Uffington Wassail

   E                           A  
Oh say I’m not the only one to 
            E
fill with trepidation
                             A     
Walking across the forecourt of the
      E
 fire station
                             A     
My wariness consumes me, yet still 
            E
protects me from
                                    
       A            E      E   A E 
(x2)
The dimmer switch and the membership
 of Britannia Music Club.


I adventured for a fortnight in the 
A             E
valley of the Rhone
Defied capricious mistrals on which 
A             E
tragedies are blown
Dismounting at the roadside to 
A            E
lubricate my chain
I heard the hounds of retribution 
A             E
barking their refrain:



Let’s go the Met Bar, and cause an 
altercation
                                    
             E   A E (x8)
Let’s go the Groucho, and snap at 
rakish heels.


Continúa después del anuncio
For a month I went all floppy just 
   A                 E
to see where I’d end up
The morgue was my considered guess, 
   A          E
or maybe Martinique
                              A    
The stern grind of reality however 
         E
took its course
I stayed exactly where I was and 
A                E       E   A E
suffered endless Feltz.


                               A   
Because you had a daughter and 
              E
chose to call her Raine
                               A 
Because you didn’t indicate to go 
                 E
down Woodchurch Lane
Your Am-Dram class had been 
    A               E
postponed indefinitely
‘Cos the root of Jesse’s just turned
       A             E
 up in glorious majesty.


Singing “Sealed Knot Society, let’s 
see you try and do this one:
                                    
         E   A E (x4)
Luton Town: Millwall, nineteen 
eighty-five”.


B
Hand me down my silver trumpets, 
sound the revolution bell
                                    
              E   A E (x2)
There’s a Cher impersonator rising 
up in Israel.


                           A       
Late Lunch audience: we’ve got all 
       E
your addresses
                     A             
Lazy greedy farmers: pick your own 
     E
strawberries
                             A     
Is that our phone ringing or is it 
       E
on the telly?

Let’s do the bongo-laced 
twenty-second album!


E                          A     
Vreni Schneider, you’re my 
   E
downhill lady
                            A      
Vreni Schneider, you’re the queen 
      E
of the slopes
                           A       
Vreni Schneider, you’re my downhill
 E
 lady
                            A      
Vreni Schneider, you’re the queen 
      E
of the slopes.