Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bagpipe Music, artist - Battlefield Band. Album song Room Enough for All, in the genre Музыка мира
Date of issue: 07.04.2013
Record label: Temple
Song language: English
Bagpipe Music |
It’s no go the merrygoround, it’s no go the rickshaw, |
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow. |
Their knickers are made of crêpe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python, |
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with heads of bison. |
John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa, |
Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker, |
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whisky, |
Kept its bones for dumb-bells to use when he was fifty. |
It’s no go the Yogi-Man, it’s no go Blavatsky, |
All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi. |
Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather, |
Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna. |
It’s no go your maidenheads, it’s no go your culture, |
All we want is a Dunlop tyre and the devil mend the puncture. |
The Laird o' Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober, |
Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot over. |
Mrs Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with repulsion, |
Said to the midwife ‘Take it away; |
I’m through with overproduction'. |
It’s no go the gossip column, it’s no go the Ceilidh, |
All we want is a mother’s help and a sugar-stick for the baby. |
Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn’t count the damage, |
Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage. |
His brother caught three hundred cran when the seas were lavish, |
Threw the bleeders back in the sea and went upon the parish. |
It’s no go the Herring Board, it’s no go the Bible, |
All we want is a packet of fags when our hands are idle. |
It’s no go the picture palace, it’s no go the stadium, |
It’s no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums, |
It’s no go the Government grants, it’s no go the elections, |
Sit on your arse for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension. |
It’s no go my honey love, it’s no go my poppet; |
Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit. |
The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall for ever, |
But if you break the bloody glass you won’t hold up the weather. |