My hen laid a haddock, one hand
oiled a flea,
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!