The Cheese Shop sketch

(a customer walks in the door.)

Customer: Good Morning.
Owner: Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the National Cheese Emporium!
Customer: Ah, thank you, my good man.
Owner: What can I do for you, Sir?
C: Well, I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmon Street just now,
skimming through "Rogue Herrys" by Hugh Walpole, and I suddenly came over
all peckish.
O: Peckish, sir?
C: Esuriant.
O: Eh?
C: 'Ee, Ah wor 'ungry-loike!
O: Ah, hungry!
C: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, "a little fermented curd will do
the trick," so, I curtailed my Walpoling activites, sallied forth, and
infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy
comestibles!
O: Come again?
C: I want to buy some cheese.
O: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bazouki player!
C: Oh, heaven forbid: I am one who delights in all manifestations of the
Terpsichorean muse!
O: Sorry?
C: 'Ooo, Ah lahk a nice tuune, 'yer forced too!
O: So he can go on playing, can he?
C: Most certainly! Now then, some cheese please, my good man.
O: (lustily) Certainly, sir. What would you like?
C: Well, eh, how about a little red Leicester.
O: I'm, a-fraid we're fresh out of red Leicester, sir.
C: Oh, never mind, how are you on Tilsit?
O: I'm afraid we never have that at the end of the week, sir, we get it
fresh on Monday.
C: Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout yeoman, four ounces of Caerphilly, if
you please.
O: Ah! It's beeeen on order, sir, for two weeks. Was expecting it this
morning.
C: 'T's Not my lucky day, is it? Aah, Bel Paese?
O: Sorry, sir.
C: Red Windsor?
O: Normally, sir, yes. Today the van broke down.
C: Ah. Stilton?
O: Sorry.
C: Ementhal? Gruyere?
O: No.
C: Any Norweigan Jarlsburg, per chance.
O: No.
C: Lipta?
O: No.
C: Lancashire?
O: No.
C: White Stilton?
O: No.
C: Danish Brew?
O: No.
C: Double Goucester?
O: <pause> No.
C: Cheshire?
O: No.
C: Dorset Bluveny?
O: No.
C: Brie, Roquefort, Pol le Veq, Port Salut, Savoy Aire, Saint Paulin, Carrier
de lest, Bres Bleu, Bruson?
O: No.
C: Camenbert, perhaps?
O: Ah! We have Camenbert, yessir.
C: (suprised) You do! Excellent.
O: Yessir. It's..ah,.....it's a bit runny...
C: Oh, I like it runny.
O: Well,.. It's very runny, actually, sir.
C: No matter. Fetch hither the fromage de la Belle France! Mmmwah!
O: I...think it's a bit runnier than you'll like it, sir.
C: I don't care how fucking runny it is. Hand it over with all speed.
O: Oooooooooohhh........! <pause>
C: What now?
O: The cat's eaten it.
C: <pause> Has he.
O: She, sir.
(pause)
C: Gouda?
O: No.
C: Edam?
O: No.
C: Case Ness?
O: No.
C: Smoked Austrian?
O: No.
C: Japanese Sage Darby?
O: No, sir.
C: You...do *have* some cheese, don't you?
O: (brightly) Of course, sir. It's a cheese shop, sir. We've got--
C: No no... don't tell me. I'm keen to guess.
O: Fair enough.
C: Uuuuuh, Wensleydale.
O: Yes?
C: Ah, well, I'll have some of that!
O: Oh! I thought you were talking to me, sir.
Mister Wensleydale, that's my name.

(pause)

C: Greek Feta?
O: Uh, not as such.
C: Uuh, Gorgonzola?
O: no
C: Parmesan,
O: no
C: Mozarella,
O: no
C: Paper Cramer,
O: no
C: Danish Bimbo,
O: no
C: Czech sheep's milk,
O: no
C: Venezuelan Beaver Cheese?
O: Not *today*, sir, no.
(pause)
C: Aah, how about Cheddar?
O: Well, we don't get much call for it around here, sir.
C: Not much ca--It's the single most popular cheese in the world!
O: Not 'round here, sir.
C: <slight pause> and what IS the most popular cheese 'round hyah?
O: 'Illchester, sir.
C: IS it.
O: Oh, yes, it's staggeringly popular in this manusquire.
C: Is it.
O: It's our number one best seller, sir!
C: I see. Uuh...'Illchester, eh?
O: Right, sir.
C: All right. Okay.
'Have you got any?' he asked, expecting the answer 'no'.
O: I'll have a look, sir...
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno.
C: It's not much of a cheese shop, is it?
O: Finest in the district!
C: (annoyed) Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please.
O: Well, it's so clean, sir!
C: It's certainly uncontaminated by cheese....
O: (brightly) You haven't asked me about Limburger, sir.
C: Would it be worth it?
O: Could be....
C: Have you --SHUT THAT BLOODY BAZOUKI OFF!
O: Told you sir....
C: (slowly) Have you got any Limburger?
O: No.
C: Figures.
Predictable, really I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have
posed the question in the first place. Tell me:
O: Yessir?
C: (deliberately) Have you in fact got any cheese here at all.
O: Yes,sir.
C: Really?
(pause)
O: No. Not really, sir.
C: You haven't.
O: Nosir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time,sir.
C: Well I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to shoot you.
O: Right-0, sir.

The customer takes out a gun and shoots the owner.

C: What a *senseless* waste of human life.

An Atheist's Sunday Brunch


(Sound: Church bells, lots of them, ringing.)

