| Now Jacko was so happy,
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| just working on the farm.
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| With the cows and the chickens,
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| he couldn’t do no harm.
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| For years and years
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| he worked and he scraped and he saved,
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| to take on day the holiday he craved.
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| Now he’ll never be the same again,
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| since he took that holiday in Spain!
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| Oh ho make way for that Timsbury terero.
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| Ole, for the Somerset senor.
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| He’s a real West Country cavalero.
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| The Shepton Mallet matador!
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| Now the boys in the village all think it’s very queer,
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| the way that Jacko drinks wine instead of beer.
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| And they say he swapped his favourite cider jar
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| for a bottle of sherry and a 30 bob guitar.
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| Oh ho, make way for that Timsbury torero.
|
| Ole, for that Somerset senor.
|
| He’s a real West Country cavalero.
|
| The Shepton Mallet matador!
|
| Now the pigs and the chickens are digging up the dirt
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| when Jacko comes waving his old red flannel shirt.
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| And he’s always chasing round the old red cow,
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| 'cause he thinks that he’s
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| a real bull fighter now.
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| Oh ho, make way for the Timsbury torero.
|
| Ole, for that Somerset senor. |
| He’s a real West Country cavalero.
|
| The Shepton Mallet matador!
|
| On the farm if you hear hoots and howls,
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| it’s Jacko playing flamenco with the fowls.
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| And every time he clicks his castanets,
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| instead of eggs
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| the hens lay omelletes.
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| Oh ho, make way for that Timsbury torero.
|
| Ole, for that Somerset senor.
|
| He’s a real West Country cavalero.
|
| The Shepton Mallet matador!
|
| Oh ho make way for that Timsbury torero.
|
| Ole, for that Somerset senor.
|
| He’s a real West Country cavalero.
|
| The Shepton Mallet matador.
|
| Now the farmer’s misses went wild with delight,
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| when Jacko serenaded her last night.
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| But the farmer stopped him singing Ceilito Lindo
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| with a bucket of summit,
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| he threw from an upstairs window.
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| La la, la la, la la la
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| Viva Chew Magna!
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| La la, la la, la la la
|
| The Shepton Mallet matador. |