This was written by a Welsh poet who felt sorry for the English politicians who had to turn up to functions and seem to know Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau in Welsh. As long as you don't actually sing, you should make the right movements with your lips:

My hen laid a haddock
One hand oiled a flea,
Glad farts and centurions threw dogs in the sea.

I could stew a hare here,
Or brandish Dan's flan,
Don's ruddy bog's filled up with sand.

Dad, Dad, why don't you oil Auntie Glad?
Can whores appear in beer bottle pies?
So butter the hens as they fly!