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Garden party held today |
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Invites call the debs to play |
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Social climbers polish ladders |
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Wayward sons again have fathers |
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Hello, Dad, hello, dad |
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Edgy eggs and queuing cumbers |
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Rudely wakened from their slumbers |
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Time has come again for slaughter |
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O on the lawns by still Cam waters |
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A slaughter, it's a slaughter |
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Champagne corks are firing at the sun again |
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Swooping swallows chased by violins again |
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Straafed by Strauss they sulk in crumbling eaves again |
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Oh God not again |
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Aperitifs consumed en masse |
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Display their owners on the grass |
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Couples loiter in the cloisters |
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social leeches quoting Chaucer |
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Doctor's son a parson's daughter |
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W where why not and should they oughta |
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Please don't lie upon the grass |
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Unless accompanied by a fellow |
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May I be so bold as to perhaps suggest Othello |
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Punting on the Cam is jolly fun they say |
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Beagling on the downs, oh please do come they say |
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Rugger is the tops, a game for men they say |
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I'm punting, I'm beagling, I'm wining, reclining, I'm rucking, I'm fucking |
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So welcome, it's a party |
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Angie chalks another blue |
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Mother smiles she did it too |
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Chitters chat and gossips lash |
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Posers pose, pressmen flash |
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Smiles polluted with false charm, locking on to Royal arms |
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Society columns now ensured, returns to mingle with the crowds |
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Oh what a crowd |
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Punting on the Cam, oh please do come they say |
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Beagling on the downs, oh please so come they say |
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Garden party held today they say |
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Oh please do come, oh please do come, they say. |
