Not caring about things since 1971, so you don’t have to.”
7. Ach. This farkin video. Hated it. Who told that ponce he could play the mouth harp? And what’s the two kids shoving down in that bucket like? A corpse? The dead body of modern music?
6. What do you mean you’re a believer? In what? Letting some hired prat write all yer songs fer yer? Trust me mate, you could have left her if you tried. You really could have.
5. Now who in the fark in Mungo Jerry and why won’t he stop coughing up half a lunger? What’s he blowin in the bottle for? Fer chrissakes, fill that thing wif whiskey if yer gonna put yer kisser near it. Prat finks he’s happy. And what’s wif the bims prancing about behind such an ugly mug?
4. What you want is to get back on the feckin road wif yer fat hippie friends, and maybe even crash into the old mountainside, or run inna culvert. Sod has a voice like a woman wif her nuts in a vice, innit? Hurts my head just listenin’ to this tripe. No wonder yer mama left ya, ya dirty hippie. And how come the dirty hippies are putting their dirty beard-holes on harmonicas all the time? It’s just not hygienic, is it?
3. You know what’s a strange brew? Anyone finking Eric Bloody Clapton can write a song fer shit. What is this whiny nonsense? What in hell pants is the bugger wearing? This is “heavy metal”? Sound like my grams playing wif her darning needles thru a toaster. Pure shite.
2. Why doesn’t the silly bugger have a hat? I don’t get it. Who cares if the friends dance or not? Let’s find out where did that the hat went. Can’t he just buy a new bloody chapeau? I guess if had a mug like his, I’d want a great bloody sombrero covering my ugly podge to be sure, so I understand in a way. But why the awful farking synthesizers? And the dancing, safely or otherwise? Should be shot on site as a poacher.
1. The worst farkin’ song ever recorded by the worst band that ever lived. I’d like to get Mighty Fucking Vicious on their heads if I could only lure them into an alley, if you get my meanin’. For one thing, these weepy ponces have never been to Africa, you can tell, because not a single bloody resident of Africa has ever blessed the goddamned rain there. In fact, they eat lames like this band for breakfast, and crap ’em out for lunch. They would never even let this outfit of haircuts over the bleedin’ border. Out of order, is what it is. A farkin’ tragedy. They should all be chained in a borstal wif a single speaker, playing this shite back at em 24 hours a day is what.