There was once this terrorist group
Some
obscure fundamentalist troop
Who
hijacked one of the Jumbo fleet
With
a Journalist in every single seat
They
made their demands right away
And
if they weren’t met without delay
They
threatened police in the tower
To
release one Journalist every hour
There were two models
Bimbette
and Peach
Who
once stole a calendar
And
got six months each
When my dad was starting out, he used to deal
In
any and all forms of army surplus material
And
he would buy and sell almost anything
If
it had once been in the service of the king
It
was good business providing healthy yields
And
he even dealt in surplus from foreign fields
Italian
rifles were always a good source of bunce
Having
never been fired and only dropped once
According to my dear wife
It’s
just a simple fact of life
A
clear conscience is actually
The colder the X-ray table
Any technician will admit
The
more of your body is
My father’s always been a bit of a lad
And
he has been since way back when
Even
though he’s now getting on a bit
He
hasn’t changed and he’s at it again
He’s
still enjoying sex at sixty-seven
You
might admire him for his prowess
Yes,
he’s still enjoying it at sixty-seven
The
problem is he lives at number ten