Man: I wish those bloody bells would stop.
Wife: Oh, it's quite nice dear, it's Sunday, it's the church.
M: What about us atheists? Why should we 'ave to listen to that
sectarian turmoil?
W: You're a lapsed atheist, dear.
M: The principle's the same. The Mohmedans don't come 'round here
wavin' bells at us! We don't get Buddhists playing bagpipes in our
bathroom! Or Hindus harmonizing in the hall! The Shintus don't
come here shattering sheet glass in the shithouse, shouting slogans-
W: All right, don't practice your alliteration on me.
M: Anyway, when I membership card and blazer badge back from the
League of Agnostics, I shall urge the executive to lodge a protest
against that religious racket! Pass the butter knife!
W: WHAT??
M: PASS THE BUTTER KNIFE!! (pause) THANK YOU! IF ONLY WE HAD SOME
KIND OF MISSILE!
W: 'OLD ON, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW.
M: WHAT?!
W: I SAID, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW!

(Sound: Window closing, bells get faint, but are still there)

M: If only we had some kind of missile, we could take the steam out
of those bells.
W: Well, you could always use the number 14-St. Joseph-the-somewhat-
divine-on-the-hill ballistic missile. It's in the attic.
M: What ballistic missile would this be, then?

(Sound: Bells begin to get increasingly louder)

W: I made it for you, it's your birthday present!
M: Just what I wanted, 'ow nice of you to remember, my pet.
'ERE!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!!
W: THE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER! OOOH, LOOK!
M: WHAT?
W: THE CHURCH, IT.. ITS COMING CLOSER! ITS COMING DOWN THE 'ILL!
M: WHAT A LIBERTY!
W: ITS TURNING INTO OUR LANE! WELL, YOU BETTER GO PUT IT OUT OF
IT'S MISERY.
M: WHERE'S THIS MISSILE, THEN?
W: IT'S IN THE ATTIC. PRESS THE BUTTON MARKED CHURCH!
M: 'OW DO I AIM IT?
W: IT AUTOMATICALLY HOMES IN ON THE NEAREST PLACE OF WORSHIP!
M: BUT THAT'S ST. MARKS!
W: IT ISN'T NOW, LOOK!! OH, ITS OP'NING THE GATE.
M: WHAT? USE THE MEGAPHONE!
W: IT'S OP'NING THE GATE!! 'HURRY UP, ITS TRAMPLING OVER THE AZALIAS!

(Sound: Missle launch, explosion, bells diminish)

M: Did I 'it it?
W: Yes, right up the aisle.
M: Well I've always said, There's nothing an agnostic can't do if
he really doesn't know whether he believes in anything or not.

Stake your Claim

Game Show Host (John Cleese): Good evening and welcome to Stake Your Claim.
First this evening we have Mr Norman Voles of
Gravesend who claims he wrote all Shakespeare's
works. Mr Voles, I understand you claim that
you wrote all those plays normally attributed to
Shakespeare?

Voles (Michael Palin): That is correct. I wrote all his plays and my wife and I
wrote his sonnets.

Host: Mr Voles, these plays are known to have been performed in the
early 17th century. How old are you, Mr Voles?

Voles: 43.

Host: Well, how is it possible for you to have written plays
performed over 300 years before you were born?

Voles: Ah well. This is where my claim falls to the ground.

Host: Ah!

Voles: There's no possible way of answering that argument, I'm
afraid. I was only hoping you would not make that particular
point, but I can see you're more than a match for me!

Host: Mr Voles, thank you very much for coming along.

Voles: My pleasure.

Host: Next we have Mr Bill Wymiss who claims to have built the Taj
Mahal.

Wymiss (Eric Idle): No.

Host: I'm sorry?

Wymiss: No. No.

Host: I thought you cla...

Wymiss: Well I did but I can see I won't last a minute with you.

Host: Next...

Wymiss: I was right!

Host: ... we have Mrs Mittelschmerz of Dundee who cla... Mrs
Mittelschmerz, what is your claim?

Mittelschmerz (Graham Chapman in drag): That I can burrow through an elephant.

Host: (Pause) Now you've changed your claim, haven't you. You know
we haven't got an elephant.

Mittelschmerz: (Insincerely) Oh, haven't you? Oh dear!

Host: You're not fooling anybody, Mrs Mittelschmerz. In your letter
you quite clearly claimed that ... er ... you could be thrown off
the top of Beachy Head into the English Channel and then be
buried.

Mittelschmerz: No, you can't read my writing.

Host: It's typed.

Mittelschmerz: It says 'elephant'.

Host: Mrs Mittelschmerz, this is an entertainment show, and I'm not
prepared to simply sit here bickering. Take her away, Heinz!

Mittelschmerz: Here, no, leave me alone!

(Sound of wind and sea).

Mittelschmerz: Oooaaahh! (SPLOSH)

The Decomposing Composers

Beethoven's gone, but his music lives on,
And Mozart don't go shopping no more.
You'll never meet Lizst or Brahms again,
And Elgar doesn't answer the door.

Schubert and Chopin used to chuckle and laugh,
Whilst composing a long symphony.
But one hundred and fifty years later,
There's very little of them left to see.

The decomposing composers,
There's not much anyone can do.
You can still hear Beethoven,
But Beethoven cannot hear you.

Handel and Haydn and Rachmaninoff
Enjoyed a nice drink with their meal.
But nowadays no one will serve them,
And their gravy is left to congeal.

Verdi and Wagner delighted the crowds
With their highly original sounds.
The pianos they play are still working,
But they're both six feet underground.

The decomposing composers,
There's less of them every year.
You can say what you like to
But there's not much of them left to hear.

Claude Akil Debussy. Died, 1918.
Christof Viliborg Kralk. Died, 1787.
Carl Maria von Weber. Not at all well, 1825.
Died, 1826.
Giacommo Meiabier. Still alive, 1863.
Not still alive, 1864.
Modest Mussorgsky. 1880, going to parties.
No fun anymore, 1881.
Johann Neopok Hummel. Chattin' away 19 'an a dozen with his friends down at
the Pub every evenin', 1836.
1837, nothing.

