Madam Convenor
Your underwear's cleaner
It's Jelloed and washed in the gin
If that convocation
Should loose its location
Come back here and give us a grin
You suffer from throat strain
It really is quite plain
The shower you shouldn't sing in
Your deadlines are dead now
So come, loose your head now
The party just waits to begin

Is that a bottle of Talisker back there? Yes, just as she comes. I'll take it and nurse it over there. It's not for the taste, you understand - it's for the fine ideas it puts in my head