"When I was a student at Oxford We made lots of Anarchist bombs And blew up the buildings of Parliament With decorum and lots of aplomb Cho. Sonya, Sonya the guests are at the door Sonya, Sonya, the guests are at the door Sonya, Sonya, the guest are at the door The prussic acids in the wine. Mother was a Muscovite masochist Nailed by father each night to the door We'd take her down for breakfast each morning As on arm of leg we would gnaw Cho. " There is more but, fortunately, memory fails. I think that this might have been in "The Bosses Song Book, Songs to Stiffle the Flames of Discontent". I had a copy and loaned it to someone who never brought it back - they also didn't bring back my "Little Red Songbook" and a lovely Tudor press book on Hieronymus Bosch. YOU know who you are!!!! Sorry CB
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