The Contradiction sketch


Host (John Cleese): With me now is Norman St. John Polevaulter, who for the
last few years has been contradicting people. St. John
Polevaulter, why do you contradict people?
Polevaulter (Graham Chapman): I don't!
Host: But you... you told me that you did.
Polevaulter: I most certainly did not!
Host: Oh. I see. I'll start again.
Polevaulter: No you won't!
Host: Ssh! I understand you don't contradict people.
Polevaulter: Yes I do!
Host: And when didn't you start contradicting them?
Polevaulter: I did! In 1952!
Host: 1952.
Polevaulter: 1947!
Host: 23 years ago.
Polevaulter: No!

<GONG>

The Men's-Being-Eaten-By-A-Cocodile Contest

(Background music: Sportscast intro)
Newscaster: And right now it's time for athletics, and over to Brian
Goebells in Paris.
Goebells: Hello, well you join us here in Paris just a few minutes before the
start of today's big event: the final of the Men's-Being-Eaten-
By-A-Crocodile event. I'm standing now by the crocodile pit where-
AAAAAAHHHHH!

(FX: Crocodiles eating, French exclamations and sirens)

Newscaster: Ah. Well I'm afraid that we've lost Brian. While they're sorting
that out, we have a report from Barry Loothesom in Lughtborrow on
the British preparations for this most important event.
Loothesom: Here at Lughtborrow are the five young men chosen last week to be
eaten by a crocodile for Britain this summer. Obviously, the most
important part of the event is the opening 60 yard sprint towards
the crocs. And twenty-two year old Nottingham schoolteacher Gavin
Watterlow is rated by some not only the fastest but also the
tastiest British morsel since Barry Gordon got a bronze at
Helsinki. In charge of the team is Sergeant Major Harold Duke.
Duke: Aww, well, you not only got to get in that pit first, you gotta
get EATEN first. When you land in front of your croc, and 'e opens
his mouth, I wanna see you right in there. Rub your 'ead up
against 'is taste buds. And when those teeth bite into your flesh,
use the perches to thrust yourself DOWN his throat...
Loothesom: Duke's trained with every British team since 1928, and it's his
blend of gymnastic knowhow, reptilian expertise and culinary skill
that's turned many an un-appetizing novice into a crocodilic
banquet.
Duke: Well, our chefs have been experimenting for many years to find
a sauce most likely to tempt the crocodile. In the past, we've
concentrated on a fish based sauce, but this year, we are reverting
to a simple bernaise.
Loothesom: The British team are worried because Olympic regulations allow
only the competitor's heads to be sauced. Gavin Morolowe...
Morolowe: Yes, well, I mean, (clears throat) you know, four years ago,
everyone knew the Italians were coating the insides of their legs
with bolinaise, the Russians have been marinating themselves, One
of the Germans, Biolek, was caught actually putting, uh, remolarde
down his shorts. And the Finns were using tomato flavoured running
shoes. Uh, I think there should either be unrestricted garnishing,
or a single, Olympic standard mayonnaise.
Loothesom: Gavin, does it ever worry you that you're actually going to be
chewed up by a bloody, grey crocodile.

Morolowe: The only thing that worries me, Jim, is being the first one down
that gully.
Loothesom: Well, the way things are going here at Lughtborrow, it looks as
though Britan could easily pick up a place in the first seven
hundred. But nothing's predictable in this tough, harsh, highly
competitive world where today's champion is tomorrow's crocodile
shit. And back to you, in the studio, Norman

Python's Song Collection (all well known songs)

@ALBUM: Monty Python Sings

@SONG: Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Some things in life are bad,
They can really make you mad,
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle.
And this'll help things turn out for the best.

And....

Always look on the bright side of life, (whistle)
Always look on the bright side of life, (whistle)
If life seems jolly rotten,
There's something you've forgotten,
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps,
Don't be silly chumps.
Just purse your lips and whistle, that's the thing.

And...

Always look on the bright side of life. (whistle)
Come on...
Always look on the bright side of life...

For life is quite absurd,
And death's the final word,
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin,
Give the audience a grin,
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

So always look on the bright side of death,
Just before you draw your terminal breath,
Life's a piece of shit,
When you look at it,
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show,
Keep 'em laughing as you go.
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

And always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the right side of life,

Come on guys, cheer up.

Always look on the bright side of life.

Worse things happen at sea, you know.

Always look on the bright side of life.

I mean - what have you got to lose?
You know, you come from nothing,
you're going back to nothing.
What have you lost? Nothing!

(fade...)


@SONG: Sit On My Face

Sit on my face and tell me that you love me,
I'll sit on your face and tell you I love you, too.
I love to hear you o-ra-lise
When I'm between your thighs,
You blow me awaaay.

Sit on my face and let my lips embrace you,
I'll sit on your face and then I'll love you truly.
Life can be fine if we both sixty-nine,
If we sit on our faces in all sorts of places and play
'Till we're blown awaaaaaaaay.


@SONG: Lumberjack Song

I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay,
I sleep all night and I work all day.

Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I eat my lunch,
I go to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays I go shopping
And have buttered scones for tea.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch,
He goes to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays he goes shopping
And has buttered scones for tea.

Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing,
And hang around in bars.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps,
He likes to press wild flowers.
He puts on women's clothing,
And hangs around in bars.

Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I wear high heels,
Suspendies and a bra.
I wish I'd been a girlie,
Just like my dear pappa.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he wears high heels?
Suspendies...and a bra?

...he's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

...he's a lumberjack and he's OKAAAAAAAAAAYYY.
He sleeps all night and he works all day.


