1. |
Bar-Steward Bop
02:11
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Bar-Steward Bop
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
‘EY UP! LET'S GO!
We’re dressed to kill in tank-tops, in Chinos and superb locks
And we’ll liven up the crowd with the Bar-Steward Bop
Our show is just incendiary - We’re gonna rock, but gently
Playing till yer knees go trembly - Bar-Steward Bop
‘Ey up! Let's go! Put the geetars in the boot now
Gonna head out - to the show, so load the car up, cos we’re ready to go
Chuck the banjos on the back seat - ukuleles under my feet
Accordion on’t front seat - Bar-Steward Bop
Although the space is confined, the crowds are losing their mind
That’s just the way we’re inclined - Bar-Steward Bop
Our show is just incendiary - We’re gonna rock, but gently
Playing here instead of Wembley - Bar-Steward Bop
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2. |
No More Heroes
03:05
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No More Heroes
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
Whatever happened to Arthur Scargill? He fought for the pits ‘gainst Maggie Thatcher
Whatever happened to dear old Parky? Or Billy Casper, or Gerry Taggart?
Whatever happened to the heroes? Whatever happened to the heroes?
Whatever happened to all the heroes? They were not zeroes - but they won’t return
Whatever happened to the heroes? No more heroes any more.
Whatever happened to Brian Glover? Or Charlie Williams, and wheere’s Sam Nixon?
Whatever happened to the heroes? No more heroes any more.
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3. |
Barnsley Rock City
03:26
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Barnsley Rock City
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
(Hey up!) It ain’t so grim here in’t Tarn, thannus - (Hey up!) Oi Casper, gerroff those goal posts
(Hey up!) We’re art to get off uz face, and a Barnsley lass could really put yer spine art of place
(Hey up!) me mates are insane - (Hey up!) they all sup John Smiths like drains
(Hey up!) and with their beer-goggles on, there’s only ten pints diff’rence ‘tween a fox and a dog
It’s the greatest place man, so go and get thiissen a ticket - Go art rarnd Barnsley Rock City
You’’ ‘ave a reight neet art, it’s full of pubs n’ feights n’ wimmen - You know my Barnsley Rock City
Is art of sight... it’s not shite
(Hey up!) Nah Billy, dun’t be a chuff, gi’ o’er - (Hey up!) A pint of mild is gret stuff, thannus
(Hey up!) Nah watch tha dun’t spill me beer! Ah’m havin’ one before the leets go art and then ah’m art of ‘ere
In Barnsley Rock City... Hey nan, where’s the chip pan?
In Barnsley Rock City - Quite all right - In Barnsley City - Too fine
In Barnsley Rock City - Oh my Barnsley Rock City - Barnsley Rocks!
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4. |
Hi-Ho Mr Traffic Warden
03:12
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Hi Ho Mr Traffic Warden
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
You're everywhere and nowhere, lately - You sneaky prat
Going darn the local roadsides - In your stupid hat
Sticking tickets on the windscreens - Slyer than a rat
You’re jumping out just like a ninja - As soon as I’ve turned me back
And it’s hi-ho Mr Traffic Warden - Oh you slimy toad, you got me
Stick yer ticket where the sun ain’t shining
Cos you’re a sneaky chuff - And it’s obvious
You’re always hiding rarnd the corner - sneaking art now and then
Armed with a fixed penalty notice - your notepad and your Argos pen
Anything I say is pointless - You’d only tow me car off instead
Your hat must have that yellow line on - so no bugger parks on your head
And it’s hi-ho Mr Traffic Warden - Oh you slimy toad, you got me
Stick yer ticket where the sun ain’t shining
Ooh you cheeky chuff – You think yer marvellous
I was parked on the double yellas - And like some renegade, you got me
I could try and talk you art of it
But you dun’t give a stuff – You’re quite oblivious
And it’s hi-ho Mr Traffic Warden - Oh you slimy toad, you got me
Stick yer ticket where the sun ain’t shining
Cos you’re a flamin’ chuff - And it’s obvious
And it’s hi-ho Mr Traffic Warden - Oh you rotten get, you got me…
I’m off to B&Q to get an angle-grinder
To tek this wheel-clamp off - It’s just ridiculous
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5. |
Strung Up Like A Gud 'Un
02:53
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Strung Up Like A Good Un’
(Lyrics: Andy Doonican)
I always knew it would happen - with me and the girl from Shafton
Art rarnd Worsbrough Common - that night I ain't forgotten
When she dished art her passion - she din’t give it in rations
When I said “You aren’t a lady” - she said her dad 'd bray me...
