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T'South 0 - Tarn 4 (2016)

by The Bar-Steward Sons of Val Doonican

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1.
Crappy Flowers Lyrics: Chris Sammon / Scott Doonican   I bought crappy flowers again I know you won't be happy, said I'd be back at 10 But they're crappy, wilted with brown leaves But what did I expect from a garage at half past three?   A drunken mishap, crawling through the cat-flap Can't get in 'cos me door key's lost If you wake I lose, ‘cos I reek of booze   Stomp down stairs… boy, do you look cross   Not a good place to be - best believe it I've never heard such language But it's always chuffin’ happ’nin’ to me Best believe it oh no Still I bought you crappy flowers again - oh no, oh no-no-no   Had another neet art with me mates Even though the last time, you started throwing plates And they tell me, that I should be a man But it's harder than it looks, now you’ve moved on to frying pans   So I sneak in through the kitchen, and I lie down on the sofa Need the loo - I've had too much to sup Then in one eureka moment comes a flash of inspiration Nip to t’Tesco before you wek up   Not a good place to be - best believe it You’re ranting and you’re raving But it's always bloomin’ happening to me Best believe it oh no Still I bought you crappy flowers again - oh no, oh no-no-no   Not a good place to be - best believe it Now I’m sleeping in the box-room And it's always bloomin’ happening to me Best believe it oh no Shouldn’ta bothered with the flowers again Best believe it, best believe it Crappy flowers again
2.
Bag For Life 03:00
Bag For Life Lyrics: Scott Doonican   We did the Big Shop yesterday… Ar lass bought loads of stuff  - all nouvelle cuisine And loads of two for one stuff that we dun’t need She went crazy on promotions Our bank account depleted as the trolley piled up With loads of stuff - chuffing tonnes of stuff On top I saw at least four free-range chickens But as we started queuing up There was shock horror at the check-out Forgot the Bag for Life Forgot the Bag for Life I’m not the type who likes surprises But she went beserk - wouldn’t let to go She had a massive strop - and began to moan She said “Asda saves us millions in prices, But now we’re forced to pay for plastic carriers You forgetful chuff - they’re 5 pence a bag I said 5 PENCE A BAG!” - I said 5 PENCE A BAG!” And then she starting going nuts Like World War 3 there at the checkout,  when I… Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life Was just a Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life Forgot the Bag for Life Well I’d had about enough Of ar lass whinging in me ear because I forgot the Bag for Life - forgot the Bag for Life Then she pipes up once again ‘bout the damage I’ve done - now she’s acting all Green She might as well be telling me in Chinese “The ice-caps will melt into the oceans These things will stay in landfill for hundreds of years” Oh shut up love - I’ve had more than enough And why the clucking hell d’ya buy four chickens!?” Well I am quite a patient guy But I’ve never lost me shit before Over a Bag for Life - It’s just a Bag for Life A chuffing Bag for Life - It’s just a Bag for Life I don’t need the strife - over a Bag for Life Forgot the Bag for Life - Forgot the Bag for Life Bag for Life, Bag for life
3.
Mixed-Up Bins Lyrics: Bjorn Doonicansson / Scott Doonican / Amanda White   Each Wednesday neet at half past eight I get me’sen in a reight state And there’s no room for mistakes I’ve sorted paper, card and glass The plastic, household waste and grass I hate these colourful routines… Mixed up, mixed up, mixed up… Mixed up bins   -   Mixed up bins I can’t believe it, but its true - I put out brown instead of blue Can’t stand the brutal bin regime - and its overflowing too…   Mixed up bins…  I have to look right darn our road To see who’s managed to decode  The council’s calendar bestowed I saw Old Alfred’s two doors down He’s feeling confident with brown And he’s never let me down ‘Til now, ‘til now, with his… Mixed up bins  - Mixed up bins   A few too many jars last night - wok up just not feeling right They all end up in the same place - Tek it please, its full of shite! IT’S A BIN! TEK ME BIN!   Will the missus forgive me?       I cocked it up, yeah I blew it But this isn’t the third week       It’s the fourth… I’m in deep shit She’ll say that she told me         And that I never listen So I blame it on old Alfred And she’ll never know ‘cos she was fast asleep in bed   So now I feel like such a clown The laughing stock of Barnsley Town ‘Ar lass won’t let me live it down Our brown bin’s left by the roadside With all its contents still inside Recycling’s over-glorified Sod off, sod off, sod off With yer bins - all those bins A rubbish fate, I can’t rewind - it’s hardly chuffing Mastermind If truth be told I feel resigned to acting like I’m colourblind I can’t win, with these bins All these mixed up bins Mixed up bins
4.
