The old Rocker wore his hair too long
Wore his trouser cuffs too tight
Unfashionable to the end --- drank his ale too light
Death's head belt buckle --- yesterday's dreams ---
The transport caf' prophet of doom
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
In his post-war-babe gloom

Cut along the dotted line slip in and seal the flap
Postal competition crazy, though you wear the dunce's cap
Win a fortnight in Ibiza line up for the big hand out
You'll never know unless you try what the winning's all about
Be a quizz kid
Be a whizz kid
Six days later there's a rush telegram
Drop everything and telephone this number if you can
It's a free trip down to London for a weekend of high life
They'll wine you; dine you; undermine you, better not bring the wife
Be a quizz kid
Be a whizz kid

It's a try out for a quizz show that millions watch each week
Following the fate and fortunes of contestants as they speak
Answerable to everyone; responsible to all; publicity dissected ---
Brain cells splattered on the walls of encyclopaedic knowledge
May be barbaric but it's fun. As the clock ticks away a lifetime
Hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray tubes aimed at your tiny skull
May you find sweet inspiration
May your memory not be dull
May you rise to dizzy success
May your wit be quick and strong
May you constantly amaze us
May your answers not be wrong
May your head be on your shoulders
May your tongue be in your cheek
And most of all we pray that you may come back next week!
Be a quizz kid
Be a whizz kid