mc5 - A Sticky End

Well, one brave lad named Galahad had never had a gal.

Not a Kathy or a Justine, not a Karen, Clare or Val

"Oh woe is me, I'll never be a proper man!", he'd wail

(Perpetually virginal and literal epic fail)

Pablo

So he rode forth one fatal day, with bottles of this potion

So he rode forth one fatal day, with bottles of this potion

(sorry, unintended repeat there...)

He sold it countrywide; it needed no promotion

Raak

[Rosie] Might he have marketed it instead?

(Raak) Yeah, OK. Better rhythm.

He plied the folk from Kent to Stoke with samples of his brew

And, no mistake, left in his wake was plenty "How d'Ye Do"

The Potters and the Kentish Men found all their cares had flown

And not just that, it seemed that several other things had grown

For hops, it seemed, grew everywhere, even in his garden

From these he brewed some dreadful stuff and sent it to Bin Laden.

To his flat in Abbottabad the package was delivered

It smelled like the bottom of a goat and feverishly quivered.

Bin Laden, macho to a fault, knocked it back in one