Page Number Three

Last week (Jan 2015) in the UK there was a media hype going on about Page Three of the famous tabloid The Sun. Since I was looking for a subject to write a funny song, that was a welcome topic in today’s news. Here’s the result with a big thank you to Mary Fitzpatrick for reviewing the lyrics and giving me great inspiring input.

Here’s the melody for now.

      

Lyrics

The other day my cat came home
As dirty as can be
So I cleaned her in the toilet
With some shampoo helping me
But I ran out of paper
I admit I’m not so deft
Thank God my good old neighbour
Had some people’s paper left

Chorus:
There’s a low wintry Sun
Far too cold to comfort me
I have no place to run
But the fancy of Page Three!
When the top of the best
Is less covered than the rest
One and Two are not for me
All I long for is Page Number Three!

2. Me neighbour bought a donkey
At the fair of Ballinasloe
He took it home to pull his cart
But how, he didn’t know
So I went out to lend a hand
And spied a pretty lass
As he took the front page off The Sun
To proudly wipe his ass!

Chorus

3. Me neighbour is a Muslim
And he isn’t very strict
He loves The Sun and tells us
Wondrous stories that depict
The beauty of the mountains
And the tragedies of war
To see Page Three he joked to me
He left his country for!

Chorus

4. But then one day they covered up
The beauties of Page Three
The maids still took me breath away
But boobs I couldn’t see
Me neighbour knocked bewildered
On me door in full despair
He said he’d never buy The Sun
For just her golden hair

5. Now my response to his complaint
Was not the best to say
I said “well, this is Ireland
We’re not like the UK.
We cover up a lot of things
Of obscenities we beware
That’s why the maids in The Irish Sun
Have a niminy-piminy air”

Chorus

6. Me neighbour’s wife stepped next to him
And to me she did say
My husband is so true to me
He loves me every day
The pretty girls are his delight
He never reads the news
The sight keeps up the memories
Of the days I was his muse

7. The din the conversation made
Was heard by my dear wife
She stepped up to us at the door
And then began the strife
She said: “These breasts are silicone
For sure they are unreal
The surgeon’s handiwork’s a scorn
Degrades our sex appeal!”

8. Says my dear neighbour’s wife to mine:
“Dear madam no distress
It stirs my husbands fantasy
For what’s inside my dress
If Murdoch pays his maids for this
I deem it is no crime
Here’s my advice when you undress
Switch off the light in time!”

Chorus

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