Well I’ve got a dead leg from kicking myself
For letting our friendship fade away
Aloysius Umbongo N’Danga O’Reilly is hot on my heels
With calamity powder
I saw you in Hoylake, edgy as ever
Up on the Red Rocks a-whooping and a-hollering
Six civic dignitaries, idiots all
Heading out to Hilbre
I wouldn’t go that way
Dickheads in quicksand an hour from now
I should have a word but I’ve not had me dinner
A place on the promenade’s got what I need
Do I scream for the beadle or go for the ham?
Do I go for the ham?

A baguette dilemma for the Booker Prize guy
A baguette dilemma for the Booker Prize guy
A baguette dilemma for the Booker Prize guy
A baguette dilemma

Flushed is the face that you hide in the lace
Of your mother’s mantilla, a bilious affair
I’ve got a picture which nobody needs
A picture of Lord Gort in his underwear
Out of the ordinary into the drains
Over the marshy Berwyn
Ever the denizen never the norm
That’s all very well but you’ve still got to eat
I’ve heard Arthur and Omega’s “All-you-can-stomach”
Is far and away your best bet
You can eat in or take away
Your call, what do you say?
If you snack on the hoof you’ll still get to catch
The mass wank for the RNLI
RNLI
A baguette dilemma for the Booker Prize guy
A baguette dilemma for the Booker Prize guy
A baguette dilemma for the Booker Prize guy
A baguette dilemma