@SONG: Penis Song (The Not Noel Coward Song)

GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HERE'S A LITTLE NUMBER I TOSSED OFF
RECENTLY IN THE CARIBBEAN.

Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis,
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong.
It's swell to have a stiffy,
It's divine to own a dick.
>From the tiniest little tadger,
To the world's biggest prick.

So three cheers for your willy or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake.
Your piece of pork,
Your wife's best friend,
Your Percy or your cock.

You can wrap it up in ribbons,
You can slip it in your sock.
But don't take it out in public
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.


@SONG: Oliver Cromwell

SPOKEN: THE MOST INTERESTING THING ABOUT
KING CHARLES I IS THAT HE WAS 5'6"
TALL AT THE START OF HIS REIGN,
BUT ONLY 4'8" AT THE END OF IT...
BECAUSE OF...

Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protecteur of England
PURITAN
Born in 1599 and died in 1658
SEPTEMBER
Was at first
ONLY
MP for Huntingdon
BUT THEN
He led the Ironside Cavalry at Marston Moor
in 1644 and won.
Then he founded the new model model army
And praise be, beat the Cavaliers at Naisby
And the King fled up North like a bat to the
Scots.

SPOKEN: BUT UNDER THE TERMS OF JOHN PIMM'S SOLEMN
LEAGUE AND COVENANT, THE SCOTS HANDED KING
CHARLES I OVER TO...

Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protecteur of England
AND HIS WARTS
Born in 1599 and died in 1658
SEPTEMBER
But alas
OY VAY!
Disagreement then broke out
BETWEEN
The Presbyterian Parliament and the Military
who meant
To have an independent bent.
And so...

The 2nd Civil War broke out
And the Roundhead ranks
Faced the Cavaliers at Preston Banks
And the King lost again, silly thing
STUPID GIT

SPOKEN: AND CROMWELL SEND COLONEL PRIDE TO PURGE THE
HOUSE OF COMMONS OF THE PRESBYTERIAN ROYALISTS
LEAVING BEHIND ONLY THE RUMP PARLIAMENT...

Which appointed a High Court at Westminster
Hall
To indict Charles I for...tyranny
OOOOHHH!
Charles was sentenced to death
Even though he refused to accept that the court
had...jurisdiction
SAY GOODBYE TO HIS HEAD

Poor King Charles laid his head on the block
JANUARY 1649
Down came the axe, and...

SPOKEN: IN THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED, THE ONLY SOUND
THAT COULD BE HEARD WAS A SOLITARY GIGGLE,
FROM...

Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protecteur of England
OLE
Born in 1599 and died in 1658
SEPTEMBER
Then he smashed
IRELAND
Set up the Commonwealth
AND MORE
He crushed the Scots at Worcester
And beat the Dutch at sea
In 1653 and then
He dissolved the Rump Parliament
And with Lambert's consent
Wrote the instrument of Government
Under which Oliver was Proctector at last
The end.


@SONG: The Money Song

I've got ninety thousand pounds in my pyjamas,
I've got forty thousand french francs in my fridge.

I've got lost of lovely lire,
Now the Deutschemark's getting dearer,
And my dollar bills would buy the Brooklyn Bridge.

Chorus: There is nothing quite as wonderful as money,
There is nothing quite as beautiful as cash.
Some people say it's folly,
But I'd rather have the lolly,
With money you can ma-ake a splash.

Finale: There is nothing quite wonderful as money,
(money,money,money,money)
There is nothing like a newly minted pound,
(money,money,money,money)

All: Everyone must hanker for the butchness of a banker,
It's accountancy that makes the world go round.
(round,round,round)

You can keep your Marxist ways
For it's only just a phase.
For it's money money money makes the world go round.
(money,money,money,money
money,money,money,money
moneeeeeeeeeeeyyyy)


@SONG: Accountancy Shanty

It's fun to charter an accountant,
And sail the wide accountan-cy.
To find, explore the funds offshore,
And skirt the shoals of bankruptcy.

It can be manly in insurance.
We'll up your premium semi-anually.
It's all tax-deductible,
We're fairly incorruptible.
We're sailing on the wide accountan-cy.


@SONG: Finland

Chorus: Finland, Finland, Finland.
The country where I want to be,
Pony trekking or camping,
Or just watching TV.
Finland, Finland, Finland,
It's the country for me.

Verse: You're so near to Russia,
So far from Japan.
Quite a long way from Cairo,
Lots of miles from Vietnam.

Chorus: Finland, Finland, Finland.
The country where I want to be,
Eating breakfast or dinner,
Or snack lunch in the hall.
Finland, Finland, Finland,
Finland has it all.

Verse: You're so sadly neglected,
And often ignored,
A poor second to Belgium,
When going abroad.

Chorus: Finland, Finland, Finland.
The country where I quite want to be,
Your mountains so lofty,
Your treetops so tall.
Finland, Finland, Finland,
Finland has it all.

Repeat: Finland, Finland, Finland.
The country where I quite want to be,
Your mountains so lofty,
Your treetops so tall.
Finland, Finland, Finland,
Finland has it all.

Fade: Finland has it all...


@SONG: Medical Love Song

Inflammation of the foreskin
Reminds me of your smile.
I've had ballanital chancroids
For quite a little while.
I gave my heart to NSU
That lovely night in June.
I ache for you, my darling,
And I hope you get well soon.

My penile warts, your herpes,
My syphilitic sores.
Your moenelial infection,
How I miss you more and more.
Your dobie's itch, my scrumpox,
Our lovely gonnorrhea,
At least we both were lying,
When we said that we were clear.

Our syphilitic kisses,
Sealed the secret of our tryst.
You gave me scrotal pustules,
With a quick flick of your wrist.
Your trichovaginitis
Sent shivers down my spine;
I got snail tracks in my anus
When your spirochetes met mine.