We moved into a basement - she talked abart engagement
We din’t even ‘ave a telly - and the bathroom was reight smelly
We spent our time just suppin' – argued ovver who wa’ cookin’
But she got chuffin’ knocked up - so it was time I f..... walked away
I got a job on t’ market - It wor indoor selling carpets
They started me on’t Sat’day - so I had me weekly bath on Sunday
I worked for half an hour - and nicked me bird some flowers
She said she'd seen a doctor - and almost nowt could stop her
I grafted through the winter - I switched from lager t’ bitter
I almost saved a tenner - then spent-up on an all dayer
And when the time was ready - I even nicked a telly
She weren’t back’ard at comin’ for’ard – cos she even wanted Sky+ (...HD an all!)
This morning at four twenty – contractions, she had plenty
Rushed her to the Barnsley General - the next few hours were mental
She came home with a daughter - within a year I wondered
Why she din’t look like her mother - so who the fecks the Mother?
Now the babby’s two years older - her mother's pissed off with a soldier
Nivver knew a lass more bolder - Me mates said she’d do me ovver
Being a dad came and took me - from t’ playgroup to the dole queue
No more neets art nickin tellies - just chuffin’ loadsa nappies smelling
Alone here in’t kitchen - I feel there's summat missin'
The kid’s ginger with an afro - and how the hell, I dun’t know!
The ex wain't do a DNA test - Cos Jezza Kyle he knows best
And so it's no assumption - I’ve been strung up like a good un’
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6. |
Friday Neet
02:55
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Friday Neet
Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White
F – R – I – I – I – D – A – Y NEET!
F – R – I – I – I – D – A – Y NEET!
F – R – I – I – I – D – A – Y NEET!
F – R – I – I – I – D – A – Y NEET!
We’re washin’ us hair, and chuckin’ on the Old Spice
‘cos it’s Friday neet, Friday neet
We’re donning us best knitwear and it looks reight nice
‘cos it’s Friday neet, Friday neet
Hi-I-I we’re here to impress
The ladies love a man who knows how to dress
We’re gonna rock you gently,
We’re The Bar-Steward Sons
And it’s Friday neet, Friday neet
Let Dooni-mania sweep the borough
We’re number one
And it’s Friday neet, Friday neet
Friday neet, F-F-F Friday neet,
F-F-F Friday neet, F-F-F Friday neet
Gonna get the lads together for a pint or two
‘cos it’s Friday neet, Friday neet
Gonna sing a few songs abart the Tarn for you
‘cos it’s Friday neet, Friday neet
Hi-I-I our knitwear looks reight swell
And we’ve got immaculate hair as well
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7. |
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(You Gotta) Fight For Your Pint (In Barnsley)
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican/Andy Doonican)
It's Friday night - you're with your mates - you're off ararnd the Tarn
You head into't Walkabart, you know that it's your round
The bar is chocker-block so it's gunna tek a bit
And they're queuing seven deep even though the ale is pretty shit...
YOU GOTTA FIGHT FOR YOUR PINT IN BARNSLEY!
You reach into your pocket and you say no way
You've spent fifty quid already, so how the hell 'you gunna pay?
The DJ drops a beat, your mate says "What's that noise!?"
You say: "Lad they're rockin' gently, it's the Bar-Steward Boys!"
YOU GOTTA FIGHT FOR YOUR PINT IN BARNSLEY!
