, although you don’t get any words for two or three minutes…but it is worth the wait:

…and here is a link to the original lyrics.

Trucker Strikes, NewsRevue Lyric, 6 July 1992

Another season, another round of French truckers on strike. This song did well when the strikes were topical that summer and I did subsequently try to revive it periodically whenever the French truckers went on strike again, like that next winter, in the Bowden submission of early January 1993.

I also used this song as an excuse for a Eurocrat/Eurosceptic spat-fest. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose, as any French trucker might put it.

Here is a link to Summer Loving from Grease with the lyrics as subtitles.

♬ TRUCKER STRIKES ♬

(To the tune of “Summer Nights”)

 

VERSE 1 – LES FRANCAISE ACCENTS

Summer trucking, static in France,

Summer traffic, doesn’t advance;

New road law, drivers don’t like,

Mitterand, get on you’re bike.

Show that toad, blockade the road,

Holding farmer and trucker strikes.

 

CHORUS 1 – ENCORE LES FRANCAISE ACCENTS

{Well-a, well-a, well-a, well-a, huh}

Change the law, change the law, or our lorries stay put;

Zoot alors, zoot alors, move your truck off my foot.

{Ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha, do-do-do-do-do}

 

VERSE 2 – ENGLISH TOURISTS

Summer outing, driving to Cannes,{ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha}

We’re not moving, blocked by a van;{ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha}

Took the car, cos last year’s flight,{ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha}

Was delayed by air traffic strikes.{do-wop-bop-bop, do-wop-bop-bop}

Switch to rail, you’ll also fail,

With all the French transport strikes.

 

CHORUS 2 – STILL ENGLISH TOURISTS

{Well-a, well-a, well-a, well-a, huh}

What a bore, what a bore, will we ever get back?

Call the law, call the law, some frog’s burning the track;

{Dow, be-do, be-do, be-do-be-do-be}

{Dow, be-do, be-do, be-do-be-do-be}

 

VERSE 3 – EUROCRAT AND EUROSCEPTIC ALTERNATELY

Single Market, borderless trade,{Dow, be-do, be-do, be-do-be-do-be}

Goods move freely apart from blockades;{Dow, be-do, be-do, be-do-be-do-be}

We’ve improved farm subsidies,{Dow, be-do, be-do, be-do-be-do-be}

Froggy farmers all disagree.{do-wop-bop-bop, do-wop-bop-bop}

Europe’s mission, more competition,

Between farmer and trucker strikes

 

CHORUS 3 – THE EUROSCEPTICS HAVE WON

{Wo-ah. wo-ah, wo-ah, huh}

Tell Delors, tell Delors, Ray McSharry’s a Mick,

Tell Delors, tell Delors, Leon Brittan’s a prick,

{Ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha, do-do-do-do-do}

{Ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha, do-do, ah-ha, yeh}

 

Ask Delors, ask Delors, what is his policy?

Says Delors, says Delors, “subsidiarity”.

THE JOLLITY COMES TO A SUDDEN STOP

 

VERSE 4 – MUCH SLOWER

Troubled Europe, full of dissent,

Now John Major’s the president;

He’ll use England’s best policies,

God help the other countries.

Harmony, in the EC – oh-oh

Euro transport strikes.

Sack Delors, sack Delors-ors-ors.