When you joined the BisleyTwinning
Hoping for a lot of sinning
Little did you know that you
Would be more sung against than singing.
This is what we do on Twelfth Night,
Shout out songs with all our might.
Bisley rocks when we get going,
Eat and drink our heart's delight.
Oh yes, mais oui -
This is what we're all good at.
That reminds me:
Where the hell is Lypiatt?
We acknowledge
Bisley's central to the map...
Eastcombe, Oakridge...
Where the hell is Lypiatt?
In July we're off to France
To fraternize and take a chance
On being seasick, sunburnt, blistered,
Boozed and baffled by the dance
That goes around and round in limbo
Heads all spinning, arms akimbo.
We'll all have a lovely time
Although we do not speak the lingo.
Oh yes, mais oui -
This is what we're all good at.
That reminds me:
Where the hell is Lypiatt?
We acknowledge
Bisley's central to the map...
Eastcombe, Oakridge...
Where the hell is Lypiatt?
French or Gallo, even Breton,
Never seem to us to threaten
Friendly feelings for the folk
In Plessala whom we have met on
Many trips both to and from
With thirsty throats and hearts aglow.
Culture vultures all together.
(No, really we do not think so.)
Oh yes, mais oui -
This is what we're all good at.
That reminds me:
Where the hell is Lypiatt?
We acknowledge
Bisley's central to the map...
Eastcombe, Oakridge...
Where the hell is Lypiatt?