You've been waiting thirty minutes and you're working up a thirst
You try to catch the barman's eye but he's chatting up the birds
"Nar then, I'll have four Stellas and a WKD - mek it blue for't lady"
"Yer kidding lad, I'm 32 - I've just go ID'd!" (Busted)
YOU GOTTA FIGHT FOR YOUR PINT IN BARNSLEY (I'm tellin' ya)
YOU GOTTA FIGHT FOR YOUR PINT IN BARNSLEY
IN BARNSLEY
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8. |
I Predict A Riot
03:50
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I Predict A Riot
(Lyrics: S.Doonican)
Watching the policemen go lairy
It's not very pretty I tell thee
Walking through’t tarn is quite scary
It's not very sensible either
And now chavs are looting the poundshops
At the market they’ve stole all the pork chops
And Kipper’s chucking buns at the cop-shop
He’s not very sensible
Aah... La la la la la la
Aah... La la la la la la
I predict a riot - I predict a riot
I predict a riot - I predict a riot
There were birds feighting with their stillettos
Over things they had robbed from Netto
You would have thought that they’d have gone darn to’t’ Tescos
Yes - it looked like a scene from the Ghetto
Their looting had been pretty thorough
There were no 10 pence beans in the borough
And there’ll be panic buying tomorrow
It’s really quite typical
Aah... La la la la la la
Aah... La la la la la la
I predict a riot - I predict a riot
I predict a riot - I predict a riot
And if there's any stuff left in’t Tarn
Yer gonna hafta nail it darn - I predict a riot
Watching the looters go lairy
They're not pretty clever I tell thee
And in Greggs they’ve nicked all of the pasties
It's really quite criminal
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9. |
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Sat’day Neet’s Alreight For Feighting
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Bernie Taupin)
I’m looking flash ‘cos we’re art on the lash
Mother tell me when the lads get here
It’s quarter past seven and I’m off to get leathered
Gonna get a belly full o’ beer
We’re gonna get drunker than a barrel full of monkeys
And the Tarn’s gonna know we’re theer
All the lasses look like brutes in their furry Ugg boots
And their legs going up to their ears
Dun’t give us none of your aggravation
We’ve had it with your discipline
Sat’day neet’s alreight for feighting, so gerra a little action in
I’m getting abart as oiled as a diesel train
So get thissen another snake bite
‘cos Sat’day neet’s the neet I like
Yeah Sat’day neet’s alreight, alreight, alreight
Well it’s looking pretty packed in t’Tarn toneet
I'm looking for a lass who’ll see me reight
I may use a little muscle to get what I need
I may sink a pint or two and shart art “She’s with me!”
A couple of the things that I really like
Are little bit o’ totty and a nice smooth pint
I’m a Bar-Steward hero of the drinking class
And me best mate’s getting’ darn another lager glass
Dun't give us none of your aggravation
We’ve had it with your discipline
Sat’day neet’s alreight for feighting, so gerra a little action in
I’m getting abart as oiled as a diesel train
So get thissen another snake bite
‘cos Sat’day neet’s the neet I like
Yeah Sat’day neet’s alreight, alreight, alreight
Saturday, Saturday, Saturday neet’s alreight
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10. |
Avon Calling
03:24
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Avon Calling
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
Avon calling to the houses in’t Tarn - I’ll post you a catalogue and then come back ararnd
Avon calling to all of you girls - we’ve got lippy and blusher and stuff for hair curls
Avon calling, now lads dun’t mek a fuss… cos they even sell a rub-on-cream to firm-up her bust
Avon calling, turn your passion full-swing - Cos we’ve even got lingerie to hide bingo-wings
Our new range is coming - get your order straight in - cos we really can do what it says on the tin
Your neck may be sagging but our stuff it’s not dear - cos Avon is calling and I… always deliver
Avon calling so come have a look ‘tween the grand gorgeous pages of the glossy good book
