Mary Hopkin circa 1972... Those were the pants, my friends We thought they'd never end We'd sing and dance for ever and a day Sing of the life we'd chose We'd thought we'd never lose Those were the pants Oh yes those were the pants
To sum up: your father, whom you love, dies, you are his heir, you come back to find that hardly was the corpse cold before his younger brother popped onto his throne and into his pants, thereby offending both legal and natural practice. [Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead]
And your listeners will realize, John, that the size of my pants, and you'll find that Gordon Brown agrees with me on this in thought, word, deed, and measurements, is well beyond, and I make no apologies for this and see no reason why I or any member of the Cabinet should!