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Root/Shaft.
You like my legs? We like your belt buckle.
You like my nipple? Can we have a suckle?
You love my ass? We'd better start praying.
My tower of Pisa? We'd better start laying.

Hey, hey, you hear what we're saying?
You like my sideburns? Because they're long.
You adore my guitar? Play it hard and fast.
My G-String's nice? We'd better call vice.
My musical gong? Now you've gone too far.

My body's my temple,
My word's my bond,
I'll take you to heaven with a wave of my wand.
Hey! Ooo go home and ROOT! SHAFT!

You flick my dial, you turn my cogs,
Get down on the floor and bark like a dog.
Roll over, play dead, go fetch the ball,
We'll show you why dog breeders recommend PAUL!
Theses are my lips of which I am proud,
I like your pants when they're loud.
Oooh go home and ROOT! SHAFT!

Saddam Hussein.
We will pluck out the eyes of their children,
And smear their entrails over the crowd.
And we will kill kill kill their young soldiers,
And send them home as corpses covered in a shroud.

Let's go get Saddam,
Let's cause the man some pain,
Let's destroy Arabia until nothing else remains.
Until the rivers all run red,
Until no-one's safe in bed.
And where is Ronald Reagan when you need him?
They call him Saddam,
He'll give you nerve gas with your side order of .......

Once Hussein gets the push,
Let's get President Bush,
If the Iraqis kill the Yanks then let's give them all our thanks.
Until the oil flows again,
Until loving meets the end.
And where is Salman Rushdie when you need him?

Sailors Arms.
I met her at the 'Sailor Arms' - a bar down by the docks.
Full of prostitutes and deviants and fellows wearing frocks.
Went there to drown my sorrow, my misery and pain.
With fourteen multicoloured pills and a pint of heavy ale.

I saw this girl across the way, who was smiling through the wine.
So I begged her come on over, come on over, spend some time.
And I spilled my life before her and she seemed to understand.
Although she was a girl we were talking man to man (man to man).

For love is where you find it wherever that may be.
For me it was in the Sailors Arms at twenty-five past three.
There's something strange about her I can't put my finger on.
But I wanna tell the world that she's the one (she's the one).
I wanna tell the world that she's the one.

She strolled up to the toilets - she strolled into the Gents.
I asked her why she did it, why she'd gone to pay the rent.
We arm-wrestled and I lost, she beat me with a spike,
Told me seedy jokes that were quite unlady-like (lady-like).
It was four in the morning and through the smoky haze,
I could've been mistaken but she needed to shave (to shave).

For love is where you find it wherever that may be.
For me it was in the Sailors Arms with a better man than me.
Her husky voice seduced me my heart was in a mess.
I sat upon her knee as something twitched beneath her dress,
There's something more than knees beneath her dress.

You've got nice eyes says I (Oh Sir, I am surprised!)
What large hands I said (All the better to touch you with)
God, you arms look strong (A woman's work is never done)
Your legs are quite hirsute (Aren't you the saucy one!)

I was feeling less than stable when she said her name was Ken (Ken!)
Well if I had suspicions Lord I should've had 'em then (then!).
She cried as she told me how she was so confused.
One more visit to the doctor she'd have nothing left to lose (Toulouse-Lautrec).

I ran my fingers through her wig, she lightly stroked my hair.
She said she was a man, (Whoa whoa! She said she was a man? A man called Ken - Bull-twang!)
Lots of men are called Ken (So what did you say Paul?).
I told her I don't care (He doesn't care).

For love is where you find it wherever that may be.
For me it was in a hopper bin with my trousers 'round my knees.
There's something strange about her I just put my finger on.
And I want to tell the world that she's the one (he's the one).
I want to tell the world that it's the one.

Salman Rushdie.
Salman's Satanic Verses stink,
Like the Ayatollahs breath,
Those satanic sentences have sentenced us to death.
They burnt a thousand copies,
Cause the verses are a curse,
But they ain't like the Nazis because they paid for them first.

Now all of us have problems,
And when the world turns nasty,
Don't worry (Don't worry!),
Be happy (Be Happy!).
Things could be worse,
You could be Salman Rushdie.

Cat Stevens on his peace train,
Will take it to Tehran.
And while they hack his hands off,
The book goes Number One.
He wrote a little story about Islam Gods and sex,
Now everyone wants the Salman that John West rejects.

Now all of us have problems,
And when the world turns nasty,
Don't worry (Don't worry!),
Be happy (Be Happy!).
Things could be worse,
You could be Salman Rushdie.

Now all of us have problems,
And when the world turns nasty,
Don't worry (Don't worry!),
Be happy (Be Happy!).
Thank Allah you're not Salman Rushdie.

The Sandman (With Flacco).
That candy colored man they call the sandman,
He tip toes through my room each night.
Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper,
"Go to sleep, everything is alright."

