(Tune: British Grenadiers)
Some talk of constitutions and some of STV,
Of Lloyd George and of
Gladstone
And of Pardoe PPC
But of all the world's great
turn-offs
There's none that can compare
With the bore, bore, bore of ALTU
jaws And Watney's Special Beer.
We've heard of People's Parliaments,
And yawned at Michael Steed.
And
Liberal News once weekly
Is a bloody boring read.
But one more heave is
all we need
To send us for a nap...
pause...
Just wake us up in time to vote;
And tell us when to
clap.
(Words: Mark Taverner, Tune: Down at the Old Bull and Bush)
Come, come, roll up your trouser leg
Down at the old NLC
There to get
your apron on:
Learn the secret organ song;
Bend your thumb when you shake
hands.
Come, come, drinking till the dinner gong
Down at the old NLC
(Tune: The Sailor's Lament)
I joined the Young Liberals when I was at High School,
To help build a
better world was my first aim.
And if we should win then perhaps in the
process,
Into the history books would go my name.
Chorus:
So I asked the old barman to pour me another,
My throat
was fair bleeding for want of a wet,
And the good resolutions I made to my
mother,
Are the good resolutions I drink to forget.
My branch it was small but still very active,
Held sit-downs and love-ins
and marches through town,
But most of the people they laughed and dismissed
us,
And so our membership slowly went down.
Chorus:
After six months they made me their Chairman,
Presiding at meetings of
three or p'raps four,
Yet all that this did was to fire my ambition,
With
one taste of power I lusted for more.
Chorus:
With only six branches and half of them derelict,
The Federation meeting
was easy to fix.
So I took up my place on the National Executive,
The
rising young grass-root fresh up from the sticks.
Chorus:
So every two months I would go up to London,
Move motions of censure and
plot all the day.
The spend all the night with the wine and the women,
My
youthful innocence soon thrown away.
Chorus:
And so to the National Conference at Brightpool,
Where I stood for office
the very first time.
By plotting and bribing, seducing, conniving
A
Vice-Chairman's post was so easily mine.
Chorus:
Just one year later I thought I'd be Chairman,
Most Federations were
swinging my way.
But I had forgotten the power of SEEYLF,
And lost by ten
votes at the end of the day.
Chorus:
Well, I've been on the booze-up for most of the evening,
In twenty-five
pubs or it may have been more.
My head it is reeling, my feet's on the
ceiling,
Won't somebody show me the way to the door.
Chorus:
And so through the streets of the city I wandered,
Saw two SEEYLF flash
girls just passing the time.
"There goes the Young Liberal who lost the
election,
There goes the Young Liberal cut down in his
prime."
Chorus:
My friends are all grieving, I've said that I'm leaving,
They'll form a
procession to march me through town.
And six YL virgins shall wave at the
station,
If six YL virgins can ever be found.
Chorus:
(Words: Michael Steed, Tune: Waltzing Matilda)
Once a floating voter came across a polling booth,
Went inside to cast his
vote,
When he came out, he found he'd voted Liberal.
Who'll come a-losing
deposits with me?
Chorus:
Losing deposits, losing deposits
Who'll come a-losing
deposits with me?
When he came out he found he'd voted Liberal.
Who'll
come a-losing deposits with me?
Up rushed the candidate, delighted at another vote,
Said: "You must join
us straight away."
So that floating voter joined the Liberal Party.
Who'll
come a-losing deposits with me?
Chorus:
Within six months they'd put him up for Parliament,
Gave him a seat with
second place.
But he went and lost it and with it his deposit,
Who'll come
a-losing deposits with me?
Chorus:
This same floating voter has never cast another vote,
Nor does he tell the
reason why,
But his voice can be heard as you wander past the polling
booth
"Who'll come a-losing deposits with me?"
Chorus:
(Words: Mark Taverner & Nigel Ashton, Music: The Gasman Cometh)
T'was on the Monday morning, the canvasser came round
With his clipboard
and his rosette and his cheery Liberal sound,
"I'm from your local Focus Team
I'm very keen to please."
So they listened very nicely, then they kicked him
on the knees.
Well it all makes work for the activist to do.
A sunny Tuesday morning found the agent at the door,
He said, "We're
running neck and neck, we need just ten votes more,
Can I rely on your
support, with your help we can win."
So they listened very nicely, then they
punched him on the chin.
