Parliament Song

This ole house is getting shaky
This ole house is collecting mould
This old house just groans and trembles
And the members get so old,
This ole house is a getting feeble;
Just like Him it's had its day.
It's a getting ready to meet its fate.

The script writers wish to thank Misses Barbara Haldane, Jo Hirsh Beal, and Shona Gale for valuable secretarial work.

Chorus
Ain't gonna need this house no longer
Ain't gonna need this house no more
Ain't got time to fix the members
Ain't got time to lock the door
Ain't got time to oil the voters
Nor to fill no empty seats
Ain't gonna need this house no longer
It's a getting ready to meet its fate.
This old fate.

This ole house is afraid of critics.
This ole house is afraid of facts
This ole house wants home and comfort
Rather than to face the axe.
This ole house was once quite useful
This ole house once did much good
Now it seems to be unable
To sort the trees out from the wood.

A Song for Secretaries

Typists sing
We're cabinet's private secretariat,
We're the only ones to whom they can dictate,
But some honourable members we won't name
Have intentions that aren't quite the same;
Beware of the sofa bureaucrat.

We're Cabinet's private secretariat,
We're the only ones to whom they can dictate,
But in the long run we are out of luck,
Only pass they make is to pass the buck
Or starts talking through his Homburg hat.

Yes sir, we are the wenches
Whom the front Treasury benches
Occasionally like to pinch and pat,
But stenographers recognise the type,
Give him onions when he hands out tripe,
But the next general election will provide a new selection in Parliament....

A Song for Parliamentarians

Division bells, division bells
Ringing all the day,
Oh! what, fun in Bellamy's
Till they call us away.

Division bells, division bells
Sound their reveille,
We drop our cues
And leave our booze,
We dare not disobey.

Verse
Intent on comic strips
We utter pointless quips
Mouths filled with acid drips,
Pull faces at the whips,
Such lovely fun and games,
We call each other names,
Each one the other blames,
All day ad nauseames.

Chorus
Division belle, division bells,
Keep us up at night,
Oh how tiresome it can get
When Opposition's fight.
Please take them away,
If they were silent
We could stay
In Bellamy's all day.

Delinquent's Song

We're too darn young,
We're too darn young,
We should be good, but we want to be bad,
Do what we should but we want to be bad,
That's why there's much more fun to be had,
But we're too darn young.

Another Song For Parliamentarians

Some think an M.P.'s life all skittles and beer,
Some think an M.P.'s life a holiday mere,
'When people ask about the life that we lead
There's one thing on which we are all agreed.

Never, never be an M.P.
If you value your self-respect;
Never, never he an M.P.
Compromising your intellect;

Never, never be an M.P.
If you don't like stress and strife;
Never, never be an M.P.
Unless.
You want to have a horrible life
Unless,
You want to have a horrible life.

You can think what you please,
Drink what you please,
Or hoodwink what you please,
You can taste what you please,
Waste what you please,
Play what you please.

You can do anything but say what you please.

You can wake when you please,
Sleep, laugh, weep, laze or be spree
When you please.

Or speak in Address-in-Reply when you please.

Never, never be an M.P.
If you think you can make one cent
Never, never be an M.P.
If you've no one to pay the rent,
Never, never be an M.P.
Haunted by election year,
Never, never be an M.P.
Unless
You want to have a chequered career,
Unless
You want to have a chequered career.

Finale

Barani—
Yes, I'm the Sheik,
My outlook's bleak,
I've been done the dirty
By that Plato Greek.
And I had to leave behind my harem dolls,
So I think I'll catch a plane back home tonight.
I'll start out early, N
And soon I'll be back in my own home tent,
Then grab a girlie,
And observe the ancient customs of the or-i-ent.

Narobi—
Though not in movies
I've got the goods,
I drove the vicar into the woods,
The ecumenic
Went schizophrenic
To meet Narobi.

Miss Lovebody—
I've got all the gen on handling men,
At least I thought so,
1920 styles.
Though you thought, "Good Heavens! What
Where I was taught no
A girl will now say yes
If she's in distress
Says she, "O what fun, daddy's got a new shotgun."

Sid—
I have made many stupendous blunders,
Should have been sacked but just in the last act
It turns out in the end,
That I'm everyone's friend
Yes, I'm really, I'm really

All—
Yes, he's really, he's really, etc. etc.
Yes he's really, he's really, etc., etc.
Yes, he's really a wonderful guy.

Final Chorus

Sid—
Everything that happens in the year
Is lampooned in Extrav.
We have lots of fun guying everyone,
We hope you liked it too—we have.

All—
If Sid seemed to fail,
And his bids

For the oil
Were all foiled by a goil
It was all of the kind that you'd call
Extravaganza.

This type of political tripe
Has the ring of the genuine thing
As you know from your own radio
Extravaganza.

The plot isn't hot,
And it's quite oversexed,
The gags seem to drag
At the slightest pretext,
Though you thought, "Good Heavens! What next?"

As we sing this finale we hope it was up your alley.

A show that is really a show
Sends you out with a kind of a glow,
And the cause
And the cause
Of your thund'rous applause
Extravaganza.