we were on the isles of scilly where the gardens are so
pretty and two thousand drunkards clinging to a rock.
there, we found a little niche out there on st. martins
beach and we had ourselves a party that didn’t stop.
there were people having s-x, new age way with mobile
text, they were looking all around for new blood.
there were young ones and old ones and even comatose
ones, they’d gobble us for breakfast if they could.
and there was hubbadillia.
there was young angus mcchuff who got into a real huff
and he tried to burn the party to the ground.
though i don’t say i can blame him but we really had to
tame him, if i didn’t i don’t think we’d be around.
to sing hubbadillia.
in the morning came the chorus and no one could ignore
us for the island was awoken to the sound.
and although the party’s flagging and the people are
all sagging, everyone is jumping all around.