This is maintained in its original state from some lyric archive
in America. Corrections are not welcome (or necessary;
if you really want the correct words, they're in the booklet with
"ACD"). Anyway, here goes...
Half Man Half Biscuit, _Back_Again_in_the_D.H.S.S_, Probe,
UK, 1987.
The Best Things in Life
My Uncle Charlie is a cynical man
And his wifes a touch skeptical, too.
They've got one of those stickers
In the back of their van; it says:
We've seen the prices at the zoo.
Well today I knocked upon their door
And said that I was passing,
And charlie launched a scathing attack.
When I asked him what I'd done, he said
"You stupid bastard! We live in a cul-de-sac!"
Went to Darlene's party; it was fancy dress.
I just stuck an apple in my face.
I saw a chap who obviously was out to impress,
Reckoned he'd beat Gagarin into space.
He said "Hi there {? souls! ?}
Like I'm sorry I'm late!
But I was getting done up
As a mobile thrash acetate!"
Me, I got bored
So I went home,
Got into bed,
And came to the conclusion...
There is nothing better in life
Than writing on the sole of your slipper with a Birol
There is nothing better in life
Than writing on the sole of your slipper with a Birol
There is nothing better in life
Than writing on the sole of your slipper with a Birol
There is nothing better in life
Than writing on the sole of your slipper with a Birol
On a Saturday Night instead of going to a pub.
D'You Ken Ted Mould? (!!!)
Ah, Ted! It has to be said,
The {? juicy truth's ?} beyond us.
Rain, shine, on Leopold Stein,
His ribs remain intact.
{? Hedderly Crup ?} is in my garden
Breaking wind! "I beg your pardon!"
Don't go breathing! Misery!
And don't you all agree?
No fears, the last ten good years,
Our statistics prove it,
That you'll pose on Erskine's nose;
It's you who sets the pace.
On the cold and frosty morning,
Stop and howl {? And ruse like warning: ?}
It's insulation for the nation.
That's the one for me!
No draft, 'cause that would be daft,
A feather acknowledges beauty.
And ball and chain that {? leaks on the pane ?}
Can only smash your nerves.
In the Highland Agencies
And with the best, it stands to please.
And no complaining whether it's raining.
Thanks to this {? tumultuous day! ?}
Reasons to Be Miserable, Part 10
A fairly attractive girl walks past a building site, And from underneath an industrial safety helmet you hear:. {? Tar-heel. ?} And you stand there Witnessing the whole Neanderthal situation Wanting to twist your own brain out As they sit there on their newly build wall Laughing their hods off. Chorus: Reasons to be miserable, Another good excuse to be dead. It's one more thing to gripe about As I while away my time in bed. And then there's the person who collects all things "Piero", And loves Siamese cats, And thinks they're sophisticated because they eat Fries' Chocolate Cream, And who'd do anything to spend the night With a fellow of the turkish delights outfit, Who is full of instant mono-sodium glutimate, And they always have a portrait of a sad clown on the wall, And who go to charity shops, And tend to become slightly orgasmic At the thought of vampire lust. "Cringe!" Chorus x 2 And I don't know anyone who puts peaches on their cornflakes, either!
Rod Hull is Alive, Why?
A {? doy in a doh-peri ?} once told me,
That one day he would like to grow amazed,
It seems to me quite logical
That this should be his wish.
And with that
We both went our separate ways.
You said you died at 7:00 ("seven") due to something in your head.
I asked the system why it wasn't someone else instead!
Tonight I cry myself a path of tears and ask
"Why is Rod Hull alive, and getting paid as well!?"
I heard a palace spokesman mention Sarah.
Said she'd known the groins of Jaques LaFeet.
She's well-prepared to be a standard-bearer.
As pure as the proverbial driven sleet!
Halfway up {?, the reekin', ?} with an empty flask of tea,
I thought you said this takes away my visibility.