Gonoccocal urethritis, streptococcal
ballinitis, meningo myelitis,
diplococcal cephalitis, epididimitis,
interstitial keratitis, syphilitic
choroiditis, and antertior u-ve-i-tis.

My clapped out genitalia
Is not so bad for me,
As the complete and utter failure
Every time I try to pee.
My doctor says my buboes
Are the worst he's ever seen,
My scrotum's painted orange
And my balls are turning green.

My heart is very tender
Though my parts are awful raw,
You might have been infected
But you never were a bore.
I'm dying of your love, my love
I'm your spirochaetal clown,
I've left my body to science
But I'm afraid they've turned it down.

Gonoccocal urethritis, streptococcal
ballinitis, meningo myelitis,
diplococcal cephalitis, epididimitis,
interstitial keratitis, syphilitic
choroiditis, and antertior u-ve-i-tis.


@SONG: I'm So Worried

I'm so worried about what's happening today,
In the Middle East, you know.
And I'm so worried about the baggage retrieval
System they've got at Heathrow.

I'm so worried about the fashoins today,
I don't think they're good for your feet.
And I'm so worried about the shows on TV
That sometimes they want to repeat.

I'm so worried about what's happening today,
In the Middle East, you know.
And I'm so worried about the baggage retrieval
System they've got at Heathrow.

I'm so worried about my hair falling out,
And the state of the world today.
And I'm so worried about being so full of doubt
About everything anyway.

I'm so worried about modern technology,
I'm so worried about all the things
That they dump in the sea.
I'm so worried about it, worried about it,
Worried, worried, worried.

I'm so worried about everything that can go wrong.
I'm so worried about whether people like this song.
I'm so worried about this very next verse,
It isn't the best that I've got.
And I'm so worried about whether I should go on
Or whether I shouldn't just stop.

I'm so worried about whether I ought to have stopped.
And I'm so worried because it's the sort of thing I ought to know.
And I'm so worried about the baggage retrieval
System they've got at Heathrow.

I'm so worried about whether I should have stopped then,
I'm so worried that I'm driving everyone round the bend.
And I'm so worried about the baggage retrieval
System they've got at Heathrow.


@SONG: Every Sperm Is Sacred

Dad: There are Jews in the world, there are Buddhists.
There are Hindus and Mormons and then,
There are those that follow Mohammud, BUT
I've never been one of them.

I'm a Roman Catholic,
And have been since before I was born,
And the one thing they say about Catholics
Is they'll take you as soon as you're warm.

You don't have to be a six footer,
You don't have to have a great brain,
You don't have to have any clothes on,
You're a Catholic the moment Dad came.

Because...

Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.

Children: Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.

Child: Let the heathen spill theirs
On the dusty ground,
God shall make them pay for
Each sperm that can't be found.

Children: Every sperm is wanted,
Every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed,
In your neighborhood.

Mum: Hindu, Taoist, Mormon,
Spill theirs just anywhere,
But God loves those who treat their
Semen with more care.

Men: Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
Women: If a sperm is wasted,
Children: God gets quite irate.

Priest: Every sperm is wanted,
Br. & Gr: Every sperm is good,
Nannies: Every sperm is needed,
Cardinal: In your neighborhood.

Children: Every sperm is useful,
Every sperm is fine,
Funeral: God needs everybody's,
Mourner1: Mine!
Mourner2: And mine!
Corpse: And mine!

Nun: Let the Pagan spill theirs,
O'er mountain, hill, and plain,
Statues: God shall strike them down for
Each sperm that's spilt in vain.

Everyone: Every sperm is wanted,
Every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed,
In your neighborhood.

Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.


@SONG: Never Be Rude to an Arab

Never be rude to an Arab,
An Israeli, or Saudi, or Jew,
Never be rude to an Irishman,
No matter what you do.

Never poke fun at a Nigger,
A Spik, or a Wop, or a Kraut,
And never put down...
(explosion!)


@SONG: I Like Chinese

Spoken: The world today seems absolutely crackers.
With nuclear bombs to blow us all sky high.
There are fools and idiots sitting on the trigger.
It's depressing, and it's senseless, and that's why...

Intro: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
They only come up to your knees,
Yet they're always friendly and they're ready to please.

Verse: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
There's nine hundred million of them in the world today,
You'd better learn to like them, that's what I say.

Chorus: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
They come from a long way overseas,
But they're cute and they're cuddly, and they're ready to please.

Verse: I like chinese food,
The waiters never are rude,
Think of the many things they've done to impress,
There's Maoism, Taoism, I Ching and chess.

Chorus: So I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
I like their tiny little trees,
Their Zen, their ping-pong, their
yin and yang-ese.

Verse: I like Chinese thought,
The wisdom that Confucious taught,
If Darwin is anything to shout about,
The Chinese will survive us all without any doubt.

Chorus: So I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
They only come up to your knees,
Yet they're wise and they're witty, and they're ready to please.

Verse: (in Chinese)

Chorus: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
Their food is guaranteed to please,
A fourteen, a seven, a nine and lychees.

Chorus: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
I like their tiny little trees,
Their Zen, their ping-pong, their yin and yang-ese.

Fade: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese...


@SONG: Eric the Half A Bee

Orchestra
Leader:A-one, two, a-one two three four

Leader: Half a bee, philisophically,
Must ipso facto half not be.
But half a bee has got to be
Vis a vis it's entity.
-d'you see?
But can a bee be said to be
Or not to be an entire bee,
When half the bee is not a bee,
Due to some ancient injury.
-Singing!...

All sing: La di di, one two three,
Eric the Half a Bee.
A B C D E F G,
Eric the Half a Bee.

Leader: Is this wretched demi-bee,
Half asleep upon my knee,
Some freak from a menagerie?