I close my eyes (I close my eyes),
And dream away (And dream away),
Into that magic night.
I softly say (I softly say),
A silent prayer (A silent prayer),
As dreamers do (As dreamers do).
Then I fall asleep to dream,
My dreams of you.

But just before the dawn,
I wake to find I am alone.
I can't help it (ba da bom bom bom),
I can't help it (ba da bom bom bom),
If I cry (If I cry).
Now I remember (ba da bom bom bom),
That you said (ba da bom bom bom),
Goodbye.
Does it matter all of these things,
Could only happen in my dreams.
Only dreams,
In beautiful dreams,
Beautiful dreams.

SATANDEVILBEELZEBUB.
Satan Devil Beelzebub!
Satan Devil Beelzebub!
Satan Devil Beelzebub!
(Tim's possessed demonic gibberish)
That's the lyrics to 'Achey Breakey Heart' backwards!

Scottish Songs.
Way down South they have a name
For wind and rain and fire.
The fire's Joe,
The rain is Bess,
And they call the wind the wind.

Let the wind blow high,
Let the wind blow low.
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lasses say 'Hello!',
Donald, where're your trousers?

Let the wind blow high,
Let the wind blow low.
Through the streets in my skirt I'll go,
All the shielas say 'G'day!',
Don are you a poof, mate?

Shangalang.
Let's dig, let's jump,
Let's get into the river and a-humma-humma-hump.
Your tail, tail wag,
Let's get into the kennel and shagga-shagga-shag.
Shangalang, shangalang, shangalang-dang-dang.

Your spit, my spine,
Gonna make me a holler with a full bodied wine
Don't bite, don't talk,
Let's go into the sty and puppa-puppa-puppa-puppa
Shangalang, shangalang, shangalang-dang-dang,
Shangalang, shangalang, shangalang-dang-dang.

My heart nailed to your door in a gesture of desire,
Think I'll follow the path of the guanaco,
I'm gonna set myself, set myself afire.
Got a match, gasoline,
Why do you treat me so ma-ma-mean.
Got a gun, got a bullet, go a finger on the trigger,
I'm gonna pa-pa-pa-pull it.
Shangalang, shangalang, shangalang-dang-dang,
Shangalang, shangalang, shangalang-dang-dang.

Good intentions paved the road to hell,
High ideals do the same.
Think I'll follow the path of the guanaco,
I'm gonna set myself, set myself aflame.
Shangalang, shangalang, shangalang-dang-dang,
Shangalang, shangalang, shangalang-dang-dang,
Shangalang, shangalang, shangalang-dang-dang,
Shangalang, shangalang, shangalang-dang-dang.

She.
She may be the face I can't forget,
A trace of pleasure or regret.
May be my treasure or the price,
I have to pay.
She may be the song that summer sings,
May be the chill that autumn brings.
May be a hundred different things,
Within the measure of a day.

She may be the beauty or the beast,
May be the famine or the feast.
May turn each day into a heaven,
Or a hell.
She may be the ** of my dreams,
A smile reflected in a stream.
She may not be what she may seem,
Inside her shell.

She voicing so happy in a crowd,
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud.
No one's allowed to see them when they cry.
She may be the love that cannot last,
May come to me from shadows of the past,
That I'll rememeber til the day I die.
She may be the reason I survive,
The why and wherefore I'm alive.
The one I'll take *cough* all through the rough,
And rainy years.
Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears,
And make them all my souvenirs.
For where she goes,
I've got to be.
The meaning of my life is she,
She...
She.

She Went Through The Fair.
My young love said to me "My mother won't mind,
And my father won't slight you for your lack of kind".
And she went away slowly and this she did say,
It will not be long love til I'm with thee,
It will not be long love til I'm with thee.

She went away from me and she moved through the fair.
Fondly I watched her move here and move there,
And she went her way home with one star aware,
As the swan in the evening moves over the air.

I dreamt that last night my young love came here (through the fair).
So softly she left him her foot made no din .
She came close beside me and this she did say,
It will not be long love til I'm with thee,
It will not be long love til I'm with thee,
Til I'm with thee.

Ship Of Love
I'll be your little crucifix,
If you'll be my mount Calvary.
I got to get a fix on you,
Cos you got your nails in me.
Her beads of sweat around my neck,
Are hung like rosaries.
These prayers are best briefly spoken,
Down on bended knees.
Gonna sail that ship of love
Gonna sail in out of port
Gonna find the girl of my dreams above
Gonna (there's a groan here. Use your imagination!) her in the porthole of love.
This ship of love is leaving,
It carries dead lovers,
Out through these grim garden walls,
Where the roses grow in wild profusion.
Like weeping sores the mothers wail,
There is no heart to drive on this lurching vessel.
Gonna sail that ship of love
Gonna sail in out of port
Gonna find the girl of my dreams above
Gonna (groan) her in the porthole of love.