Well it all makes work for the activist to do.
T'was on the Wednesday morning that the candidate appeared,
Was it too
late to mitigate the massacre he feared?
He said, "Can I do anything to
influence your vote?"
So they listened very nicely, then they grabbed him by
the throat.
Well it all makes work for the activist to do
T'was on the Thursday morning when there stood David Steel.
They were
awestruck and they curtsied; he said, "There's no need to kneel.
I realise my
presence here each one of you enthrals."
So the listened very nicely, then
they cut off both his ****s.
Well it all makes work for the activist to do.
At 3am on Friday morn, up stepped the proud Lord Mayor.
He said, "It is my
privilege the voting to declare,
The socialist have won the seat, the Liberal
was a fake."
So they took the wretched candidate and burned him at the
stake.
Well it all makes work for the activist to do.
On the Saturday and Sunday they were drunk and sleeping sound,
So t'was on
Monday morning that the canvasser came round.
(Words: Michael Steed, Tune: Marching thro' Georgia)
Raise a shout for moderation, sound it far and wide
March along to
victory, with Callaghan on our side.
Whilst the voice of Centre thunders o'er
the Leftist tide
"Steel made the Pact for the
People."
Chorus:
The Pact, the Pact, 't'was Steel who made the
Pact.
The Pact, the Pact, the Pact is now a fact.
Why remain backbenchers
when we have the power to act?
Steel made the Pact for the Liberals!
(Frere Jacques)
Propaganda, Propaganda
Liberal News, Liberal News
Meaningful
discussion,
Meaningful discussion,
LPO, LPO
Words: Adrian Slade, Tune: The Mikado)
A more humane Prime Minister
Never did in the land exist.
To nobody's
second
She's certainly reckoned
The true philanthropist.
It is her
very humane endeavour
To make to some extent
Each evil scrounger
A
jobless lounger
Of monetarist merriment.
Her object all sublime
She will achieve in time,
To make the policies
fit the crime,
The policies fit the crime.
And make each worker
pent
And happily represent
A source of monetarist merriment,
Of
monetarist merriment.
All Libs and Labs and Union Leaders
Who chatter and bleat and blare
Are
so much beneath her
They're sent to Sir Keith for
A sermon from ten till
four.
The amateur Prior who tries to tell her
She's driving the people
berserk
Will soon meet his fate
As an ex-Min of State
In Madame
Tussauds waxwork.
While the lady, who dyes a chemical yellow
And turns her
Cabinet puce,
Chastises the Frogs,
The Huns and the Wogs
Whenever she
finds an excuse.
Wile the idiot Socialists turn their backs
And call each
other names,
The Liberal Boy
Has lunch with Roy
To play Parliamentary
games.
Her object all sublime
She will achieve in time,
To make the policies
fit the crime,
The policies fit the crime.
And make each worker
pent
And happily represent
A source of monetarist merriment,
Of
monetarist merriment.
2 million of her subjects are
Already upon the dole,
But as most of the
workers
Are terrible shirkers,
She'll keep them in the hole.
Her
Chancellor struggles in front of the telly
To put his leader's case,
But
with job devastation
Surpassing inflation
He never can keep up the
pace.
While the noble Carrington walks abroad
To shake a few hands with
the wogs,
The rest of the wets
Sit making their bets
As to who will be
next for the dogs.
Meanwhile the extravagant Saatchi & Saatchi
Create
her political calls,
Unswervingly right
Full of sweetness and light
And
elliptical monetary balls.
Her object all sublime
She will achieve in time,
To make the policies
fit the crime,
The policies fit the crime.
And make each worker
pent
And happily represent
A source of monetarist merriment,
Of
monetarist merriment.
(Ilkla' Moor Bah T'at)
Wheear 'as tha been sin' ah saw thee?
On Exmoor Moor Bah T'at.
Wheear
'as tha been sin' ah saw thee?
Wheear 'as tha been sin' ah saw thee?
Chorus:
On Exmoor moor bah t'at
On Exmoor moor baht'at
On
Exmoor moor bah t'at
Tha's been a-courting Norman Scott
Tha's going to get th' sel' foun' out
Then we shall 'ave to hoosh it oop
Then we shall 'av to raise the cash
Then we shall 'av to shoot the dog
Then we shall all be oop in court
Then we shall all get off scot-free
The we will try for Amnesty
