Record Damages Side A by Private Eye Magazine Lyrics
Sidney: G'morning! This is Sidney (?) saying g'morning for Radio Neasden. Blimey! Well, got a great load this morning, with great music from The Spinners, The Twisters and the Neasden Radio Orchestra. But first, let me introduce my guest, a man with strong views and a wide variety of topics, Jean-Marie Le Pen.
Le Pen: Bonjour, Monsieur (?), wonderful to be here on your oh so beautiful Neasden.
Sidney: Cor. Let's face this Jean, you've got a bit of a reputation for being a raging fascist, haven't you?
Le Pen: Oh (?), no, I'm, how you say, uh, gratin (?) of your Madam Thatcher, in her drive to rid your country of the (?), the socially scum like Kinnock, a (?) noir as we say in our country.
Sidney: Ooh, (?). Well, thanks for that Jean, we'll take a break, now stay tuned to Radio Neasden broadcasting on 94 kay-aitch-zed.
Le Pen: Oh, thank you, Sidney.
Sidney: Oh, (?)
Ad Narrator: A love story you will never forget, based on the bestselling romantic novel by famous authoress Sylvie Krin:
"Air of Sorrows": the heartbreaking tale of a future king and his passionate young wife.
Neil Kinnock: Darling, I, I feel there's something coming between us. Erm, look, is there someone else? I said is there someone else?
Gladys Kinnock: Er, yah, it's Michael Jackson.
Neil Kinnock: I- I don't think I've met him, have I?
Ad Narrator: ..."Air of Sorrows". The story that will pluck the heartstrings and have you reaching for the sick-bag.
Star Ad Narrator: Saucy, raunchy, provocative, bonking, steamy, yes, it's the Daily Star, here's what proprietor Lord Stevens has to say about Britain's bestselling new porn mag:
Stevens: Oh, it's great - oh, an' tits - [gibberish] - only fifteen years old - [gibberish]
Sidney: Whoar blimey, what about that then? All over the newspapers, (?) for -ooh- 75 years, or I've never known nothing like it. Well, nearly time for The Spinners again, but first, we go over live to the high court to hear the judges sum it up in the case of Mr. Jeffrey Arch-creep versus the Daily Smut.
Judge: Is it likely, we have to ask ourselves, that a man with such a distinguished record in two world wars, furthermore a man who plays squash everyday, would wish to seek in the still hours of the morning the dubious solace of cold, joyless, rubber-insulated, double-glazed intercourse, in a room no larger than a man's hat? With rats and bats crawling through the (?), gibbering their horrid message of despair unto the nations of (?)? If you think this is possible, then think again, if you will, to the vision which came upon us in this courtroom only three days ago, as we gazed in wonder at the miracle which glowed in this Winter's box? Was she not called Mary, like unto the mother of our Lord? Did we not sense the odour of sanctity, an unearthly fragrance in the courtroom that day? Like the Spring-flowers in the veil of Hebron, which as you may remember ladies and gentlemen of the jury, are particularly gorgeous at this season of the year. Is it even remotely conceivable, I ask you, that such a paragon of womanhood would live with such a creep, (?), pray, strike that from your memory, but, not completely - would anyone who had the good fortune to have wedded and bedded this fairest of the fair, this gorgeous, pouting, whoa that scorcher - pray, open the window Mister usher, I feel quite overcome - the very thought of being in the same room with her rustling underwear, concealing the full flower of her womanhood, as you may think, ladies and gentlemen of the ju...ry... where was I? Oh yes. We now come to what you might think should be regarded as the core of the case for the defense, Adam (?) says, sod, damn (mumbling) 2001 pounds at Victoria station, for (?), why not, fuck it, (mumbling) - nevermind. It is not within my powers to advise you on the sum of money to be awarded to Mr. Archer - should you so award - but when you do, you must summon into your mind not only the Olympic sprinter and former Prime Minister Mr. Archer himself, but above all, the ethereal, one might almost say, angelic figure of his poor, wrongéd, wife. About half a million, I would say. Finally, brethren, I beseech you to ponder upon these things in your hearts, and retire to find Mr. Archer innocent.
