Just A Titled Commoner

Sir Clifton Wubb—
I'm tired of lords and ladies
And I wish that they'd all go to Hades
They've got so much more than me.

I'm tired of meeting judges
And the reason for my simple grudge is
I'm just a common Q.C.

I hate my social standing
For though I'm always polite
No lord likes to be seen standing
With a common Knight.

I'm tired of morning teas
Can't balance cups upon my knobbly knees
I'm just a common Q.C.

I'm- tired giving addresses
In honour of brilliant soldiers or professors
They've got so much more than me.

I'm tired of Varsities
For none of them will give me honorary degrees
I'm just a common Q.C.

I hate the lawn at Ascot
With all its regal tone
For though I don't think I'm a gass-pot
I always walk alone.

I'm tired of all State luncheons
For I hear people saying "see that bumpkin?"
He's just a common Q.C.

Anthem

Chorus—
There'll always be New Zealand where hotels close at six,
Wherever parties go on all night
Where gin and beer are mixed
There'll always be New Zealand
While there's a TAB
Reveal the spirit of our men,
Who worship the gee-gee.
The Football field
Inspired our men of old
Players who gave our land a name, none dare defame.

Our Parliament
Millions of quid are spent
Betting on hacks
Cash that it lacks
Gathered by tax
There'll always be New Zealand
The Reds across the sea
While Sidney rules this land you'll see
All teeth and pills are free.
The Whisky flowing free.

The Tories Flag

Chorus—
The Tories flag is brightest blue,
It costs a quid so buy a few,
With workers kept beneath our thumb,
It represents unearned income.

Then raise the purple banner high,
Our profits soon will reach the sky,
Though slaves revolt and labour rants,
We're the boss and we wear the pants.

Teddy Boys' Picnic

Crooks—
We are the local Teddy Boys
In Wellington we're rife
And in our pockets you will find
A bike chain or a knife.
Floridee, etc.
A bike chain or a knife.

If you go round the town today, you're due for a big surprise
For there we are in a fine array, all milling around like flies
We're there for everyone to see, dressed like beaus of Regency,
And in and out we strut about like peacocks.

Chorus—
People call us Teddy Boys,
What's in a name, they'd smell the same if they were Teddy Boys
Though some think our clothes are odd
They must declare we wave our hair like any Grecian god,
And we just like simple joys
For we've been simple all our very simple lives
With razors, chains, coshes and knives
We're children playing with toys,
For we are childish Teddy Boys.

Turning Over Nicely

Sid—
The girl that I marry will have to be
A perfect mechanical entity
The girl I call my own
Will be radioactive and smell of ozone.
Her dome will be polished.
Her torso square
And highly resistant to wear and tear
With her motor ticking steady
When I want her she'll always be ready
I won't have to please her
Just oil her and grease her
Each day.

Sixteen in the Pound

Workers—
The law says a man must pay up his whack
If he's earned ten bob then some must be taxed,
You're health costs a lot so pay up and smile
If you want to wake up that old liver bile.

Chorus—
You take the Tee Ay Bee, what do they pay
If the favourite comes home then nothing but hay,
Sir Sidney don't call me because of these facts,
We owe our dough to the Income Tax.

Workers—
I was born one day in a hospital bed
The nurse came along from the Plunket, she said
Its time for your meal but before you dine
You get a stiff shot of our number nine.

Chorus—
You take the Tee Ay Bee etc.

Of Cleanliness and Godliness

Chorus—
Land of soap and water
Father's washing his feet,
Mother's painting her toenails
And singing the baby to sleep.

Grandma's pressing her nightdress
Young Sue's in the family way
The whole place is now a right mess
Oh what a glorious lay.

The whole place is now in aright mess
Oh what a glorious day.

This is us Going

Sid—
Politics no longer give me a thrill
In fact they make me ill.

Wol—
Me too.

Sid—
I'm sick and tired of papers misreporting me
Cartoons distorting me.

Wol—
Me too.

Sid—
I'd much prefer to lead a private life again
I'd be so happy then.

Wol—
Me too.

Sid—
Winston Churchill did it, why not me?

Wol—
I'd prefer to follow Clem Attlee
I have never felt well in Bellamy's
Acid drops and milk-shakes both makes me. wheeze
I prefer the Valley air
The wholesome smell of Strand Park
It's a perfect haven there
Especially just after dark.

Sid—
I have got all I want in Canterbury
Sitting around on my chuff's the stuff for me
I'm a vulture
For agriculture
A cocky's life's my desire.

Both—
Oh, how pleasant 'twould be if we retire.

You Heard Us—over

Chorus—
Extravaganza now is over;
Extravaganza now is done;
And whoever you may be,
We really hope you will agree,
That this years Extravaganza has been fun.

Extravaganza now is over;
Extravaganza '56
And we hope it won't be deemed
A sin, if now and then we seemed
To behaving like a pack of lunatics.

Extravaganza now is over;
We're sorry you found the show so dear;
If you think you're out of pocket,
Why not take the seat and hock it,
But be sure to get it back for us next year.

More Concerned

Hand. Props :
ROSS RUSSELL

Call Boys:
Beverley Major
Jane Oliver

Acknowledgements:
Witcombe and Caldwell, The Sports Depot.
Pallo Engineering.
Mr. J. McKenna for his help in staging.
Mr. W. Conroy for scene painting.
Production Services for advertising.

Make-up Controller:
John Treadwell

Chief Make-up Assistant:
Burnett Ross
assisted by a Adrian Sirett and a large galaxy of
Flesh Painters