Yet in this Helen Keller state, I'd still quite like to know
Why is Rod Hull alive, and getting paid as well!
And I wonder if they'll bring back
National Service and "the {? bench" ?}.
And I wonder must I doubt if
They'll ever bring back The {? Whotney Cup! ?}
Dickie Davis Eyes
Mention the Lord of the Rings one more time
And I'll more than likely kill you.
"More cock, more cock, Michael, more cock" you fervently moan.
Is this a {? wot ?} that you sholve down my throat,
Or are you just pleased to see me?
Brian Moore's head looks uncannily like London Planetarium.
Chorus:
And all those people
Who you, romantically,
Like to still believe are alive,
Are dead!
So I'll wipe my snots
On the arm of your chair
As you put another Roger Dean poster
On the wall.
God, I could murder a {? Cadbury's Flake ?}!
Then I guess you wouldn't let me into heaven.
Or maybe you would because they're like' there to promote oral sex!
A Romani beams in a field with her paints,
Suggesting we faint at her beauty,
But she's got "Dickie Davis Eyes!"
Chorus x 2
The Bastard Son of Dean Friedman
Well I heard a lovely rumor,
That Bette Midler had a tumor,
So gleefully I went to tell my friends.
But they said it was a lie,
That she wasn't going to die,
"And by the way, have we got news for you!"
And they told me that the man
That I had always billed as "Dad",
Hadn't met my "Mum" when I was born.
And they reckon that I am,
But I hope to God I'm not,
The bastard son of Dean Friedman,
The bastard son of Dean Friedman.
And my school-work fell behind
With this bombshell on my mind.
Me art teacher said he understood.
But he could only sympathise
With the sadness in my eyes,
Even though he'd shown my his Magerite!
And in the "Corridors of Fear"
I would shed a lovely tear,
As ridicule flew at me from both sides.
And they mocked me in my mocks,
And embroidered in my socks,
The bastard son of Dean Friedman,
The bastard son of Dean Friedman.
Supercalifragilistic, {? Barishnamakaclapback. ?}
And you can thank your lucky stars that you're not
The bastard son of Dean Friedman,
The bastard son of Dean Friedman.
I Was a Teenage Armchair Hon Ved Fan
Yeah?
Woke up this morning and found myself in bed.
My knowledge of the blues is somewhat nil.
I dreamt about about a love-affair
In far-off B(y)uda-Pest.
The sort of thing that shivers every {? pale. ?}
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I went on {? Docksla ?} cuisine, in a bi-linguistic mood.
And Morphy Richards showed up with the goods.
I was feeling hungry both this morning and last night,
and with an appetite like that you see the {? woods. ?}
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
Is this the bit where we're supposed to make guitars collide, and
Is this the bit where we release all that raw energy, and
Is this the bit where we go crashing through those barriers,
Like wot they do in music mags?!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair wham bam thank you.
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair wooo oooh ooh.
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
I was a teenage armchair Hon Ved fan!
Arthur's Farm
Arthur Askee and Dougie Dougie's Beetle
Went down to the Animal Farm.
Dug in for the poor,
They heard stories from the war.
And explaimed about the boil on his bum!
Napoleon, very pink, offerred both of them a drink,
And a drink and a drink and a drink.
Come the {? RN ?} four, there were lemons to be sure,
Not one of them had even had a wink,
Of sleep.
Everybody sang as loud as they could,
"Two legs bad, but four legs good!"
This made the boys feel pretty impressed.
{? K. Winding film ?}, it was "Ay! Ay! At the Helm",
While Dougie Beetle's wrapped among the ruins.
After {? only dodging ?} limbs and {? the Oil of Murphy ?} hymns
And a sale for some second-hand boots.
Years passed by, it got crazy in the sty.
It was stupid, it was total apathy!
Everybody asked around
As the Beast of Eeling Sound,
Had been ruined by a busy busy bee!
And shouts were heard from the East to the West,
"Four legs good, but no legs best!"
