Lyrics

Darts in soap operas, oh, so wrong, oh so wrong No-one's scoring and there's too much chat between each throw Worse than this though is when cheers are raised for the bull Granted, bull's a double and an out, but I know that they don't Know, therefore I propose No Soap Darts Is your child hyperactive, or is he perhaps a twat? Sometimes I like to watch Wave Rage down on Fistral Beach Last Ash Wednesday I had tantric sex and it was shit Next Ash Wednesday I might strive to lick my elbow Strive in vain For they say Few succeed I wrote to the Horse & Hounds To gloat over what I'd done I stored their magazine in a data retrieval system Let's face it, what're they going to do? It's not as if they know where I live And anyway I cut that caper back in 1984 Heartbroken matrons On joyless beds For those whose souls the iron has entered And if I get to Heaven's gate I'll doubtless have to wait While St Peter investigates the inevitable asterisk The inside of a Halex Three-Star table-tennis ball Smells much like you'd expect it to