It’s Only Man-Flu Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White   The Lemsip’s out, the kettle’s on t’boil I feel like I’m shuffling off this mortal coil You think I’m a wuss - but I’m pretty worried about it My temperature’s hot, the sweating won’t stop I feel stuffy, I can’t clear this catarrh You can say what you like - it’s got chuff-all to do with me gender “It’s only man-flu” - that’s what you said when I called for you “It’s just a touch of cold… man-up and get your own tissues!”   Cleared all the Kleenex, in an epic sneezing session You couldn’t care less, I can see your expression And I know it will get worse - this snot-filled volcano’s erupting   I’ve got aches in my bones, and I’m covered in Vick I can’t recall a time that I felt quite so sick You know it’s coming out both ends But you claim that’s not worse than childbirth “It's only man flu” is how I just get fobbed-off by you You claim there’s nothing wrong, but men can get cystitis too You’re far from tactful, and now you’re turning a blind eye Have my next of kin been notified? I’m shaking like a shitting dog - but you’re bolder than brass And all that I say, just falls on deaf ears again And while I’m aggrieved - you just dun’t believe You say “It’s man-flu, And there is every chance that you’ll pull through It's not bubonic plague No, there’s bugger-all that’s wrong with you” It’s quite substantial - but you say it’s not a crisis I can’t be rational - when I’m dying of norovirus
5.
Crazy Crazy Golf Lyrics: Alan Doonican #2 / Scott Doonican / Amanda White   The pros all act, as if I’ve got the plague But balls to them, won’t give them time of day No need for a driver, it’s not pitch and putt Just give me loose change to the man in the hut No need for a caddy, I do it me sen Its okay fo’ t’lasses to play with the men Cos its crazy, crazy, crazy crazy golf Yes  its crazy, crazy, crazy crazy golf I’m never going to end up in the rough Dun’t need daft kecks or a gret big bag of clubs I'm out of that tunnel and onto the green Ricocheting abart like a pinball machine I’m dodging that windmill, producing the goods Me ball’s been in more holes, than Tiger Woods Cos it’s crazy, crazy, crazy crazy golf Yes it’s crazy, crazy, crazy crazy golf Snobby pros try and tell me, that I don't belong But they're only jealous, their games take so long! I’m already finished and within the pub’s walls While they're still getting rained on and dropping their balls Cos its crazy, crazy, crazy crazy golf Yes  its crazy, crazy, crazy crazy golf Cos its crazy, crazy, crazy crazy golf Yes  its crazy, crazy, crazy crazy golf
6.
Get ‘em Art Of The Pub Lyrics: Scott Doonican   I went art to the pub last night And I looked around and thought, You know there’s summat not right There was a time when you could come here and sup But now I just get wound-up - It can’t be me, no enough is enough…   They race up and down round the bar I can’t be diplomatic ‘cos they’ve took it too far Your mam n dad may think that you’re number one But kids should not be in pubs - get yer kids reight art of here   That’s all I really want, in the pub When me working day is done I dun’t need kids all ovver the pub No kids, get ‘em art of the pub   Kids… don’t want ‘em – get ‘em art of the pub… Don’t want ‘em – get ‘em art of here   It could be winter, wind-chill minus four But they’re running in and out and op’nin’ the door Me foods gone frozen, and I’m gonna kick-off Feral kids have no place in pubs   Get yer kids reight art of here That’s all we really want – in the pub   When the working day is done We dun’t need kids all ovver the pub No kids, get ‘em art of the pub   Kids… don’t want ‘em – get art of the pub… Don’t want ‘em – get ‘em art of here   They scream and tantrum, their volume’s not sparse They dun’t want an iPad, just a boot up the arse Bars dun’t need ball-pools - just good booze and grub No kids, have no place in pubs - get yer kids reight art of here   That’s all we really want – to get drunk When uz working day is done We dun’t need kids all ovver the pub No kids, get ‘em art of the pub   Kids… don’t want ‘em – get art of the pub… Don’t want ‘em – get ‘em art of here   …That Wacky Warehouse just needs blowing-up No kids, have no place in pubs No kids, have no place in pubs
7.
Walking In Man-Piss Lyrics: Alan Doonican #2 / Scott Doonican   Hit Tarn in me new suede shoes, blue with Cuban heels Supped pints until nature called The time had come to brek the seal  W.C. was handy, but when I walked in it beggared belief  There must’ve been a blockage The urinal had overflowed and leaked So I was walking in man piss Wished I was walking ten feet off of the floor Walking in man piss, and it was too bad to ignore Had a neet art in Sheffield - I went to see Motley Crue Took my place near the front of the stage To get a real good view The security laughed suddenly So I turned my back on the show But a suspect yellow pint, had suddenly took flight And drenched me from head to toe   Yes I was covered in man piss It was dripping down me face and onto me shoes  Soaked through with man piss - and there was nothing I could do…   I was stood there chuffing fuming                                         And my rage it filled the air                                                        ‘cos my blue suede shoes, that were brand new                 They hadn't got a prayer                                                    Now they were