My hen laid a haddock, one hand oiled a flea, Glad farts and centurions threw dogs in the sea, I could stew a hare here and brandish Dan's flan, Don's ruddy bog's blocked up with sand.
(Cytgan - Chorus)
Dad! Dad! Why don't you oil Auntie Glad? Can whores appear in beer bottle pies, O butter the hens as they fly!