All yell: No! It's Eric the Half a Bee.

All sing: Fiddle di dum, fiddle di dee,
Eric the Half a Bee.
Ho ho ho, tee hee hee,
Eric the Half a Bee.

Leader: I love this hive employ-ee-ee,
Bisected accidentally,
One summer's afternoon by me,
I love him carnally.

All sing: He loves him carnally...

Leader: Semi-carnally.
(speaks)
The End.

Voice: Cyril Connolly?

Leader: No, semi-carnally.

Voice: Oh.

All sing: (Quietly)
Cyril Connolly
(Ends with an elaborate whistle)


@SONG: Brian Song

Brian...the babe they called Brian,
Grew...grew, grew and grew,
Grew up to be,
Grew up to be,
A boy called Brian,
A boy called Brian.

He had arms, and legs, and hands, and feet
This boy whose name was Brian,
And he grew, grew, grew and grew,
Grew up to be,
Yes he grew up to be,
A teenager called Brian,
A teenager called Brian.

And his face became spotty
Yes his face became spotty,
And his voice dropped down low,
And things started to grow,
On young Brian and so,
He was certainly no,
No girl named Brian,
Not a girl named Brian.

And he started to shave,
And have one off the wrist,
And want to see girls,
And go out and get pissed
A man called Brian.
This man called Brian.
The man they called Brian.
This man called Brian.


@SONG: Bruce's Philosophers Song

Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable,
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy begger
Who could think you under the table,
David Hume could out-consume,
Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel.
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates himself was permanently pissed.

John Stuart Mill, of his own free will
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say could stick it away,
Half a crate of whiskey everyday.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And Reni DesCartes was a drunken fart
"I drink, therefore I am."
Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed,
A lovely little thinker but a bugger when he's pissed.


@SONG: The Meaning of Life

Why are we here, what's life all about?
Is God really real, or is there some doubt?
Well tonight, we're going to sort it all out
For tonight it's the Meaning of Life.

What's the point of all this hoax?
Is it the chicken and the egg time,
Are we just yolks?
Or perhaps we're just one of God's little jokes.
Well ga c'est the Meaning of Life.

Is life just a game where we make up the rules,
While we're searching for something to say,
Or are we just simply spiralling coils,
Of self-replicating DNA?

In this life, what is our fate?
Is there Heaven and Hell? Do we reincarnate?
Is mankind evolving or is it too late?
Well tonight here's the Meaning of Life.

For millions this life is a sad vale of tears,
Sitting round with nothing to say,
While scientists say we're just spiralling coils,
Of self-replicating DNA.

So just why, why are we here?
And just what, what, what, what do we fear?
Well ge soir, for a change, it will all be made clear,
For this is the Meaning of Life
-c'est la sens de la vie,
This is the Meaning of Life.


@SONG: Knights of the Round Table

We're Knights of the Round Table,
We dance when ere we're able,
We do routines and chorus scenes
With footwork impeccable.

We dine well here in Camelot,
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot.

We're Knights of the Round Table,
Our show are formidable,
But many times, we're given rhymes
That are quite unsingable.

We're Opera mad in Camelot,
We sing from the diaphragm
a looooooot.

In war we're tough and able,
Quite indefatigable,
Between our quests we sequin vests,
And impersonate Clark Gable.

It's a busy life in Camelot,
I have to push the pram a lot.


@SONG: Decomposing Composers

Intro: Right ho, darling. Yeh, be home
(spoken) about 8:30. No, no I'll go on a
bike.

Verse: Beethoven's gone but his music lives on,
And Mozart don't go shoppin' no more,
You'll never meet Liszt or Brahms again,
And Elgar doesn't answer the door.

Sch|bert and Chopin used to chuckle and laugh,
Whilst composing a long symphony,
But one hundred and fifty years later,
There's very little of them left to see.

Chorus: They're decomposing composers,
There's nothing much anyone can do,
You can still hear Beethoven,
But Beethoven cannot hear you.

Verse: Hdndel and Haydn and Rachmaninov,
Enjoyed a nice drink with their meal,
But nowadays no-one will serve them,
And their gravy is left to congeal.

Verdi and Wagner delighted the crowds,
With their highly original sound,
The pianos they played are still working,
But they're both six feet underground.

Chorus: They're decomposing composers,
There's less of them every year,
You can say what you like to Debussy,
But there's not much of him left to hear.

Finish: Claude Achille Debussy, died 1918.
Christophe Willebaud Gluck, died 1787.
Carl Maria von Weber, not at all well
1825, died 1826. Giacomo Meyerbeer,
still alive 1863, not still alive 1864.
Modeste Mussorgsky, 1880 going to parties,
no fun anymore 1881. Johan Nepomuck
Hummel, chatting away nineteen to the
dozen with his mates down the pub every
evening 1836, 1837 nothing.


@SONG: All Things Dull and Ugly

All things dull and ugly,
All creatures short and squat,
All things rude and nasty,
The Lord God made the lot.

Each little snake that poisons,
Each little wasp that stings,
He made their brutish venom,
He made their horrid wings.

All things sick and cancerous,
All evil great and small,
All things foul and dangerous,
The Lord God made them all.

Each nasty little hornet,
Each beastly little squid,
Who made the spikey urchin,
Who made the sharks, He did.

All things scabbed and ulcerous,
All pox both great and small,
Putrid, foul and gangrenous,
The Lord God made them all.

AMEN.


@SONG: Two Legs

Intro: AND NOW MR. TERRY GILLIAM
WILL SING FOR YOU "I'VE GOT
TWO LEGS"

I've got two legs from my hips to the ground
And when I move them they walk around
And when I lift them they the stairs
And when I shave them they ain't got hairs

I've got two...


