FOLLOW ME
(Paddy Roberts)

When I was a little Wolf-cub and you were a Brownie
We always remembered our good turn each day
First it was your turn and then it was my turn
And life was so wonderful and carefree and gay

Follow me, follow me.
Tonight is the night of the jamboree

When I was a little Wolf-cub and you were a Brownie
We learned all the regulations of which there were lots
We wandered into the clover and tried them all over
And you did your semaphore while I did my knots

Follow me, follow me.
How's about that for a change of key?

When I was a little Wolf-cub and you were a Brownie
We did everything a Wolf-cub and Brownie should do
I wanted to be a Boy Scout so's I could salute you
With three fingers vertical instead of just two

Follow me, follow me.
We'll go to the grotto
We'll get slightly blotto
To hell with the motto
Just follow me ^^

LOVE ISN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE
(Paddy Roberts)

Love isn't what it used to be,
No sirree, no sirree:
No shrinking violets too scared to say yes,
No leading up to a gentle caress,
Just grab a handful and damn the finesse.
Love isn't what it used to be

Love's getting really up to date,
And the kids think it's great.
No, "Pray unhand me, I'd rather be dead."
No asking Papa permission to wed.
It's just, "Hiya, Honey," and hop into bed.
Love isn't what it used to be

It's quite apparent that a parent
Is a dear old-fashioned thing.
He'll brood for days on a liason
That hasn't got a wedding ring.

But now it's a different cup of tea.
Love is gay, love is free.
Marry on Monday and with no remorse
Set out on Tuesday to get a divorce,
Then find another, on Wednesday of course.
Love isn't what it used to be.

They used to do their minuetting
In a manner most genteel,
But now it's you there with your petting.
It's like a blinking five-course meal.

Yes, love used to be just like champagne.
Now it's gone down the drain,
So don't give them flowers to put round their necks.
What good are flowers? They'd rather have cheques.
To hell with the romance! Let's start on the sex.
Love isn't what it used to,
Love isn't what it used to,
Love isn't what it used to be.

The Englishman (with his usual bloody cold)

Now the Englishman is noted for his sang-froid
Which translated means his usual bloody cold
And he loves his pipe and slippers
And the missus and the nippers
And he's happy simply growing old
And he never says a word if he can help it
That's why people say he's always full of plegm
He's quite unmoved by atom-bombs and rockets to the sun
He never speaks to strangers for it simply isn't done
But when cricket starts, his fury's uncontrolled
The Englishman with his usual bloody cold

Now the Englishman could not be called romantic
His technique is not particularly good
All the French and the Italians
Chase their women round like stallions
But the Englishman's a suet-pud
And the slightest demonstration of affection
He regards as being rather infra dig
He says the way the French behave is absolutely nuts
He'd like to try it really, but he hasn't got the guts
He's scared to death the neighbours might be told
The Englishman with his usual bloody cold

Now the Englishman has lots of little foibles
And some of them are really past belief
For he's still of the opinion
That the folk in each dominion
All regard him as the big white chief
But in spite of all his curious delusions
Underneath it all he has a heart of gold
And when the Armageddon comes and all the world is dust
And men will come to judgement as we know they surely must
He'll be there with his umbrella neatly rolled
The Englishman with his usual bloody cold

^^

AndyG