Skinhead Skippy.
Skippy's all grown up he's not a joey anymore.
He's interested in getting pissed and passing out on the floor.
He grassed Mat Hammond with a bottle of Stout,
And threw a dart in Sonny's eye before he ripped it out.

Who's that walking on air?
Bouncing down the street without a care.
It's skinhead Skippy the killer kangaroo,
With a blood soaked bovver boots and a racist attitude.
A mean looking mother son not afraid of anyone,
Got the others on the run.
Here he comes, here he comes,
Skippy the skinhead.
Oi! Tch tch tch tch tch Oi!

Skippy's got a tattoo and he's gone and shaved his head,
He's dating wallabies half his age and getting 'em into bed.
He says his friends are all miserable pricks,
They're married now, or dead, or gone all mentally sick.
Who's that walking on air?
Bouncing down the street without a care.

Well, Benji's got the snip n' tuck and now he's sniffing glue... Oh shit! That's great Flikka!
Milo and Otis died at least eight times over... Aah, woof, meow, ow, ah, doh, oh- that's eight.
Rin Tin Tin blindly humps the leg of his owner... Hey Rinnie, Rinnie, what's that tune? Last post, damn splinter! Ow!
Flipper became sushi,
Mr Ed loves drag,
Lassie's a transvestite,
And Gentle Ben, Gentle Ben's a fag.

Who's causing havoc on the docks,
In a pair of bright red braces and cherry red Docs?
It's Skinhead Skippy, the fascist kangaroo.
With a blood soaked Stanley knife and a racist attitude.

He'll wait until you're all alone,
Crack your skull break your bones,
Send the pieces to your home.
He's a one, all in fun,
Skippy the Skinhead.
Oi, oi, oi, oi, tch, tch, tch, tch, tch, tch, tch, tch, tch, oi!

Skinhead Sooty.
Sooty's all grown up he's not a puppet anymore.
He's interested in getting pissed and passing out on the floor.
He grassed Basil Brush with a bottle of Stout,
And threw a dart in Sweep's eyes before he ripped it out.

Who's that walking on air?
Bouncing down the street without a care.
It's skinhead Sooty with a killer xylophone,
With a blood soaked bovver boots and a racist attitude.
A mean looking mother son, not afraid of anyone,
Got the others on the run.
Here he comes, here he comes,
Sooty the skinhead.
Oi! Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Oi!

Sooty's got a tattoo and he's gone and shaved his head,
He's dating muppets half his age and getting 'em into bed.
He says his friends are all miserable pricks,
They're married now, or dead, or gone all mentally sick.
Who's that walking on air?
Bouncing down the street without a care.

Well, the hunt caught up with Basil Brush and he got clubbed to death.
Bill and Ben got Little Weed and smoked it in the shed,
Zebedee OD'ed on E and now he's pushing clover.
Dougall blindly humps the leg of his owner... "I say! What's that tune?" said Dougall, "Last post, damn splinter! Ow!"
Buddy is a bigot,
The Clangers flew away,
The Thunderbirds are puppets - NO!
And Andy Pandy's gay - and proud people!

Who's causing havoc on the docks,
In a pair of bright red braces and cherry red Docs?
It's Skinhead Sooty, with a killer xylophone,
With a blood soaked Stanley knife and a racist attitude.
He'll wait until you're all alone,
Crack your skull break your bones,
Send the pieces to your home.
He's a one, all in fun,
Sooty the Skinhead.
Oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, OI!

Sons Of...
Sons of the thieves and sons of the saints,
Who is the child with no complaint.
Sons of the great or sons unknown,
All were children like your own.
The same sweet smiles,
The same sad tears,
The cries at night,
The nightmare fears.
Sons of the great or sons unknown,
All were children like your own.
So long ago, long long ago.

But sons of tycoons or sons of the farms,
All of your children ran from your arms.
Threw fields of gold, through fields of ruin,
All of your children vanished too soon.
In towering ways, in walls of flesh,
Among fallen birds, trembling in death.
Sons of tycoons or sons of the farms,
All of your children ran from your arms.

Sons of your sons, or sons passing by,
Children we've lost in lullabies.
Sons of love, or sons of regret,
All of your sons you cannot forget.
Some built the roads, some wrote the poems,
Some went to war and some never came home.
Sons of your sons, or sons passing by,
Children we've lost in lullabies.

So long ago, long long ago.
Sons of the thieves and sons of the saints,
Who is the child with no complaint.
Sons of the great or sons unknown,
All were children like your own.
The same sweet smiles,
The same sad tears,
The cries at night,
The nightmare fears.
Sons of the great or sons unknown,
All were children like your own.
Like your own, like your own, like your own.