@SONG: Henry Kissenger

Henry Kissenger
How I'm missing yer,
You're the doctor of my dreams.
With your crinkly hair
And your glassy stare
And your Machiavellian schemes
I know they say that you are very vain
And short and fat and pushy
But at leats you're not insane.
Henry Kissenger
How I'm missing yer
And wishing you were here.

Henry Kissenger
How I'm missing yer
You're so chubby and so neat
With your funny clothes
And your squishy nose
You're like a German Par-o-quet.
All right so people say that you don't care
But you've got nicer legs than Hitler
And bigger tits that Cher
Henry Kissenger
How I'm missing yer
And wishing you were here.


@SONG: Christmas in Heaven

Spoken: GOOD EVENING LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. IT'S TRULY
A REAL HONORABLE EXPERIENCE TO BE HERE THIS EVENING.
A VERY WONDERFUL AND WARM AND EMOTIONAL MOMENT FOR
ALL OF US. AND I'D LIKE TO SING A SONG: FOR ALL OF
YOU.

It's Christmas in Heaven,
All the children sing,
It's Christmas in Heaven,
Hark hark those church bells ring.

It's Christmas in Heaven,
The snow falls from the sky...
But it's nice and warm and everyone
looks smart and wears a tie.

It's Christmas in Heaven,
There's great films on TV...
`The Sound of Music' twice an hour
And `Jaws' I, II, and III.

There's gifts for all the family,
There's toiletries and trains...
There's Sony Walkman Headphone sets
And the latest video games.

It's Christmas it's Christmas in Heaven!
Hip hip hip hip hip hooray!
Every single day,
Is Christmas day.

It's Christmas it's Christmas in Heaven!
Hip hip hip hip hip hooray!
Every single day,
It's Christmas day.


@SONG: Galaxy Song

Intro: WHENEVER LIFE GETS YOU DOWN, MRS BROWN,
AND THINGS SEEM HARD OR TOUGH, AND PEOPLE
ARE STUPID, OBNOXIOUS OR DAFT AND YOU FEEL
THAT YOU'VE HAD QUITE ENOUGH...

Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving,
And revolving at 900 miles an hour,
That's orbiting at 19 miles a second, so it's reckoned,
A sun that is the source of all our power.
The sun and you and me and all the stars that we can see,
Are moving at a million miles a day,
In an outer spiral arm at 40 000 miles an hour,
Of the Galaxy we call the Milky Way.

Our Galaxy itself contains 100 billion stars
It's 100 000 light years side to side.
It bulges in the middle, 16 000 light years thick,
But out by us it's just 3 000 light years wide.
We're 30 000 light years from galactic central point,
We go round every 200 million years
And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding Universe.

The Universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding,
In all of the directions it can whizz.
As fast as it can go, at the speed of light you know,
12 million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember when you're feeling very small and insecure
How amazingly unlikely is your birth,
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space,
Because there's bugger all down here on Earth.


@SONG: Spam

Lovely spam, wonderful spa-a-m,
Lovely spam, wonderful S Spam,
Spa-a-a-a-a-a-a-am,
Spa-a-a-a-a-a-a-am,
SPA-A-A-A-A-A-A-AM,
SPA-A-A-A-A-A-A-AM,
LOVELY SPAM, LOVELY SPAM,
LOVELY SPAM, LOVELY SPAM,
LOVELY SPA-A-A-A-AM...
SPA-AM, SPA-AM, SPA-AM, SPA-A-A-AM!

Dead Parrot skec by Monty Python

A customer enters a pet shop.

Customer: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.

(The owner does not respond.)

C: 'Ello, Miss?
Owner: What do you mean "miss"?
C: <pause> I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!
O: We're closin' for lunch.
C: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about this parrot what I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.
O: Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian Blue...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?
C: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with it!
O: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
C: Look, matey, I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
O: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue, idn'it, ay? Beautiful plumage!
C: The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.
O: Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!
C: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up! (shouting at the cage) 'Ello, Mister Polly Parrot! I've got a lovely fresh cuttle fish for you if you show...(owner hits the cage)
O: There, he moved!
C: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the cage!
O: I never!!
C: Yes, you did!
O: I never, never did anything...
C: (yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly) 'ELLO POLLY!!!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
(Takes parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on the counter. Throws it up in the air and watches it plummet to the floor.)
C: Now that's what I call a dead parrot.
O: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
C: STUNNED?!?
O: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Norwegian Blues stun easily, major.
C: Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not 'alf an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was
due to it bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.
O: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the fjords.
C: PININ' for the FJORDS?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im home?
O: The Norwegian Blue prefers kippin' on it's back! Remarkable bird, id'nit, squire? Lovely plumage!
C: Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its perch in the first place was that it had been NAILED there.

(pause)

O: Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed that bird down, it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent 'em apart with its beak, and VOOM! Feeweeweewee!
C: "VOOM"?!? Mate, this bird wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through it! 'E's bleedin' demised!
O: No no! 'E's pining!
C: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!

(pause)

O: Well, I'd better replace it, then.
(he takes a quick peek behind the counter)
O: Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and uh, we're right out of parrots.
C: I see. I see, I get the picture.
O: <pause> I got a slug.

(pause)

C: (sweet as sugar) Pray, does it talk?
O: Nnnnot really.
C: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?
O: Look, if you go to my brother's pet shop in Bolton, he'll replace the parrot for you.
C: Bolton, eh? Very well.

The customer leaves.

The customer enters the same pet shop. The owner is putting on a false moustache.

C: This is Bolton, is it?
O: (with a fake mustache) No, it's Ipswitch.
C: (looking at the camera) That's inter-city rail for you.

The customer goes to the train station.
He addresses a man standing behind a desk marked "Complaints".