Invalidity reigned supreme.
And shouts were heard from the East to the West,
"Four legs good, but no legs best!"
{? Frog-time ?} visit to another regime.
All I Want for Christmas is a Dukla-Prague Away Kit
There was one of a game
{? Odds scale ?} Amsterdam,
The cards are down;
He thought he was better than you,
And the day after school,
You'd go around there to play him,
Hoping to compete for some kind championship,
And it always took about 15 billion hours to set the track up.
And even when you did, the thing never seemed to work.
It was a dodgy transformer, again and again.
It was a dodgy transformer, again and again.
It was a dodgy blue mass, again and again.
It was a dodgy transformer, cost 3 pounds 10.
So he sent his doting mother
Up the stairs with the stepladder,
To get the {? Sub-u-dome ?}
Out of the loft.
It had all the accessories
Required for that big-match atmosphere.
The crowd and the dugout,
And the floodlights, too.
And you'd always get palmed off
With a headless center-forward,
And a goal-kicker with no arms,
And a face like his.
And he'd managed to get hold of
A Dukla-Prague Away Kit,
His uncle owned a sport shop
And he'd kept it to one side.
And after only five minutes
You'd be down to ten men,
And then he said he'd be right back
While taking the base from under his left-wing.
Come to half-time, you were losing, four-nil.
Each and every goal, {? are partly because of some os his ?} stupid penalties.
So you smash up the floodlights
And the game was abandoned,
And the bog would bark
And you'd be banned from his house.
And your travelling army
Of synthetic supporters
Would be taken away from you
And thrown in the bin.
And now he's working
In a job with a future.
He hands me my Gyro (as in gyroscope, not "hero")
Every two weeks.
And me, I'm on the lookout
For a proper transformer.
Uh?!
Trumpton Riots
Ow!
Oh! Oh! Oh!
{?
Unemployments rising
In the chigley end of town.
And it's speading like pneumonia;
Doesn't look like going down.
There's trouble at the fire station;
Someone's head to sack.
And the lads with homes and the larger schemes
Get rid of Captain Black.
Tell B. C. McGarry
To get himself a mate.
And Ahmed tells the C. S. Gas
They're gonna be out late.
{? Will has had cankers forming in ?} since 1966.
And throws subversions in the air
The shape of flying bricks!
Chorus:
Someone get a message through
To Captain Snow
That they better start assembling
The boys from the Balzac.
Keep Mrs. Honeyman right out of sight,
'Cause there's gonna be riot
Down in Trumpton Tonight.
All this aristocracy
Has really got to stop.
We could overthrow the surgery
And kidnap Doctor {? Muff! ?}
And {? ?? ?? ?? ?} the Socialist
Who stormed the market square
And make plans to assasinate
Our autographic mayor!
Winding militant leaders
{? Bypass Congress ?} into war
With {? ?? ?? ?? ?} and {? ?? ?? ?? ?}
They smash the town hall door.
But Snorty and the boys arrive
With one by air-strike ???
?? ??? ??? they bring about
A military coup.
Chorus x 2
(Live!)
Saint Francis came to my town
And visited the cemetery.
The dead got up and everything
Became one big one big cacaphony.
They all went down the social and
They claimed their supplementary.
And all the necrophiliacs
Were walking 'round in misery.
The rotting mass of calcium
Was shopping in the Superstore,
Careering down the aisles
Like one big psychopathic carnivore,
The shelf-stackers were alert,
In ecstasy crashed to the floor,
And meanwhile the {? sane ?} was
Growing crazy at the fire-door.
Beautiful sparkling healthy spa water of Bath
And Avon.
I! hate! {? Menace! Yeah! ?}
I! hate! {? Menace! Yeah! ?}
I! hate! {? Menace! Yeah! ?}
I! hate! {? Menace! Yeah! ?}
Words kindly reproduced by someone in dire need of a hearing aid.
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