And you can't part a boy from his father, You can't part a boy from his dad, You can't part a Scotchman from money No matter how many he's had. You can't part the skin of a sausage Or a dad from his fond son and heir, And you can't part the hair on a bald-headed man For there'll be no parting there.

She knows I'm a deserter from the Scottish Fusiliers, She knows I stole a blind-man's can...that got me seven years! She knows I've been connected with a gang …

Remember what the Patriarch King Solomon Told his harem on the night they'd had a few: 'Teetotalum overcoatum asqua scutum atomack Sonata with tomoto, laringit…

There's a cockeyed yellow poodle to the north of Conga Pooch; There's a little hot cross bun that's turning green; There's a double-jointed woman doing tricks …