C: I wish to complain, British-Railways Person.
Attendant: I DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS JOB, YOU KNOW!!!
C: I beg your pardon...?
A: I'm a qualified brain surgeon! I only do this job because I like being my own boss!
C: Excuse me, this is irrelevant, isn't it?
A: Yeah, well it's not easy to pad these python files out to 200 lines, you know.
C: Well, I wish to complain. I got on the Bolton train and found myself deposited here in Ipswitch.
A: No, this is Bolton.
C: (to the camera) The pet shop man's brother was lying!!
A: Can't blame British Rail for that.
C: In that case, I shall return to the pet shop!

He does.

C: I understand this IS Bolton.
O: (still with the fake mustache) Yes?
C: You told me it was Ipswitch!
O: ...It was a pun.
C: (pause) A PUN?!?
O: No, no...not a pun...What's that thing that spells the same backwards as forwards?
C: (Long pause) A palindrome...?
O: Yeah, that's it!
C: It's not a palindrome! The palindrome of "Bolton" would be "Notlob"!! It don't work!!
O: Well, what do you want?
C: I'm not prepared to pursue my line of inquiry any longer as I think this is getting too silly!

Sergeant-Major: Quite agree, quite agree, too silly, far too silly...

Burglar skec by Monty Python

(Scene : A front door of a flat. A man walks up to the door and rings bell. He is dressed smartly, like a Salesman.)

Salesman (E. Idle): Burglar! (longish pause while he waits, he rings again) Burglar! (woman appears at other side of door)

Woman (J.Cleese): Yes?

Salesman: Burglar, madam.

Woman: What do you want?

Salesman: I want to come in and steal a few firings, madam.

Woman: Are you an encydopaedia salesman?

Salesman: No madam, I'm a burglar, I burgle people.

Woman: I think you're an encydopaedia salesman.

Salesman: Oh I'm not, open the door, let me in please.

Woman: lf l let you in you'll sell me encyclopaedias.

Salesman: I won't, madam. I just want to come in and ransack the flat. Honestly.

Woman: Promise. No encyclopaedias?

Salesman: None at all.

Woman: All right. (she opens door) You'd better come in then.

(Salesman enters tit rough door.)

Salesman: Mind you I don't know whether you've really considered the advantages of owning a really fine set of modern encyclopaedias...(he pockets valuable) You know, they can really do you wonders.

(Cut back to man at desk.)

Man (M. Palin): That man was a successful encyclopaedia salesman. But not all encyclopaedia salesmen are successful. Here is an unsuccessful encyclopaedia salesman.

(Cut to very tall building; a body flies out of a high window and plummets. Cut back to man at desk.)

Man: Now here are two unsuccessful encyclopaedia salesmen.

(Cut to a different tall building; two bodies fly out of a high window. Cut back to man at desk.)

Man: I think there's a lesson there for all of us.

Text Pajtonovaca - When We Were Poor


Four well-dressed men sitting together at a vacation resort.

"Farewell to Thee" being played in the background on Hawaiian guitar.

Michael Palin: Ahh.. Very passable, this, very passable.

Graham Chapman: Nothing like a good glass of Chateau de Chassilier wine, ay Gessiah?

Terry Gilliam: You're right there Obediah.

Eric Idle: Who'd a thought thirty years ago we'd all be sittin' here drinking Chateau de Chassilier wine?

MP: Aye. In them days, we'd a' been glad to have the price of a cup of tea.

GC: A cup of COLD tea.

EI: Without milk or sugar.

TG: Or tea!

MP: In a filthy, cracked cup.

EI: We never used to have a cup. We used to have to drink out of a rolled up newspaper.

GC: The best WE could manage was to suck on a piece of damp cloth.

TG: But you know, we were happy in those days, though we were poor.

MP: Aye. BECAUSE we were poor. My old Dad used to say to me, "Money doesn't buy you happiness."

EI: 'E was right. I was happier then and I had NOTHIN'. We used to live in this tiiiny old house, with greaaaaat big holes in the roof.

GC: House? You were lucky to have a HOUSE! We used to live in one room, all hundred and twenty-six of us, no furniture. Half the floor was missing; we were all huddled together in one corner for fear of FALLING!

TG: You were lucky to have a ROOM! *We* used to have to live in a corridor!

MP: Ohhhh we used to DREAM of livin' in a corridor! Woulda' been a palace to us. We used to live in an old water tank on a rubbish tip. We got woken up every morning by having a load of rotting fish dumped all over us! House!? Hmph.

EI: Well when I say "house" it was only a hole in the ground covered by a piece of tarpolin, but it was a house to US.

GC: We were evicted from *our* hole in the ground; we had to go and live in a lake!

TG: You were lucky to have a LAKE! There were a hundred and sixty of us living in a small shoebox in the middle of the road.

MP: Cardboard box?

TG: Aye.

MP: You were lucky. We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at six o'clock in the morning, clean the bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down mill for fourteen hours a day week in-week out. When we got home, out Dad would thrash us to sleep with his belt!

GC: Luxury. We used to have to get out of the lake at three o'clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of hot gravel, go to work at the mill every day for tuppence a month, come home, and Dad would beat us around the head and neck with a broken bottle, if we were LUCKY!

TG: Well we had it tough. We used to have to get up out of the shoebox at twelve o'clock at night, and LICK the road clean with our tongues. We had half a handful of freezing cold gravel, worked twenty-four hours a day at the mill for fourpence every six years, and when we got home, our Dad would slice us in two with a bread knife.

EI: Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed, (pause for laughter), eat a lump of cold poison, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad would kill us, and dance about on our graves singing "Hallelujah."

MP: But you try and tell the young people today that... and they won't believe ya'.

ALL: Nope, nope...