soaked with man piss                                 I went to see the doctor - as my feet had both turned blue I'd been scrubbing at them for weeks and weeks And didn’t know what to do He said “Son, it’s a chemical reaction  Must be the dye leaked from your shoes But that would need ammonia - can you give me any clues?” Yes I’ve been walking in man piss I know it sounds like a pretty weird thing to do But I’ve been walking in man piss And it has knackered me blue suede shoes? They were ruined by man piss They used to be a deep blue but now they're pale grey Faded by man piss Now I can’t even shift them on ebay   Had to bin my new suede shoes the very next day Walked round lookin’ sad and blue in the middle of the pouring rain Walked round lookin’ sad and blue in the middle of the pouring rain
8.
Signing 12 ‘Til 5 Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White   Stumble out of bed, for tonight’s transmission I’m the late-night star on yer television I flex my wrist to try to come to life  Forget Babestation and all that humpin’ Watch my nimble fingers start talking While folks watch me on their screens from 12 til 5  Signing 12 til 5, working for the Hard of Hearing I work Signzone live, in the corner I’m appearing  And you’ll see me there, getting into all the action But you’ll be so damn tired, you won’t get no satisfaction   Signing 12 til 5 - I compete with teleshopping  Cos there’s nowt else on, there’s no need for channel hopping Don’t want to turn me on, cos I look so animated But it’s me on t’BBC, or summat that’s X-rated   As people dream, I’m feeling shattered   But the deaf sit up to watch me, they’re knackered They’re not vampires, or blinded by the light It’s not fair, in fact it’s shitty I’m signing CBeebies & Holby City Gonna need Pro-Plus to make it through the night   Signing 12 til 5, these folk are deaf they’re not nocturnal Feeling sleep deprived, while I stand translating verbal I’m there on their screens, in the early hours of t’morning  They all think I’m screaming, but really I’m just yawning   12 til 5, it’s the way I make my livin'  I’m just gettin' by, I’m not talking, I’m just jigging  Try to keep in time, but when my energy’s diminished During Mastermind - I’ve started as they’ve finished   12 til 5, and without a word of warning I could go off piste, much more fun that just conforming Cos this job ain’t glam, and the hours are quite a hassle But like a BSL Chris Packham, I’ll sneak in the word ‘vajazzle’
9.
All Abart The Plates Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White   You may think it’s just a First World Problem - but I’d say no, no, no You’ve got no idea, but lend me an ear - and I’ll tell my tale of woe I’ll recollect a time - and though I’m pretty far from fine I recall a certain kitchen nightmare - that happened not so long ago…   Unsuspecting one weekend - I went for pub-grub with a friend The waiter asked me for my order I asked “What would you recommend?” And as he brought the sirloin steak - I couldn’t help but double-take…   They brought me steak on a breadboard And I said “What the chuff is that!?” Were they smokin’ crack? - It’s just chuffing slack, a plate is where it’s at I’d waited some time - but yet they somehow thought that’s fine There’s no way I’m eating off a plank of wood - so I med him tek it back   What’s wrong with good old-fashioned plates? Well you can do one with yer slates You must think that I’ve gone funny ‘cos what you bought to t’table’s a piss-take You may have thought that that would pass But you can shove that slate back up on your rooftop   If you’re bringing me bread in a flat-cap, then I’ll say “whoa, whoa, whoa!” If you mess your kecks at the thought of Pyrex Then your food’s just got to go I ha’n't got the time - for gormet chefs who think that’s fine So go and get your finest China - or I’m guaranteed to go   The waiter said our food’s revered - I thought, pal, you’ve no idea But I'm not one to lose me patience Over simple things like food and beer I thought a curry’s a no-brainer - til he brought it all out in a trainer   It’s time to send your chef to rehab - because no crockery’s just rude I think he’s a fart, if he claims that that’s art Jackson Pollock’s to your food            Don’t you think it’s time - to finally stop this pantomime? Let’s get rid of baskets, slates and breadboards Because it’s time for them to go   It’s all abart the plates, not slates or breadboards It’s all abart the plates, not slates or breadboards It’s all abart the plates, not slates or breadboards It’s all abart the plates, ‘bout the plates
10.
