Make her moan and scream in Skegness

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Make her moan and scream in Skegness:
Play the ocarina.
The world's yer barrelhoop, son: happiness
Seldom come much cleaner
Than seafront Exceptionals togged to the nines
Soused in a birthdaze of pink calamines
Huddlin' up to them "jelly divines"
that yer Dad - when he was seener.

Bring back a pontefracts, son, if ya can,
With a glue-like surface?
Course you'll be wantin' to take her to Cannes
The can, eh? (pint o' Murphy's).
Give 'er one up the back ginnel from me?
Don't tell yer ma, lad, it's quart up to three -
See now what's doin' when Cold Roe For Tea
Snarls up all yer peterpervies?

Give me regales to Your Fathers Moustache.
Colman's cut the mustard
Them days, we made a go on sauce panache
(You finally got a custard).
Be catchy with trains, if you see what I mean,
Expectorate only as much as the Queen,
And on no account let yer clodhoppers be seen
Either scruffed or (still worse) lacklustred.

Make her moan and scream in Skegness:
Them's standin' orders.
If you have certain Valves, then it pays to beg less:
Take in thin boarders.
We'll see you at deathtime and Christmess and like,
With a trivial kid on a hard-to-find bike,
playin' puppies and poppins and Damn Dick Van Dyke -
as we venerate all her disorders.

Make her moan and scream in Skegness:
I'm for the hutch, now,
Or for heinous beans spread on a thin charcoal mess -
Not all that much cow.
Curtains of snot hide the Space Age from view,
Worries and wars and worse, hearse sixty-two,
Devil it up lad, I'm countin' on you -
Here come the Dutch now.

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