Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. In fact, I'm not really sure who does
(not counting the Discworld characters, prop. Pterry)
To the tune of "The Tide is High" by Blondie. Try to imagine a really inebriated brass band in the background.
The odds are high, but I'm not convinced,
That we all won't wind up minced,
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast.
Hells, no.
This is my life, we're talking about
So forgive me if I pout
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast.
Hells, no.
The odds are high, but I'm not convinced,
That we all won't wind up minced,
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast
Hells, no.
The odds are high, but I'm not convinced,
That we all won't wind up minced,
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast.
Hells, no.
This is my life, we're talking about
So forgive me if I pout
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast.
Hells, no.
The odds are high, but I'm not convinced,
That we all won't wind up minced,
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast
Hells, no.
'Ad lib till end of song?' What the hell does that mean? I MAKE UP STUFF? Gods, who the hells came up with this. I like that effect the band has from six margaritas apiece, though. Twoflower, wake up Pretty Butterfly, and Eric, they've fallen asleep. Okay,
FROM THE TOP!
To the tune of "The Tide is High" by Blondie. Try to imagine a really inebriated brass band in the background.
The odds are high, but I'm not convinced,
That we all won't wind up minced,
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast.
Hells, no.
This is my life, we're talking about
So forgive me if I pout
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast.
Hells, no.
The odds are high, but I'm not convinced,
That we all won't wind up minced,
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast
Hells, no.
The odds are high, but I'm not convinced,
That we all won't wind up minced,
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast.
Hells, no.
This is my life, we're talking about
So forgive me if I pout
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast.
Hells, no.
The odds are high, but I'm not convinced,
That we all won't wind up minced,
I'm not the sort of chap to make decisions real fast
Hells, no.
'Ad lib till end of song?' What the hell does that mean? I MAKE UP STUFF? Gods, who the hells came up with this. I like that effect the band has from six margaritas apiece, though. Twoflower, wake up Pretty Butterfly, and Eric, they've fallen asleep. Okay,
FROM THE TOP!
