Darts in soap operas, oh so wrong, oh so wrong
No one's scoring and there's too much chat between easch throw
Worse than this though is when cheers are raised for the bull
Granted, bull's a double and an out but I know that they don't
Know their boards; I propose no soap darts.
Is your child hyperactive or is he perhaps a twat?
Sometimes I like to watch wave rage down on Fistral Beach
Last Ash Wednesday I had tantric sex and it was shit
Next Ash Wednesday I might strive to lick my elbow;
Strive in vain, for they say few succeed.
I wrote to the Horse and Hounds to gloat over whay I'd done
I stored their magazine in a data retrieval system
Well let's face it what're they going to do?
It's not as if they know where I live
And anyway I cut the caper back in 1984
Heartbroken Matrons on joyless beds
For those whose souls the iron has entered
And if I get to Heaven's gate I'll doubtless have to wait
While St. Peter investigates the inevitable asterisk
The inside of a Halex Three Star table-tennis ball
Smells much like you'd expect it to.