Songs from Miscellaneous songs

Donkey song

My donkey, he don’t like his pancakes sweet,
my donkey, he don’t like his teatime treats,
my donkley likes it savoury,
he likes his faggots and gravy,
my donkey, he don’t like his pancakes sweet.

View Donkey song

From a BBC documentary

Lucky Carpet

Could this be true?
A lucky carpet!

It’s my lucky carpet,
let me tell how it started.

Where did you get it Vic?
I bought it in a market.

Who from?
From a bloke who sells carpets.

It’s my underfelted lucky charm,
it’s got a lot more luck than a lucky farm,
and if we were ever parted,
I would be broken hearted.
Lucky, lucky carpet,
lucky, lucky carpet,
lucky, lucky carpet.

View Lucky Carpet

From Vic Reeves Big Night Out


Uh, uh
Uh, uh

Baby help me lay
Help me get this laid
I’m the prince of mince
On the floor tonight
Here comes the motherlode
And I’m gonna lay down ya
Comin’ down my chute fresh
You know what I’m sayin’
You know what I’m layin’
Uh, uh

Mud on the tracks not up my back
Kids doin’ cack this neighbourhood’s wack
But I’m back
Manmud givin’ it slack to the back
In the pan
I’m your man
I’m layin’ flan
Rippin’ up my ass off to give you what’s due
It’s poo
I’m blue in the face
It’s the place to lay
I’m not gay
I push it out nice
In it’s a sin
I don’t give in
I’m a pusher
The pusher man
In the can
Layin’ low
It’s the only way I know
MC Manmud layin’ his paste and no haste
No waste
Lay lady lay


Lady lay
Lay it my way all day
Pump up the volume
Dump up the volume
Lay it on the leather
Whatever the weather
In my car in the back seat
Lay your meat
That’s sweet
It’s a treat
Can’t be beat
Full of wheat
MC Manmud treats ya right
Takin’ your shite serious
Pull MC your banger
Your cliff-hanger
Ooh baby that’s a wang-danger
Lay lady lay


MC Manmud layin’ mud on the tracks
I’ll be back
I don’t need no lax
I’m pumpin’ my mud to the max
Quack quack goes my ass
No tax no wax
Just plain manmud
It’s a fact
From my crack
Black compact nutty slack
MC Manmud the prince of mince
Layin’ down the motherlode
Lay lady lay


View Manmud

Performed on Radio 1’s Cock of the Wood

The Evil Bull

Oh no! A volcano has erupted in my mansion!

Whoosh goes the lava, all over me shirt,
and it all slops down with leering vengeance,
hot and sticky and horrible and runny,
and the thick black smoke spews up in the air.

Through this dimness a spectre emerges,
it’s a great big bull with a horrible head,
and his eyes bug out and his lips is curled,
with two metal horns and high-heeled shoes,

Yin yin yin,
yin yin yin.

He emits the awful belch of wrath,
he emerges from the ground and he begins to shriek,
well he is big and brassy with golden legs,
I must fight this devil before he steals my eggs.

Yin yin yin,
yin yin yin,
yin yin yin,
yin yin yin.

There is uproar in my mind and uproar in my lounge,
and my seventeen babies begin to howl,
then he beckons to me and he bids me hark,
oh he’s horrible, demonic and he starts to spit.

I am the bull of death,
have I got a prize for you sir,
I am the bull of death,
have I got a prize for you sir.

Well I couldn’t resist so I clumped him with me shovel,
and that spelled one thing, i.e. trouble,
it didn’t make him froth and it never made him whistle,
why he merely tittered and began to sing, he said;

Yin yin yin,
I am not thin,
Yin yin yin,
I am not thin.

Then I wrestled with him, I wrestled him I say,
I stuck the boot in and he stuck his hoof in,
My, how I struggled against his talons of destruction,
And then the beast said;

Come with me to Paris,
why not come with me to Paris,
come with me to Paris,
come with me to Paris.

Off then I trekked, into the hell-hole,
lookin‘ like a nutter and feelin’ kind of dreamy,
I got to Paris, I had a look about,
I watched the telly, I ate some jelly,
I listened to the rumble in me big fat belly,
I donned my bonnet and I lit up my pipe,
At last I was a bull so I began to hum, I said;

Yin yin yin I am not thin,
Yin yin yin I am not thin.

View The Evil Bull

Performed on Radio 1


I know a place.
I know a place in a foreign land, name of Belgium.
The water stinks,
But the people think,
They think that it doesn’t.
They think that it doesn’t,
But it does,
I’m telling you, it stinks.

The feelings are gone,
It means nothing to you,
It means nothing to me.
This means nothing to me.
Oh, Vienna!

Hitler dwelt in this land,
And Van Morrisson was born here.
The Belgian police are very, very kind,
And invented the waltzers.
And the Belgian people spend all day drinking port.

So the feelings are gone,
It means nothing to me,
It means nothing to I.
Well, this means nothing to I.
Oh, Vienna!

Hello, hello, my Belgian friends.
Let us now make amends.
We English do not blame you,
For the destruction of the rest of Europe.
A difference, yes, In tongue and dress.
But a smile of the face of the Belgian police,
As they injure me and me family,
Injure me and me family.
My cup overflows with Viennese gin,
And I signal for more and the waiter arrives,
With a fox, with a fox,
In a cardboard box.
‘What is this?’, I cry.
Well, they weep, they weep,
But they never sleep.
The Belgian police, the Belgian police.
They weep, they weep,
But they never sleep,
Cos of the noise of the trains.
And hello, Sue, have you talked to ***.

View Vienna

From NME’s Ruby Trax LP

comments powered by Disqus