Talk Reight You Idiot Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Alan Doonican #2 / Bjorn Doonicansson / Andy Doonican   All the chavvy youths of today Can’t understand what they’re on about They all speak quick, say they’re ‘sick’ What do they mean? I can’t figure out It’s a bizarre slang... what's YOLO? You say that you’re only living once Try telling that to Sean Bean He'll prove you wrong from the ambulance You’re-a-chump – go and pull your pants up (way up, way up, waaaay uuup)…     And talk reight, you idiot   You’re acting like you’re from ‘Da Hood’ But you’re about as hard as balsa wood You lol and lol, as you’re trolling Cameron and Paul Hollywood You add 'and ting' to everything Do ‘ya think that you’re Jamaic-i-an? The truth is that you come frum t’Tarn You’re whiter than Michael Jackson You’re-a-chump – go and pull your pants up (way up, way up, waaaay uuup)…     And talk reight, you idiot   You say you're going to the ‘Mall’ It's Morrisons, you're not Eminem Get all your gear from Pri-mar-ni To hang like Kim Kardashian You Snap-Chat from the changing room To yer bestie, chillin’ in her crib Asking "Does my bum look big in this?" She’s dissin’ you, ‘cos she said it did All the stupid kids high on ket What happened to smoking cigarettes? And they exclaim “I’m bare vexed... Don't ask me bruv or I'll shank you next!” You’re-a-chump – go and pull your pants up (way up, way up, waaaay uuup)…     And talk reight, you idiot
11.
Shave Tonight Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White   Your vintage clothes look like curtains Wearing sunglasses in candlelight Checkered shirt and an oak-casked wine You think it’s cool to smoke a pipe   On your bike with huge headphones And your woolly hat when it’s summery Tek your beard and your waxed moustache And put us out of our misery Shave tonight and fight the Hipster trend You’re a numpty and that beard should be condemned Shave tonight don’t look so nonchalant In a cereal café eating artisan croissants Listening to Arcade Fire Carry a manbag cos it’s on LP Got a record player from Urban Outfitters And now you act all bourgeoisie   Big bowties and bespoke tweed You consume gadgets and flaxseed “Got the latest iphone don’t you know Because 4G is far too slow”   Shave tonight, then ditch the skinny jeans You love organic but what the hell’s a soya bean? Shave tonight don’t instagram or blog You’re so retro, that your ipad’s analogue I hear a noise, from your CD Walkman An obscure hit from Kazakhstan You say “You’ve prob’ly haven’t heard of it” Well I’m pretty glad ‘cos it sounds shit   Shave tonight before the break of day Cos you look like, you’re Tom Hanks in Castaway Shave tonight get sponsored by Gillette One last listen, to Kid A on cassette   Shave tonight, it’s not the old wild west You’re so unique that you look like all the rest Shave tonight that beard is out of hand Don’t be hipster, just go join an indie band go join an indie band… Shave tonight…
12.
Festival Heroes Lyrics: Alan Doonican #2 / Scott Doonican   From May until September, across our lovely land There’s loads of folk who hit the road, with tents or campervans The festival’s a Mecca for the likes of you and me But there are folk, it’s not a joke, who take things to extremes…   You know, the weirdos; you know the festival weirdos Give them all a wide birth It doesn’t take that, to spot a real twat Starting with the lad dressed as a Smurf So many weirdos Like the hippies in kaftans wanting to free Tibet Or the posh-bird called Grace, who wants to embrace All the folk in the dance-tent on ket… dance-tent on ket   Then there’s those who buy their tickets, but dun't go to see a band Who spend their weekend sat in chairs Outside a clapped-out transit van That seventh can of Stella isn’t helping her Tourettes  They’re Neighbours from hell, who share a brain cell The sort you can't forget... This lot aren’t weirdos, they’re just festival bell-ends  And their time is mis-spent They use all of the night, to talk absolute shite When they should be asleep in a tent They're chuffing morons  They spend most of the evening talking bollocks but then He goes to his car, gets an acoustic guitar And plays Wonderwall badly again... again and again  The hipsters taking selfies, fashion-conscious, self-obsessed Wait for the band’s hit single, but then talk through all the rest The pillocks on their camping chairs, in the moshpit what a farce Dun’t stand-in-front-of-me-with-your-flag, Or that pole goes up yer arse   Give me torpedoes; give me a sawn-off machine-gun And I’d sort them I know I’d start with the lad filming on his i-pad Is it so hard to just watch the show? Or all the zeroes, who can never be happy, They were just born to moan ‘Bout the state of the ground, the line-up, the sound The weather or charging their phone Why not stop at home?   To all those folk I sing this song, as I count to ten and breathe You think you’re so original, shouting Alan! Alan! Steve! Just remember often this thing’s run by volunteers And they all work bloody hard, so raise yer glasses and say CHEERS! Cos they're the heroes, they're the festival heroes And you know that I'm right They're doing their best, to make a success So we all have a chuffin’ good time Yeah they're the heroes, they're the festival heroes Making things run okay Planning months in advance, just so we all get chance To come here for beautiful days For such beautiful days
13.
