OLD TORY
Spurnthe Liberals: do not love them,Son o’ mine.We are very much above them,Son o’ mine.But we want to rule the nation;So, for mere self-preservation,We will steal their legislation,Son o’ mine.Never trust the Labour Party,Son o’ mine.They’re as wicked as Astarte,Son o’ mine.And the voter is a noodle;So we’ll win onthisflapdoodle—“They will strip you of your boodle,”Son o’ mine.When we’ve carried all before us,Son o’ mine.We will praise ourselves in chorus,Son o’ mine.We’ll acclaim ourselves as sages,We’ll do all our jobs by stages,And we’ll hang things up for ages,Son o’ mine.
Spurnthe Liberals: do not love them,Son o’ mine.We are very much above them,Son o’ mine.But we want to rule the nation;So, for mere self-preservation,We will steal their legislation,Son o’ mine.Never trust the Labour Party,Son o’ mine.They’re as wicked as Astarte,Son o’ mine.And the voter is a noodle;So we’ll win onthisflapdoodle—“They will strip you of your boodle,”Son o’ mine.When we’ve carried all before us,Son o’ mine.We will praise ourselves in chorus,Son o’ mine.We’ll acclaim ourselves as sages,We’ll do all our jobs by stages,And we’ll hang things up for ages,Son o’ mine.
Spurnthe Liberals: do not love them,Son o’ mine.We are very much above them,Son o’ mine.But we want to rule the nation;So, for mere self-preservation,We will steal their legislation,Son o’ mine.
Spurnthe Liberals: do not love them,
Son o’ mine.
We are very much above them,
Son o’ mine.
But we want to rule the nation;
So, for mere self-preservation,
We will steal their legislation,
Son o’ mine.
Never trust the Labour Party,Son o’ mine.They’re as wicked as Astarte,Son o’ mine.And the voter is a noodle;So we’ll win onthisflapdoodle—“They will strip you of your boodle,”Son o’ mine.
Never trust the Labour Party,
Son o’ mine.
They’re as wicked as Astarte,
Son o’ mine.
And the voter is a noodle;
So we’ll win onthisflapdoodle—
“They will strip you of your boodle,”
Son o’ mine.
When we’ve carried all before us,Son o’ mine.We will praise ourselves in chorus,Son o’ mine.We’ll acclaim ourselves as sages,We’ll do all our jobs by stages,And we’ll hang things up for ages,Son o’ mine.
When we’ve carried all before us,
Son o’ mine.
We will praise ourselves in chorus,
Son o’ mine.
We’ll acclaim ourselves as sages,
We’ll do all our jobs by stages,
And we’ll hang things up for ages,
Son o’ mine.