| I thought it was a joke when you called me up
|
| And said you needed ironing
|
| There were creases in your facial lining
|
| Won’t you have a little rest when they turn out the lights
|
| A nice cup of tea and you’ll be feeling alright
|
| Don’t fret, you’ll recover yet you’ll see
|
| So keep on sending dirty postcards back to me
|
| Back to me, back to me
|
| I thought it was a lark when you phoned my dad
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| And told him that you’d have to catch the measles
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| You’re flesh was being ripped to shreds by weasels
|
| Won’t you have a little rest when they turn out the lights
|
| A nice cup of tea and you’ll be feeling alright
|
| Don’t fret, you’ll recover yet you’ll see
|
| So keep on sending dirty postcards back to me
|
| Back to me, back to me
|
| T’was on the Norfolk Broads
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| We were punting one day
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| You received a nasty bump on the head
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| And you’ve never been the same since needless to say
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| How I wish it could have been me instead
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| I wish it could have been me instead
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| I thought it was a prank when you wired the Pope
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| To say you’d a vision of an aardvaark
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| Who was perpetrating ghastly deeds with St Mark
|
| Won’t you have a little rest when they turn out the lights
|
| A nice cup of tea and you’ll be feeling alright
|
| Don’t fret, you’ll recover yet you’ll see
|
| So keep on sending dirty postcards back to me
|
| Back to me, back to me |