Don't slip on loose muesli,
don't drink and sleep on a scree,
hang back clergy on a clifftop,
don't let your children run free.
This is a beautiful story about a little lady called Carol-Anne.
Now Carol-Anne was doing all right,
and she topped up her benefit money with
some work as a magician's assistant.
That's right but it all went horridly wrong
when the amazing Mr Potty was sent to jail,
and understandably poor Carol-Anne turned once again to gin.
So one day in a drunked stupor and depressed,
she took her young son Franky to the edge of a cliff,
overlooking the Vale of Pickering,
and for a while the enjoyed the view together.
But where was Franky?
Let me tell you.
Earlier that day a young clergyman came to
the self same spot to have his breakfast,
and remembering a sermon by Sir Harry Seacombe,
his arm involentary jerked forward,
and spilled loose muesli here, on this cliff top.
Now little Franky approached the cliff edge cautiously,
but the soles of his brothel creepers were to thick to
sense the loose muesli below his feet,
he lost his grip, he began to fall,
that's right, the winds took him away by blowing his
little Elvis Presley costume over the edge of the cliff.
He had no time to cry out.
But ladies and gentleman,
let me tell you, if he had have done,
this is what he would have said:
Don't slip on loose muesli,
don't drink and sleep on a scree,
take care clergy on a cliff top,
don't let your children run free.
Carol-Anne kept on boozing,
didn't hear a word we said,
got drunk on a clifftop,
now little Elvis is dead.
Don't blame the clergyman,
for leaving muesli on a mountain,
the blame lies with Carol-Anne,
she just lay back boozing.
