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