Don’t Watch This Shit At Home Lyrics: Scott Doonican / Amanda White   Forget ‘Made In Chelsea’, just switch off your TV Then I’d say get thissen to t’pub dun’t sit at home  And if you have the choice, don’t sit and watch ‘The Voice’ That’s not the kind of mindless cack I would condone You’re sat there watching Gogglebox While they’re sat there watching too Forget the, TV license Cos there’s so much more to do, anyway now   I don’t want to see ‘Extreme Fishing with Robson Green’ Why can’t he sail his ship to Ecuador And I’m, I’m gonna swear, and I don’t even care Because, what’s the chuffing point in ‘Geordie Shore’   Don’t watch that shit at home The Apprentice and the X-Factor Don’t watch that shit at home Unless Cowell’s fired under a tractor If you think, that that’s okay, it’s not okay Don’t watch that shit at home   Why, why even bother, with Celebrity Big Brother ‘cos it’s full of Z-list folk that no-one knows Is it Slash or Henry Rollins? No it’s always Gemma Collins How can they pay that chuffing goon to sit and moan? I’d sooner have Donald Trump’s comb-over And be forced to watch Strictly Instead of watching, Joey Essex On every channel on TV…he’s a numpty!   Don’t watch that shit at home TOWIE is wall-to-wall trollops Don’t watch that shit at home Feeding celebrities kangaroo bollocks If you think, that that’s okay, it’s not okay Don’t watch that shit at home I’d sooner be like Deborah Meaden I’m going to be out Silent Farter (Hidden Track) Lyrics: Alan Doonican #2   Methane eminator - Trouser fumigator Secret botty burper - Nasal persecutor I'm a silent farter, sneaky silent farter You're a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter He who smelt it dealt it - Fragrance of a cesspit Surreptitious tooter - Atmosphere polluter I'm a silent farter, sneaky silent farter You're a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter   Naturally furtive - Stink bomb detonator Socially explosive -  Noxious fume emitter  I'm a silent farter, sneaky silent farter You're a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter Campervan Of Love (Hidden Track) Lyrics: Scott Doonican   Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready for the ride of your life? He’s been from Barnsley to Fife He’s alright, he’s alright He’s our dad he drove a campervan Between shows for his fans One by one or maybe two at a time They’d form an orderly line With hands up, hands up Couldn’t be accused of stooping low He wore on his knitwear sleeve a heart of gold   Now all the ladies in the crowd would see No better place on Earth to be A place where backseats were worn So neglected and torn apart   Every knitwear lovin’ fan got on his campervan of love ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! All the lasses in the land, rode on his campervan of love ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up!   He’s our father, had me mother dun’t you know All the sisters, were so mad for it dun’t you know   They run their fingers through his sexy hair While he rocked them gently in his chair They’d come in art from the cold And then wait for his engine to start   As he toured around the land, they’d get on his campervan of love ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! Got it more than Russell Brand, aboard his campervan of love ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up!   He’s our father, different mothers dun’t you know All the sisters, queued up to see him after show   Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready?
14.
Silent Farter Lyrics: Alan Doonican #2 Methane eminator - Trouser fumigator Secret botty burper - Nasal persecutor I'm a silent farter, sneaky silent farter -You're a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter He who smelt it dealt it - Fragrance of a cesspit Surreptitious tooter - Atmosphere polluter I'm a silent farter, sneaky silent farter -You're a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter Naturally furtive - Stink bomb detonator Socially explosive - Noxious fume emitter I'm a silent farter, sneaky silent farter -You're a silent farter, Sneaky silent farter
15.
Campervan Of Love Lyrics: Scott Doonican Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready for the ride of your life? He’s been from Barnsley to Fife He’s alright, he’s alright He’s our dad he drove a campervan Between shows for his fans One by one or maybe two at a time They’d form an orderly line With hands up, hands up Couldn’t be accused of stooping low He wore on his knitwear sleeve a heart of gold Now all the ladies in the crowd would see No better place on Earth to be A place where backseats were worn So neglected and torn apart Every knitwear lovin’ fan got on his campervan of love ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! All the lasses in the land, rode on his campervan of love ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! He’s our father, had me mother dun’t you know All the sisters, were so mad for it dun’t you know They run their fingers through his sexy hair While he rocked them gently in his chair They’d come in art from the cold And then wait for his engine to start As he toured around the land, they’d get on his campervan of love ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! Got it more than Russell Brand, aboard his campervan of love ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! ‘Ey up! He’s our father, different mothers dun’t you know All the sisters, queued up to see him after show Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready?
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about

