A bizarre modern example from a political song For All The Trots:
The situation now is very glum.
The revolution it will never come
Till we have stuck an ice pick in the - head
Of Gerry Healy, of Gerry Healy

I remember the late great Gordon Hall used to sing a version of the Quartermaster's Stores in which having gone through the food he would sing verses about soldiers there, 'There was Brown, Brown with his knackers hanging down' etc. He would then suddenly say 'My name's Hunt - and I'm going home!'