[Bonzo Dog]

Keynsham - The Bonzo Dog Band

With thanks to Bob Kruse.

See also Princess WhiteGoat's transcription.
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The transcriptions on this site have been contributed by fans for fans as a labour of love and as a tribute to the creating artists. The copyrights of the relevant artists, records companies and other rights holders are acknowledged. This is a non-commercial site. Some of the many other lyrics collections
Discography entry

Album inner sleeve notes by Vivian Stanshall. The Sunset SLS 50375 release has a different, briefer set of outer sleeve notes which are in the Tracks section.

In the dental-white district of Keynsham stands the Thermometer Zoo. The ferocious bushy-faced villagers of Keynsham hate the inmates of the Thermometer Zoo & as they go about their work, the wet sacks jingling on their humped chests, they glare angrily up at the grey-stone buildings high on the slopes of the Silver Mountain outside the walls. They dream of the day when they will draw the Leg from its scabbard & push it up the slopes of the Silver Mountain & break the walls of the grey-stone building. And then they will use their chests to buffet & their teeth to Bite, & their tongues to touch.

But inside the Asylum is cool & shiny with tiles and tubes & the sound of throats:


(N. Innes)

Looking like a Muscle Man, You crawled out from a swamp.
Slimywild, you Honey Child, Give me your Hump!
And I just can't HANDLE it. WOH
Don't kiss me with your Silver Lip, Don't kiss me with your eye,
For God's sake, gimme a break, Le me crawl away & DIE
And I just can't HANDLE IT. WOORRRAAAGH.......

In Keynsham there is a great shouting near the gate. One of the dwarfs has caught a fox. It is the first time he has tasted flesh for many days because of the Smell. A crowd gathers to watch him poke the greasy segments through the curved lips of his mask:


(N. Innes)

It's TRAGIC MAGIC? There are no co-incidences.
But sometimes the pattern is MORE OBVIOUS.


(N. Innes)

They pass me by in quiet talk. Hand in hand on a Summer Walk. They don't think they're overheard, but I hear their every word. She wants to know if he will love her 'til the day he dies. But how can he see the future when he's looking in her eyes? I was born in the Spring of this year. Warmed by the sun & wind that brought me here. There's no expression on my face. (And no footsteps leave my trace). They pass me by in quiet talk. Hand in hand on a Summer Walk

It is the Festival of the Snail & there is a fair in the village. A stall sells "muscular" oranges wrapped in tissue-thin rubber & a side-show exhibits an orchestra of deranged mortgagees & their families who stroke sad music from carved instruments of strange design. Two intelligent horses sewn in a man-suit are startled by the yelps of the crowd & burst from their costume in disjointed panic. Under the walls, in the alleys slippery with wipes, are erected rows of tents for the tattooists, leechers & masseurs. Outside the largest tent several revellers squat in silence, listening for the buzz & gasps from within. In this tent by means of a new invention, a man is being decorated & experiencing the precise sensations of hanging. He emerges to a storm of applause, rolling down his sleeve & bowing self-consciously.


(V. Stanshall)
(transcription version)

I'm gonna getcha in my tent,
Where we can both experiment.
Yay yay, it's so convenient.
Let's take a taxi to my tent.
O yay, my love is so inscrutable
In a Stoic sort of way;
But my baby is as beautiful
As a tourniquet.
I'm gonna getcha in my tent.
Wo wo, it's only common-sense.
I know that you won't mind the stench
Of the Sacrament.

No, I won't let this love destroy her,
I can't control this paranoia;
I'll have to get a show-biz lawyer
To help me.
Kill, smash, bash, thrill, spill blood, fight, bite, scratch, scream, tear, spit,

Yay, I'll be laughing like a lunatic
That just got away,
Right now, I'm howling like hypocrite
At an Auto-Da-Fe.
I'm gonna getcha in my tent,
We'll find out where the Woozle went,
We'll fill his footprints with cement,
We'll dance the Tango in my tent.

"Smudgy & I used to make regular excursions to Kings X Station to sit in the buffet & watch people eating. I saw a man order 12 sausages once. Just 12 sausages, he wouldn't have anything else on his plate".


(V. Stanshall)

We were wrong, we were wrong but so young & so very in lo-o-ove.
That boozy English day at the Brighton Race Courses.
(The wind blew my skirt up & it frightened the horses).
We were wrong etc.

The May-Ball in Oxford we arrived in a punt.
(You fell down in the beer-tent, unashamedly drunk).
We were wrong etc.

Cos' I'm going to Rhino over your lino,
(& I'm going to Rhino with you).
In all kinds of leather, we Rhino "together".
We'll keep Rhinoing thru'.

The kedgeree breakfasts, the "gratis" champagne.
(The hours I spent wiping it off my hired D.J.).
We were wrong etc.

"Transmogrify" the jackals speak,
The worms are feeding on our cheeks;
"Transmute" the time flies quickly past,
And Keynsham arms with lies & masks.


(N. Innes)

The joke-Shop Man has lots of gags like plastic ears, exploding fags.
A million laughs to give your friends a treat.
Ho ho hee hee ha ha.
The joke-Shop
Man has lots of gags
He wraps them up in paper bags
like sneezing powder, snakes & rubber feet.
JOKE-SHOP MAN help me all you can.
It's all so very hard to understand.


