Lost Sock Club

Vocals: Dry, straight-faced delivery with crisp diction and total conviction, Report every absurd claim as an indisputable fact, No winking, chuckling, goofy character voices, or exaggerated comedy inflections, Keep the instrumental playful, bouncy, and chaotic, On the hook, increase intensity and volume without becoming cartoonish: a commanding lead backed by a fiercely committed crowd chanting their sacred sock anthem, Ad-libs are short, stern proclamations, Deliver “ASK OUR NAN!” with absolute authority into a sudden musical silence, then bring the full beat crashing back

LOST SOCK CLUB

[Intro]
Knock, knock.
Who’s that?
A sock in a wig
With a small brass cat.

[Stanza 1]
Down in a drain by a laundromat,
A sock with a crown sat on a rat.
“Bow to King Lint!” sang a long sock choir,
All chanting, “Our king is a fraud and a liar!”
Our laws sat on a crust of toast:
“All hail our dad, a banana ghost!”
A pink sock sang, “I call for a law:
All pants must bow to a sock full of slaw!”

[Chorus]
Honk! Honk! All hail our fluff!
Bow to lint! It knows its stuff!
Your socks ran off to a bathtub yacht!
Your bra ran too, but your pants did not!
Lost sock club! What’s our goal?
Build a small disco in a fishbowl!
Hop, hop, hop till our crowns fall off!
All bow down to our Holy Mop!

[Stanza 2]
Our top spy naps in a bowl full of slugs,
And ships illicit jam in rugs.
Pam runs a spa in a hot tin of Spam,
Bob slings soup to a hologram.
At half past squash, our brass band plays,
A hymn of cultish sock displays.
Two gym socks in a long fur coat
Sail off in a gravy boat.

[Chant]
Who owns our moon?
Our pal, King Stan!
What’s his big wish?
A suntan, man!
At what hour?
At half past jam!
What is our plan?
ASK OUR NAN!

[Final Chorus]
Honk! Honk! All hail our fluff!
Bow to lint! It knows its stuff!
Our moon has paws! Our stars don frocks!
Our sun now sits in a cardboard box!
Lost sock club! What’s our goal?
Build a small disco in a fishbowl!
Hop, hop, hop till our crowns fall off!
All bow down to our Holy Mop!

[Outro]
Knock, knock.
Who’s that?
Your last good sock.
I’m not coming back.

[Stanza 4]
“Stand up!” said a sock with a wig full of jam.
“Who put soup in our holy Spam?”
Bob stood up with a guilty cough.
A moth in a suit bit his cuff right off.
“Your honour, this man is a sock, not a crook.”
“That's what all socks say. Bring out my book.”
Our law book shook. Our law book said, “Quack.”
“All guilt is void. Put that soup right back.”

[Soft]
Now Stan took stock of our royal vault:
Six small crumbs and a pinch of salt.
Our gold was lost. Our flag was damp.
Our Holy Mop was a floor lamp.
Stan shook his fist at our holy fraud:
“I must admit this about our god.”

[Stop]
Our god plugs into a wall.

[Drop]
ALL HAIL OUR LAMP!

[Stanza 5]
Nan burst in on a turbo snail,
With a foil crown and a bag of mail.
“Stan, you fraud! That's my bathroom light!
And who taught all of my bras to fight?”
Our king stood firm. Our king stood tall.
Our king was a washcloth, not a sock at all.
Our jaws hung slack in that royal hall.
Our rat got his crown. Long may it crawl.

[Outro]
Knock, knock.
Who’s that?
Your last good sock.
I’m not coming back.

Bring cash.
And jam.
All hail our rat.
Yours,
Nan.

3218/7500

LOST SOCK CLUB [Intro] Knock, knock. Who’s that? A sock in a wig With a small brass cat. [Stanza 1] Down in a drain by a laundromat, A sock with a crown sat on a rat. “Bow to King Lint!” sang a long sock choir, All chanting, “Our king is a fraud and a liar!” Our laws sat on a crust of toast: “All hail our dad, a banana ghost!” A pink sock sang, “I call for a law: All pants must bow to a sock full of slaw!” [Chorus] Honk! Honk! All hail our fluff! Bow to lint! It knows its stuff! Your socks ran off to a bathtub yacht! Your bra ran too, but your pants did not! Lost sock club! What’s our goal? Build a small disco in a fishbowl! Hop, hop, hop till our crowns fall off! All bow down to our Holy Mop! [Stanza 2] Our top spy naps in a bowl full of slugs, And ships illicit jam in rugs. Pam runs a spa in a hot tin of Spam, Bob slings soup to a hologram. At half past squash, our brass band plays, A hymn of cultish sock displays. Two gym socks in a long fur coat Sail off in a gravy boat. [Chorus] Honk! Honk! All hail our fluff! Bow to lint! It knows its stuff! Your socks ran off to a bathtub yacht! Your bra ran too, but your pants did not! Lost sock club! What’s our goal? Build a small disco in a fishbowl! Hop, hop, hop till our crowns fall off! All bow down to our Holy Mop! [Chant] Who owns our moon? Our pal, King Stan! What’s his big wish? A suntan, man! At what hour? At half past jam! What is our plan? ASK OUR NAN! [Final Chorus] Honk! Honk! All hail our fluff! Bow to lint! It knows its stuff! Our moon has paws! Our stars don frocks! Our sun now sits in a cardboard box! Lost sock club! What’s our goal? Build a small disco in a fishbowl! Hop, hop, hop till our crowns fall off! All bow down to our Holy Mop! [Outro] Knock, knock. Who’s that? Your last good sock. I’m not coming back. [Stanza 4] “Stand up!” said a sock with a wig full of jam. “Who put soup in our holy Spam?” Bob stood up with a guilty cough. A moth in a suit bit his cuff right off. “Your honour, this man is a sock, not a crook.” “That's what all socks say. Bring out my book.” Our law book shook. Our law book said, “Quack.” “All guilt is void. Put that soup right back.” [Soft] Now Stan took stock of our royal vault: Six small crumbs and a pinch of salt. Our gold was lost. Our flag was damp. Our Holy Mop was a floor lamp. Stan shook his fist at our holy fraud: “I must admit this about our god.” [Stop] Our god plugs into a wall. [Drop] ALL HAIL OUR LAMP! [Stanza 5] Nan burst in on a turbo snail, With a foil crown and a bag of mail. “Stan, you fraud! That's my bathroom light! And who taught all of my bras to fight?” Our king stood firm. Our king stood tall. Our king was a washcloth, not a sock at all. Our jaws hung slack in that royal hall. Our rat got his crown. Long may it crawl. [Final Chorus] Honk! Honk! All hail our fluff! Bow to lint! It knows its stuff! Our moon has paws! Our stars don frocks! Our sun now sits in a cardboard box! Lost sock club! What’s our goal? Build a small disco in a fishbowl! Hop, hop, hop till our crowns fall off! All bow down to our Holy Mop! [Outro] Knock, knock. Who’s that? Your last good sock. I’m not coming back. Bring cash. And jam. All hail our rat. Yours, Nan.

0/500