Here comes Nicholas, fiddle in hand, into a world that he can't understand. You can't keep pace with the master race, his feet they're going all over
Preserved and safe on a high-up shelf Where soiled little fingers can't mess Catalogued labeled and rarely-played Polished and pure and possessed Aaahaa
Half the front's out there, half-buried Some of them alive The rest of us, we freeze and pray for Spring "Dearest Mother, fill my lungs till victory
(spoken) "Bang, the little drummer takes a solo, reaching his young hands all over traps and kettles and cymbals and foot-peddle BOOM in a fantastic
The Folk Society meet on Thursday nights Clear their throats and put their coughs to flight To sing the dusty cobwebs from the room A repertoire both
Lights out, the fun begins. Can't sleep when I'm listening in. Under cover, that sound - My connection to the underground. Underground... My connection
George looks gorgeous in pinstripes, pocket handkerchief and cravat, swaggering out of the Band On The Wall in a burgundy Homberg hat, singing "Ratatatay
I'm laying on the pavement And the last thing I recall Picked up by the arms and legs And taken from the hall For squaring up to culture In the circle
If you should walk out in the morning To fetch your water from the well Good people please beware Little children do take care Watch out for the devil
Would bend and crack James James James Just give us names names names James James James Now look what we've brought for you James Your favorite disc It's Chumbawamba
Take a seat, have a cigarette We're here to help you to forget To snap you shut like a castanet Tell me where it all went wrong Why don't you write
Seigfried Sassoon on the Dunbar End (Everyone sang) When strangers became your new best friends (Everyone sang) It was Armistice Day, and peace broke