Le Pen: Bonjour, Monsieur (?), wonderful to be here on your oh so beautiful Neasden.
Sidney: Cor. Let's face this Jean, you've got a bit of a reputation for being a raging fascist, haven't you?
Le Pen: Oh (?), no, I'm, how you say, uh, gratin (?) of your Madam Thatcher, in her drive to rid your country of the (?), the socially scum like Kinnock, a (?) noir as we say in our country.
Sidney: Ooh, (?). Well, thanks for that Jean, we'll take a break, now stay tuned to Radio Neasden broadcasting on 94 kay-aitch-zed.
Le Pen: Oh, thank you, Sidney.
Sidney: Oh, (?)
Ad Narrator: A love story you will never forget, based on the bestselling romantic novel by famous authoress Sylvie Krin:
"Air of Sorrows": the heartbreaking tale of a future king and his passionate young wife.
Neil Kinnock: Darling, I, I feel there's something coming between us. Erm, look, is there someone else? I said is there someone else?
Gladys Kinnock: Er, yah, it's Michael Jackson.
Neil Kinnock: I- I don't think I've met him, have I?
Ad Narrator: ..."Air of Sorrows". The story that will pluck the heartstrings and have you reaching for the sick-bag.
Star Ad Narrator: Saucy, raunchy, provocative, bonking, steamy, yes, it's the Daily Star, here's what proprietor Lord Stevens has to say about Britain's bestselling new porn mag:
Stevens: Oh, it's great - oh, an' tits - [gibberish] - only fifteen years old - [gibberish]
Sidney: Whoar blimey, what about that then? All over the newspapers, (?) for -ooh- 75 years, or I've never known nothing like it. Well, nearly time for The Spinners again, but first, we go over live to the high court to hear the judges sum it up in the case of Mr. Jeffrey Arch-creep versus the Daily Smut.
Judge: Is it likely, we have to ask ourselves, that a man with such a distinguished record in two world wars, furthermore a man who plays squash everyday, would wish to seek in the still hours of the morning the dubious solace of cold, joyless, rubber-insulated, double-glazed intercourse, in a room no larger than a man's hat? With rats and bats crawling through the (?), gibbering their horrid message of despair unto the nations of (?)? If you think this is possible, then think again, if you will, to the vision which came upon us in this courtroom only three days ago, as we gazed in wonder at the miracle which glowed in this Winter's box? Was she not called Mary, like unto the mother of our Lord? Did we not sense the odour of sanctity, an unearthly fragrance in the courtroom that day? Like the Spring-flowers in the veil of Hebron, which as you may remember ladies and gentlemen of the jury, are particularly gorgeous at this season of the year. Is it even remotely conceivable, I ask you, that such a paragon of womanhood would live with such a creep, (?), pray, strike that from your memory, but, not completely - would anyone who had the good fortune to have wedded and bedded this fairest of the fair, this gorgeous, pouting, whoa that scorcher - pray, open the window Mister usher, I feel quite overcome - the very thought of being in the same room with her rustling underwear, concealing the full flower of her womanhood, as you may think, ladies and gentlemen of the ju...ry... where was I? Oh yes. We now come to what you might think should be regarded as the core of the case for the defense, Adam (?) says, sod, damn (mumbling) 2001 pounds at Victoria station, for (?), why not, fuck it, (mumbling) - nevermind. It is not within my powers to advise you on the sum of money to be awarded to Mr. Archer - should you so award - but when you do, you must summon into your mind not only the Olympic sprinter and former Prime Minister Mr. Archer himself, but above all, the ethereal, one might almost say, angelic figure of his poor, wrongéd, wife. About half a million, I would say. Finally, brethren, I beseech you to ponder upon these things in your hearts, and retire to find Mr. Archer innocent.