When POTUS bought a new thoroughbred
It had to be flown
across from London
And as it was the
Presidential Colt
It had to be flown over
on AirHorse 1
When POTUS bought a new thoroughbred
It had to be flown
across from London
And as it was the
Presidential Colt
It had to be flown over
on AirHorse 1
I’m thinking about taking a holiday
But I don’t know where
to go
I would like to go to
Conclusions
But you have to jump
there, so
As I can’t do much
physical activity
I would have to
reluctantly say no
I’m thinking about taking a holiday
But I don’t know where
to go
However I may end up
in Sane
How I get there, I
don’t know
As they don't have an
airport
You can be driven
there though
Though you have been
A fair wind
Billowing my sails
My heart still craves
New shores
To beach my skiff upon
And it aches
For fresh new lands
Beneath my feet
So I must go
For you deserve better
And it would not
Be fair on you
If I were to settle
For my first port of
call
I have an Angel on my dashboard
She’s my special lucky
charm
I have an angel on my
dashboard
Who’s keeping me from
harm
The white horizontal plume
Streams in its wake
Like a long grey
ribbon
As the locomotive
powers on
A truly romantic image
Of the great age of
steam
I left two bottles of Whisky
On the train to
Prestatyn
I thought them gone
for ever
Until a nice man
called Glynn
Of the lost property
office
Telephoned me from
Prestatyn
To say the man who
found them
Had just been handed
in
As the 747 was falling
Uncontrollably from
the sky
A female passenger
ripped off her clothes
And began to cry
“Can someone make me
feel like a real woman?
Before I die”?
A man stood up and
took off his shirt
“Here iron this,” said
the guy
I’m ready for a holiday
With blue skies and sand and sea
But if my wife doesn’t get pregnant
I’m taking her with me
“I’ve been to Wales with Jane”
I was told by my
friend
“Then tomorrow Jane
and I
Are going to Lands End”
“And I will probably
take Jane
To London at the
weekend”
I didn’t like to
shatter his illusions
But I had to in the
end
“Jane is the voice on
your SatNav
She’s not a proper
girlfriend”
My daughter wants to be a pilot
At first, I was a
little alarmed
But after I thought
about it
My apprehension calmed
And I laughed at my
foolishness
I felt silly, oh what
a lark
After all it’s not as
if
She will have to
parallel park
British lads abroad
On the pull
Like what they see
With undiscerning eye
Out to play
Looking for an easy
lay
On another 18-30 holiday
Furry, furry dice
Nodding dogs that nod
all day
Look out on the
motorway
With eyes that know the despair in my soul.
Hold-ups on the hills,
Stretched for miles
like bitter pills
Take a break because
tiredness kills
The signs say all
across this land
To the tune of Vincent by Don McClean
British girls abroad
Fake tanned
Everything on display
Easy virtue
Easy lay
Begging for it?
Gagging for it?
Looking for it?
Perhaps not
But they know the way
Summer girls
Glistening with suntan
oils
Clad in bikinis
On yellow sunlit soils
And how the suitor
Athletically toils
To catch their eye
And so, take the spoils
I was driving to work this morning
It was just as the day
was dawning
And I noticed a parked-up
AA van
And next to it was a
crying man
But properly weeping
and wailing
Down on his knees with
arms flailing
I just shook my head
with a frown
I knew he was headed
for a breakdown
I don’t like swimming in the sea
I don’t care what you
say it’s not for me
It’s not that I’m
scared of sharks or eels
Or that I don’t like
how a jelly fish feels
It’s not even because
of stone fish stings
Or the flotsam and
jetsam the tide brings
You may think my
phobia quite absurd
But I can’t be swimming along with a turd
I love the 18-30 hols
Making out with the
foreign dolls
Some of them are just
a bit flirty
Some of them are just
plain dirty
Some of them are
straight laced
Some of them are just
two faced
And tell you No to
your face
Then you see to their
disgrace
They don’t have any
underwear
Wearing nothing at all
down there
Zonda pantaloon, uden
undies
Nashi cami, fuera
frillies
Bez briefs, No hose,
senza smalls
Nicht knicks, Sans
pants, bugger all
No thongs, panties or
bloomers,
No knickers, big pants
or drawers
Ilman, Gan, Sin, Uten,
Utan, without
The dirty little
minx’s are wearing nout
When three out of four engines
Catastrophically fail
during flight
You will still have
enough power
To get you safely to
the crash site
I requested a train ticket to Paris
And the ticket seller
said “Eurostar”
“Well, I've done a bit
of telly”