This little ditty would seem to fit in with the thread title. I've forgotten how I came by it. I have no idea who is responsible for it. It should be recited with your best British accent.

MURIEL BLEAT

Have you heard the strange tale of poor Muriel Bleat?
Who, strange to relate, had a musical teat
And if she took a deep breath and she let herself go
The one on the right, swing high, swing low
Made a quaint little noise like bagpipes

One day she was in her flat doing Chopin on the mat
And Harold Fielding happened by, and he heard her playing
And he said, 'My, my, Miss Bleat, this won't do at all
What you need is London's Albert Hall'
So then she said, 'I will if I must
I'll go where you say and I'll do my bust'
So while he went to fetch the car
She put it back in its beige green bra

Weeks of painful practice passed
Until the great day came at last
When Bleat in letters eight feet tall
Covered the front of the Albert Hall
With underneath, as second choice,
Sir Malcolm Sergeant, Irving Joyce, Marilyn Monroe
The Coldstream Guards and the London Phil
All put in to fill up the bill

Proudly forward Muriel paced
In evening gown below the waist
And she cocked her hand around the innocent cause
And she bowed to the thunderous roars of applause
She gave them some Bach and some bits of Lizst
With a masterly squeeze and a twist of the wrist
And she played and she played until she thought she would drop
And a critic stood up and cried feverishly, 'Stop!
This, miss, is all very well in its way
But why on earth won't the left one play?'

Well, poor Muriel, she blushed as she stood on the stage
Fielding and Royston rushed on in a rage
And they pushed and they pummelled
And they squeezed and they blew
Poor Muriel didn't try – she knew
So, sadly, Muriel went back to her flat
And all for the sake of a silent teat
She took a deep breath, and she let herself go
And the one on the right swing high, swing low
Made a quaint little noise like bagpipes

Cheers, Stewie.