Our 7th studio album was originally released in 2016, but with the benefit of hindsight, we felt that we could significantly improve on the production of the album, and so in late 2019, during the 'Leap of Faith' Project, we roped long-standing sound guru Joel Howe back in to mix and master new renditions of the original tracks. On some of them we went back to the original tracks (stripping out rough sounding bits, fixing bits and adding totally new bits to add texture), and in some cases it was back to the drawing board to just start from scratch with long-established tracks to improve them.

We hope that people enjoy revisiting the tracks as much as we did, and to anyone new to them, you will also get the original versions as bonus tracks as they were as 'demo versions' too so that you can compare them and see how they evolved over the years.

Cheers
Scott Doonican

This album comes with a bonus PDF of lyrics and sleeve notes in the form of a 'Listener's Guide' (taken from Scott Doonican's book 'Songs In The Key Of Tarn').

credits

released May 11, 2016

Scott Doonican: vocals, 6-string acoustic & electric guitars, bass, kazoo, omnichord, ukulele, gospel choir, kids choir

Björn Doonicansson: tenor banjo, mandolin, drums, electric guitar, backing vocals

Alan Doonican #2: piano accordion, piano, keyboards, sequencer, vocals

Produced by
Scott Doonican
Co-produced by
Björn Doonicansson

Recorded at Moon-On-A-Stick Studios, Barnsley Rock City
Between April and May 2016 and between Feb and Oct 2019.

Mixed and mastered by Joel Howe

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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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