What with April peeking around the corner, desperate to blast us all away with Easter-based hilarity, let’s take a moment to enjoy the last day of March with a wonderful ditty.
Part-written in turn by Reuben, but mainly by me, let us present to you the marvel that is ‘Barry The Chinchilla’. If you can remember the ‘Woman in a Tabbard’ song from the Big Breakfast then you should sing it along to that tune.
Barry The Chinchilla
Barry the Chinchilla
He bought a big gorilla
Used to play for Aston Villa
(His) favourite colour is manilla
Likes to dance along to ‘Thriller’
Wrote a play with Arthur Miller
Once was flattened by a pillar
Was an extra in ‘Godzilla’
Drinking pints of sarsaparilla
(Poor old) Barry the Chinchilla
Wicked Audrey was his killer
Bumped him off with cordless driller
(Finished off by his gorilla)
Then she went after Priscilla
(No more) Barry the Chinchilla
Nor his sister, sweet Priscilla
14 comments on “Time for a Sing Song”
I can’t remember the “Woman in a Tabard” song from the Big Breakfast – or rather, I remember it existed but I can’t remember how it went.
But it is a testament to the sheer power of these lyrics that they still elevated my soul and touched me in an important place.
In misty, rainy times such as these we all need a bit of a lift, and even though Audrey did an unspeakable act it did turn into a remarkable piece of music.
I had no idea Audrey was such a dangerous woman with such a penchant for inflicting damage with DIY tools. I am going to eye her with great suspicion next time I see her.
She did so without realising the “hilarous” coincidence that the tool with which she was using rhymed with the type of animal, and also the main character’s sister’s name, she was due to relinquish the life of.
Tragic but funny but tragic, like a lofty marmot.
Or a squirrel with AIDS
You always have to lower the tone. Don’t you have some door handles that need polishing?
Yeah. Go buff your brickwork, Hill, and come back when you’ve got something nice to say.
Or a whale with dysentery?
Are you deliberately saying horrible things to bring more attention to the website? That’s not the kind of publicity we want. I mean I could pull off a duck-billed platypus but you don’t see me doing it, do you?
Why can you not bring light and happiness to the world, Kev? Why always the sordid and the unpleasant?
It makes me sad. For while you may have immaculately wallpapered skirting boards, you can bring us nothing but maudlin wildlife.
His impeccable house sings like a nightingale yet his soul cries like a squashed elk by the side of the road, suffering untreatable wounds.
Why, Kev, why?
I think it because deep down I feel like a lark that’s had its wings clipped, and now sits glumly at the bottom of his cage waiting for death.
Or… That’s a lie.
A lie is as good as a truth in my book.
It depends how large the lie is, and whether it has a fib as a door handle.