When we turn up in our turn up’s,    our hearts are heavy,    our heads are ready to levy.       For the yippee-less swing,    for the tot-less cot,    for the mock,    for the shock,    for the fun powder plot.       With courage and conviction,    in donkey-jaw diction,    we cry for the cause because the courts have left us lonely;    disowned us daddies like the poopers of the party.       Gently, gently take them from me…    gently, gently take them from me…   gently, gently take them from me,    and I’ll be left dumfound as a donkey.       This is a booty call; my boot up your arse hole.    This is a Freudian slip; my slipper in your bits.