FELLATIO NELL, SON ƒ  G#m B E A F#m C#m Let me tell you about the worst blow job I ever had, (It was alright, actually, it wasn't that bad) If you just want the smeg licking off your bell end There's a tart in Lancashire I'll recommend She'll do it in the pub, you don't have to go to bed She'll even put a beer towel on top of her head And get a round in if you keep her well fed Fellatio Nell, son, you won't like the smell, son Gangrene and death come across in her breath, Fellatio Nell, son. I was watching the final on the TV, when the smell of a urinal wafted over to me I thought of open sewers and unflushed bogs, But the smell of manure was coming out of her gob No body's snogged her since '71 Coz her gob's always full of somebody's come And there's seven types of dick cheese under her tongue Fellatio Nell, son, you won't like the smell, son She'll gobble up your scrote and fit it down her throat, Fellatio Nell, son. Running sores round her cakehole, but I took the chance You can't see her face when its in your underpants She's swallowed more foreskins than a Yid doctor's bucket She sees a bulging crotch, she just has to suck it Fellatio Nell, son. You won't like the smell, son She can suck your bollock through the hole in your cock, Fellatio Nell, son. ----- {LP Version-  (ƒ   B G#m A E F#m)- additional lyrics}----- She can drool on your tool faster than blinking She won't even mind if you carry on drinking She'll even put a beer towel on top of her head And get a round in if you keep her well fed Nobody's snogged her since '72, her gob's always full of somebody's tool Fuck off down the chemists get some listerine Your breath smells like the creature from the black latrine She'll clean out your Jap's eye with the tip of her tongue Eat the worms round your warhead if you're very well hung Her face is always buried in somebody's flies But she had to take her teeth out to accomodate my size. ©1990 The Macc Lads TRACK CHAT HORRID HUNDRED