Avon calling with make-up galore and essential oils that you’ll never need to target your pores
Avon calling, well I dun’t wanna shart, but they’ve got chicken-fillets for when you’re goin’ art
Avon calling, we’ve got great tweezers there, that’ll pluck out your eyebrows or your rogue pubic hair
Free bags with each purchase. You’ll be glad you shopped here
Cos Avon is calling so you... won’t look like a dog’s dinner
Avon calling - we’ve got new lotions just in that’ll fight off dark hairs growing art of your chin
Avon calling with cosmetics so cheap - but you must be an onion if beauty’s skin deep
Fighting wrinkles, stretch-marks and old saggy skin - Avon is calling so you… never look like Joan Rivers
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11. |
Jump Ararnd
03:54
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Jump Ararnd
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican)
Listen up, listen in, we’re ‘bart to begin - Well I came to sing, bugger me, what a sin
But dun’t git yer backs up, if we turn t’ sarnd up - That’s how we roll, till the whole room just cracks up
Get up, stand up, come on, chuck yer hands up - When the crowd are reelin’, we mek ‘em hit the ceilin’
I dun’t wear a string vest, ‘not like I’m a hunk, but I’ll eat a pork pie and then I’ll tek the crust home
Think it, thunk it, we ha’n’t gorra drum-kit - we’ve got more beats than seeds in a pumpkin
Don’t be shocked - sure ‘nuff we wain’t stop, coz we’ve got more hits than New Kids On’t Block
We came to get darn - We came to get darn - So get art ‘yer seats ‘n jump ararnd
Jump ararnd - Jump ararnd - Jump ararnd - Jump up jump up and get darn.
Just serve me a pint of Acorn on draught - I’m nowt like a brush, cuz I’ve nivver bin daft
Well word to yer mother, I’m ‘ere wi’ me brothers - I’ve got more rhymes than a cart-load of others
But just like a Bar-Steward Son I’ve returned, for anyone rocking but gently’s concerned
We rewrite lyrics for you to have fun - so if you’ve come to see us, hope you have some
Me rappin’ dun’t scan when I run art of breath - We wear tank-tops, so we dun’t catch uz death
Yes we dress to kill, uz hair it looks brill - we’re t’Bar-Steward Sons and we aim to thrill
We’re the cream o’t’ crop, we rise to’t’ top, but we ain’t the kinda stuff they put on Top Of The Pops
But y’know we work greater than Mr Motivator, as a personal trainer for Mr Johnny Vegas
But we ain’t going out like no daft chuffs - You know we’ve got style, you know we’re the right stuff
We go art rarnd tarn, sup the pints darn - fill up yer heead until you wek up like t’Dawn of the Deead
We’re coming to get ya, coming to get ya - Spittin’ art lyrics… Westwood, we’ve bet ya!
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12. |
BONUS TRACK: B.I.S.T.O.
03:11
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B.I.S.T.O.
(Lyrics: Scott Doonican/Amanda White/Kay Fitzpatrick)
Alan #1:
I like it spicy and hot - I like it thick but runny
I like it in big warm jugs... with all the fat spooned off
I like it moist and meaty - I like it at simmering point
The juices exude from it - I like it with fagots
Scott:
You need B.I.S.T.O.
B.I.S.T.O.
B.I.S.T.O.
B.I.S.T.O.
It is B (Bloomin' tasty)
It is I (In yer cupboard)
Go and S (Shove the kettle on)
And then T (Tip the watter in)
And then O-O-OOOOOHHHH
It is B (Brill with mixed grill)
It is I (In yer meat pie)
Not for S (Southern fairies)
What's for Tea (Tastebuds tingle)
It tastes O-O-OOOOOHHHH
Alan #1:
Come dunk your meatballs
Smother your sausage
Ahhhh Bisto... Ahhhhhh...
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The Bar-Steward Sons of Val Doonican UK
Hailing from Barnsley, The Bar-Steward Sons of Val Doonican are Britain's hardest working comedy band. Having played over 1,100 anarchic live shows to date, they are instantly recognisable for their immaculate hair and their stylish dress-sense. The have been critically acclaimed to be the UK festival scene's undisputed Kings of Parody. ... more
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