[Intro – spoken over scratchy 1920s big band jazz sample on gramophone] [male 1] ....Got me top hat tipped, And me mustahsh primped ...time to absolutely ruin some poor simp... [Verse 1] [male 1] Pardon me, sir, I'm just a gelatinous gent, Who noticed you staring and your rather strong scent (Ew...) Your jaw's a bit slack And your eyes a bit crossed There's no doubt that this track Will leave you verbally tossed! [male 1] I'd challenge you lyrically, but that seems unfair... One does not fence with children or argue with air. You're clearly unprepared, so follow these instructions: You'll need a few more brain cells if you hope to keep function. [Hook – cheerfully cruel] [male 1] Pardon the phrasing, we don’t imply to pry, but Your brain blinked briefly, then waved cheerio, bye bye! Gotta cavalcade of courteous cruelty to share, It's civil savagery, waggish weaponry, (beware!) Pinkies primped proper as your pedigree’s slurred, Serving it up sharp, shaken and stirred! I know two-on-one seems a lot like goonery, but I swear [spoken] It's just a spot of tomfoolery...(Heee hee hee) [instrumental] [Verse 2] [male 2] Ah, chin-up, chap, you’ve wandered in deep, Yes, the wit’s rather brisk and the tea’s rather steeped. You’re clutching your pearls, but I fear it’s too late It’s the fourth course already; it's your pride on a plate. (oh my) [male 2] You stammer, you stall, you attempt a retort, It seems your thoughts took a carriage that’s dreadfully short. By the time they’ve arrived, we’ll have dined, egressed, Left you lost in the lobby, delightfully incensed. [male 2] I’d offer you guidance, a map, or a clue, But the legend’s in Latin, and well… not for you. Ah, you swing with intention, but lack any aim, You’re a duelist with no powder and poor posture (for shame!) [male 2] Now keep a stiff upper lip; it’s all quite a lark, Just a light social vivisection… satirical art. That's right, good Lords and Ladies, it's all in good fun, That is, of course, unless you've got the class of a bum. [Hook] [male 2] Do forgive the flourish, we mean no offense, Then again, we’re all friends, let’s drop the pretense. Bear a banquet of barbed remarks, properly prepared, It’s genteel dismemberment, sentiment declared! Pinkies up high to enjoy and endure, Have a servant paint your face; at least look demure Do mind your manners, we won’t stand for buffoonery. [spoken] … only a spot of tomfoolery! [Bridge] [male 2] But if you insist and you deign to reign supreme, Bring your best bars beau monde to the chap hop scene. Yes, come, strut your stuff; show us what you got. Unless, old chum, you think the water’s too hot. Surely, you’ve a need to impress some spoony strumpet; Come now, it’s plain as day; you’re balmy on the crumpet. And if that’s not enough to mix your biscuits, get your ire up, Then I’m afraid your mind is minced, chopped, daft as dial-up. [Final hook] [male 2] + [male 1] Alright, old boy, now that you’re properly inspired, We foresee a saucy censure, something sure to spite the ire. Bring the heat, pack a lunch, feel free to stay a while, Fie, oh my, do I spy a mite of guile? But do be sure to speak your piece with proper diction; We wouldn’t want excuse to fuel patrician addiction. Who're we fooling? Our humility’s illusory! [spoken] After all, who doesn’t love a spot of tomfoolery? [spoken] [male 1] Good show, ol' chum! [spoken] [male 2] And how! Tally ho! ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ © 2026 The Badfatler & SwedishPish All rights reserved.
