(Clears throat quietly) Excuse me...
(Clears throat loudly) I say, excuse me...
(Bangs frantically on stage with Jane10’s discarded charcoal knickers) OI, YOU LOT!
That’s much better. As your new musical director, I’m delighted to tell you that having sadly failed to source a copy of that grand old traditional ditty “Farting Through a Fine Toothed Comb”, I instructed my minions to jump to it and come up with alternatives. So I present for your delectation two variations on a theme, the first perhaps owing a little something to Surfin’ USA, the second to Sweet Little Sixteen, but both to be performed to the same tune, because as the more discerning amongst you are well aware, they were.
They're really rockin' in Glasgae
And down Omagh way
Deep in the heart of Cardiff
And 'round Whitley Bay
All over Salisbury
Wherever they may roam
All the cows just want to fart through
That fine tooth comb
If everybody had a tooth comb
Across the old UK
Then the oldies'd be fartin’
Through them everyday
You'd see 'em wearing their baggies
Hotter sandals, yay
A bushy bushy grey hairdo
Silver surfin' UK
Come on now, sing up at the back! What’s that strange squeaking sound? Oh, sorry, gillybob, didn’t see you there