Victoria Wood’s barnstorming encore song, The Ballad of Barry and Freda, introduced to the nation the erotic notion of spanking people on the bottom with a Woman’s Weekly. She started it, did Victoria.
Likewise with Hostess Trolleys. The very idea of being bent backwards over a hostess trolley sent shivers of innovation through upper-working class families. Suddenly, thanks to this song, everyone was surrounded by fiercely erotic objects. I wouldn’t be suprised if, nine months after this show aired, hundreds of millions of babies were born to Artex-ed housing.
This, however, is just a poem I wrote over the internet with someone I’ve never met in real life, called Scoobsuk. He plays Freda, I play Barry, in italics. I hope you enjoy. My bits more than his. I’M THE FUNNY ONE.
Let’s do it, let’s poo it, do it while my poo is fat.
It’s crusting, I’m thrusting,
I’ve always wanted to try scat.
It’s like porn; I must warn,
That when you come to taste it then you may find sweetcorn
Let’s do it, let’s poo it tonight!
I can’t do it, I can’t do it, I don’t think that I ever will,
The comedown from bumbrowns really leaves me feeling ill.
No heaving – I’m leaving,
For a time of childish innocence I’m now grieving…
I can’t do it – I can’t do it, tonight.
Let’s do it, let’s poo it, while I’m really in the mood
It’s easy, not queasy
A dirty sanchez ain’t that rude
Try pieces of my releases
I bet you never knew of so much fun with faeces
Let’s do it, let’s poo it tonight!
I can’t do it, I can’t do it, the stench’ll put me off my lunch.
I fear your diarrhoea,
Is far too wet for me to munch.
It’s shocking – panblocking –
You could at least have taken off your nylon stockings…
I can’t do it, I can’t do it tonight…
Let’s do it, let’s poo it, I really want to scream and shout
No hurdles – This turtle’s
head is really poking out!
It’s squirming, it’s firming
I’ve got to drop this on you while my ring is burning…
Let’s do it, let’s poo it tonight!
I can’t do it, I can’t do it, I rimmed once and it made me wince…
I’m too cautious and nauseous,
To daub myself with anal mince.
Please refrain, and don’t strain,
This is a new nighty and I don’t want it stained,
I can’t do it, I can’t do it, tonight…
Let’s do it, let’s poo it, do it cos it tastes so sweet…
It’s swelling, compelling,
Me to thrutch and then excrete.
Don’t feel dread, don’t play dead,
And careful of the backsplash on the candlewick bedspread,
Let’s do it, let’s poo it tonight!
I can’t do it, I can’t do it, I don’t think that I’d like the taste.
I’m not frisky, I need whisky,
To even think of human waste.
I’m balking – and like Hawking,
I’m speechless at the notion of your bum uncorking –
I can’t do it, I can’t do it, tonight…
Let’s do it, let’s poo it, take it like I know you can.
I’m straining – stop complaining,
Chew my poo just like a man.
It’s smutty, it’s slutty,
And here’s a toothpick for your gums in case it’s nutty –
Let’s do it, let’s poo it tonight!
I can’t do it, I can’t poo it, the smell is more than I can bear,
I’m flattered, but it’s matted,
Thick with crusty buttock hair.
Beg pardon, your brown garden,
Stinks enough to wilt an angry rapist’s hard-on,
I can’t do it, I can’t do it, tonight…
Let’s do it, let’s poo it, really make the bedsheets brown
It’s manic, volcanic
My sphincter stretched from here to town
It’s squeaky, it’s leaky
Wipe it off my bottom with a Woman’s Weekly
Let’s do it, let’s do it tonight!
