[Intro] [Fingerstyle acoustic guitar tapping in seven-eight time] [Sound of a distant sheep and a polite polite applause] (One, two... wait, is the floor moving?) [Fast Rap] Right then, welcome to the village, don't mind the smell of manure We’ve got the bunting up and the vicar’s looking pure The BBC are here with the big fluffy mics and the cranes While Mrs. Pemberton is slowly losing her brains She’s brought a Victoria Sponge that’s got a bit of a kick Three tiers of terror that’ll make your aura thick Mixed with a kilo of the finest THC And enough Ayahuasca to let you talk to a tree. [Chorus] [Folk-Hop Groove] Oh, the village green is melting into a purple haze The cameraman’s been staring at a scone for forty days The judges are vibrating, they’re seeing through the veil There’s a cosmic entity at the charity bake sale (It’s all gone tits up, innit?) Yeah, the prize-winning sponge is a portal to the sun The Great British Bake-Off has only just begun. [Verse Two] [Technical Math Rock Guitar Tapping] Look at Graham from the telly, he’s forgotten how to speak He’s trying to interview a courgette, his knees are getting weak He says, "The crumb structure is divine, I can see the fourth dimension" While the Parish Council Chairman experiences internal ascension He’s paid Five Pounds and Fifty Pence for a slice of certain doom Now he’s seeing fractal patterns in the church’s changing room The sound man’s got his headphones off, he’s weeping at a bee Saying, "Everything is clockwork, and the clockwork is me!" There’s Ayahuasca in the jam and resin in the crust The WI are levitating, turning into stardust. [Bridge] [Slow, Trippy Acoustic Breakdown] (Is that a dragon in the gazebo?) (No, that’s just the local vet, Dave.) [Beat Drop - Percussive Guitar Slaps] One slice, two slice, three slice, floor! The BBC director is a lizard, that’s for sure He’s screaming about lighting while his skin turns blue And the prize-winning marzipan is staring back at you. [Verse Three] [Double-time Rap] The local constabulary arrived but they’re easily swayed They had a bit of lemon tart and now they’re quite afraid Constable Miller is hugging a goat and singing a hymn While the cameraman is trying to film the spirit of his nan, Kim We’ve got Seventy-Two pensioners vibrating at a frequency That’s legally frowned upon by the local decency The BBC Two logo is a flaming eye in the sky And nobody knows why the vicar is starting to fly It’s a Three Hundred and Sixty degree ego dissolution In a sleepy little hamlet with no logical solution. [Chorus] [Folk-Hop Groove] Oh, the village green is melting into a purple haze The cameraman’s been staring at a scone for forty days The judges are vibrating, they’re seeing through the veil There’s a cosmic entity at the charity bake sale (Pass the clotted cream, I can see God!) Yeah, the prize-winning sponge is a portal to the sun The Great British Bake-Off has only just begun. [Outro] [Fading Acoustic Tapping] [Sound of a distant siren and a bird chirping] (That was a lovely bit of cake, Mary...) (I can taste the colour yellow...) (Is the BBC still filming?) (Nah, they’ve all turned into owls.) [Staccato Guitar Finish] [End]
