OK - You've talked me in to it!

WHEN THE PIDDLETRENTHIDE JUG BAND HIT THE CHARTS

I always planned to start a band,
The very finest in the land,
So I went and held auditions
For the very best musicians.
Some who played, they made the grade;
Some they played like hell,
But I chose the best in all the West,
And here's the personnel:
There's Bernard Mace with his old string bass,
Made from a girt big packing case.
Along of 'ee comes Amos Draper,
Wizard on the comb and paper.
Arnold Slugg, who blows the jug,
He's barred from all the locals;
And I'm the star with my guitar,
Harmonica and vocals.

Now what was worse and made us curse
Was finding somewhere to rehearse.
Neither of the pubs would wear us,
Cos it seems they couldn't bear us.
People laughed and called us daft.
I took it on the chin.
I was always fond of the old duck pond,
Until they threw us in.
Then Bernard Mace flew through space,
Followed by his packing case.
Amos Draper, he did try
To keep his roll of paper dry.
Arnold Slugg went "glug, glug, glug"
And very quickly sank,
And my gumboots were full of newts
When I reached the farther bank.

We hadn't been barred from the old churchyard.
There one night we practiced hard.
Every man was full of cider,
Giving it stick with C C Ryder,
When a figure in white came in to sight.
I thought we'd woke the dead,
But Parson Stirt in his nightshirt
Said we woke 'ee instead.
Then Bernard Mace with his old string bass,
He said we'd better leave this place.
Off he flew with Amos Draper,
Trailing yards of Bronco Paper.
Arnold Slugg with his two-gallon jug
For speed was not designed,
And I ran like a fox with the parson's box
-er following close behind.

But then one day old Farmer Grey,
He came to me and this did say:
All his beasts like music played 'em.
Would we come and serenade 'em?
So off we sped to the old cowshed.
The cows they did adore us.
They wagged their tails, banged their pails
And joined in every chorus.
Then Bernard Mace with the old string bass,
A girt big Guernsey licked his face.
Another got attached to Amos Draper,
Chewed up half his roll of paper,
Filled the jug of Arnold Slugg,
His kindness to acknowledge;
And I got a kiss from a pretty little miss
From the Agricultural College.

So in one week we quite uniquely
Topped the chart in The Farmer's Weekly.
Play your cows our Rhythm 'n' Blues, you'll
Get three times more milk than usual.
We've got plans, lots of barns,
No rivals do we fear,
For every cow knows Mama Don't Allow
No Jug Band music in here.
Now Bernard Mace has a shirt of lace,
And his hair completely hides his face.
So does that of Amos Draper,
Getting in between his comb and paper.
Arnold Slugg has a Pop Art Jug.
We've broke our mothers hearts,
For we look so queer in all this gear,
Since we hit the charts.

There we are - remember to credit Trevor Crozier!