lirik lagu monty python – cocktail bar
john: …except for a half sister, who was obsessed
with vanadium. rigged the market, made a cool forty
million, paid off the lord mayor, and put the lot into
diesel powered nuns.
terry j: which is where it went wrong, eh…
michael: exactly!
terry j: p-ss the beernuts.
john: oh he hasn’t killed himself yet.
terry j: he hasn’t?
john: oh no, waiting to april the 5th.
michael: some sort of tax dodge.
graham: good evening, sir.
john: evening, tom.
terry j: evening, harry.
michael: evening, maurice.
graham: well, what’s it to be, sir?
john: a mark.
terry j: oh, one of your specials please, harry.
john: one special please, sir.
graham: one special coming up.
john: so see what’s in page eight. nixon’s had an
-rs-hole transplant.
michael: well, have you’ve…eh…you’ve seen the stop
press though? the -rs-hole’s rejected him.
graham: ehm…would you like a twist of lemming, sir?
terry j: uh, yes please, harry.
(squeak, squeak, squeak)
graham: bit more, sir?
terry j: oh, just a squeeze.
(squeak, squeak, squeak)
graham: there you are, sir
terry j: thank you.
john: alex, what’ll you have?
michael: oh, aaaaaah, mallard fizz for me, please,
maurice.
graham: ok, sir, one mallard fizz coming up.
michael: jolly good.
terry j: how about old cohen barkley?
john: eh?
terry j: [???? ???? ????. ??? ??? ?????? switched the
wood preservertives into vinaigre. sold the bottles
right next to [???].
(quaaack, quaaack, quaaack)
terry j: smart fellow’s always gonna do well. nice
bloke, said i [?????????]
michael: funny looking chap, you know. b-ttocks bent
the wrong way. [??????????] every time he sat down he
fell over. ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. ha, ha, ha. don’t make
me laugh.
terry j: well, cheers then.
graham: cheers, sir
(retching)
john: eh, for me…ehm…a harlem stinger, please, tom.
graham: okay, sir. rastus!
rastus: here, boss.
graham: one harlem stinger.
rastus: one stinger coming raaaahhhhht up.
(gurgling, retching)
michael: cheers, old boy.
everyone: cheers, all the best.
(running to the lavatory)
john: eh, how much is that then, tom?
graham: one pound and forty p, sir.
john: would you care to join us?
graham: oh, no, thank you, sir.
john: there we are, keep the change.
graham: thank you, sir.
john: good health.
graham: cheers.
(drinking. running to the lavatory, regurgitating)
terry j: same again, please, harry.
go easy on the lemming, harry.
graham: okay, sir. there you are, sir. eh…same again
for you, sir?
michael: just a small one, maurice.
graham: okay, sir.
michael: maurice?
graham: yes, sir?
michael: you haven’t got something a little
less…eh…ducky, have you?
graham: what do you mean, something without the
mallard, sir? how about a dog t-rd and tonic?
michael: uurgh!
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