(V. Stanshall/N. Innes) [see Marcel Duchamps]

"So the boys got together and formed a band ...er... fate played the straightman and since then they've never looked back"
"Hey lads, welcome t'club. I've seen yer on th'telly wi' yer long 'air and pimples" [pop pop]
We arrived at the gig looking rough.
Not happy - we'd all had enough
We were tired & we'd all had enough
Of 8 hours on the road.
Legs Larry said : "Ee it's the boozer for me, dear boy".
Yep yep yes indeeedy
And the hotel reception was empty & cold
With orange/horrid red wall-paper 40 yrs. old.
It stank like the Rhino-House.
Mr. Slater said: "Pooh, I can smell Vindaloo".
VS: "Oh really?"
RS: "No, sir, O'Reilly"

And we wave to the people who frown at our hair as we ride into town,

And Chalky & Noz had set up the gear
At the club where the "Do-Pal Show" would appear;
In person as themselves. (Woof, woof).
So Neil, Fred & I played darts for a while,
Before we switched on our theatrical smiles.

"Hey, do you remember?"
"Hot dogs I'm saving for yer"
"You can have a drink in your dressing room, lads, but you can't come into a club looking like that!
Kindly oblige me"
"We've 'ad 'em all 'ere, y'know... Tommy Ray..."
"That's a brand new scratch on the piano, cost me 75 quit to put that right"
"[...] and Buddy Greeky"
"Aye it ain't 'alf hot in 'ere, don't it"
"Will you take your empty glasses back to the bar"
"Any artiste mentioning football will be paid off immediately"
"It's not for meself, lads, it's for me daughter"
"Five pints of lager and one coke"
"It's not me lads, it's the manager that makes the rules"


(V. Stanshall)

Look at me I'm wonderful. Shooby-dooby-wah.
I'm not a bit like you or you I'm a super-show-biz-star.
You all buy my records so I'd like to say, some little ole cliche.

He's a super, greasy, glossy show-biz star;
in a black tuxedo he looks wunderbar,
He has a slight American accent,
And his body's so re-laxez,
The big, black windows in his Yankee car
Say: He's a great, big, super-greasy-glossy-smarmy-show-boobooboo-biz-star, aagh!


(N. Innes)

What do you do? (I don't know but I do it every day).
Why do you do it? (I don't know- but I know & do it anyway).

I do what I do indeed I do. I do what I do everyday. (Indeed I do).
I do what I do. I am what I am. We are what we are. We do what we can.

Meanwhile in the richly-carpeted home of likeable "Rhino" Rod not far from London's colourful Cannabis St.......


(V. Stanshall)

When Mr. Slaters' Parrot says: "Hello";
A geezer likes to get one on the go.
We hope to see him swear, we love to hear him squeak,
We like to see him biting fingers in his horny beak.

Sometimes he wants to whistle thru' his nose
Whilst picking a peanut with his toes;
If Johnny Morris had him on his show,
You'd hear the Fuehrers' favourite say; "Hello"

The Odd Boy didn't like games & especially the idea of competing against the "other chaps". The other chaps?

Great red-faced ruffians with scratched knees, who boasted that they already "had" to shave. So what? He ought to. After all his father had been a tremendous sportsman, well-liked, admired & cups to prove it. Long photographs. (Harry Maynard had run like anything, under the benches, to get in twice). Look at him now. Still as strong as an ox. Arms like tree-trunks or was it legs? Hadn't done him any harm. So what?

The Odd Boy liked only to read & draw. Yes, that was really lovely. To read. Especially on days when he had a "note". How exciting to be left alone. On sticky summer days his excuse would usually be hay-fever which he really did get a bit of. Then; although it was silly with hay-fever I mean; he'd go & sit under a tree & pretend to read something worthwhile while the cricket-bats picked & pocked. Sometimes he made a flute from a special plant to charm the wasps; but mainly he wondered what was the point of all that pulling & puffing & howzatting.

Around the walls of Keynsham was a vast track where men of different colours ran against each other & took showers.


(V. Stanshall)

The Odd Boy lay down by the football field,
Took out a slim volume of Mallarme,
The centre-forward called him an imbecile;
It's an Odd Boy who doesn't like Sport.
Sport, sport, masculine sport;
Equips a young man for Society,
Yes, sport turns out a jolly good sort,
It's an Odd Boy who doesn't like Sport.

By the haystacks hot with thighs,
Thru' the thickets thick with eyes;
Although we didn't mean to, we are on the road to Keynsham


(N. Innes)

There are things that must be done that are not yet begun.
Things that I must do, when I want to be with you.
Although we're far apart, you're with me in my heart.
I just want to be with you.
Can you hear me? I need you near me.
I need you near me, my love.
The two of us are one, mother of my son.
No-one else will do.
I just want to be with you.

From Keynsham a hideous throng rush out; fierce with feathers, masked & painted, reeking of waters; sheep-like on all fives. First the Beserks, scarred, gargantuan, drugged with roots; stamping & biting on their shields, feverish with hate. Next the contortionists, greased & expectant. Now come the Apostates with shaven heads & faces grey with asheesh, singing sweetly & complaining with censers of myrrh & towing huge wardrobes from which they choose new veils. (Singing & swinging in a rhesus proboscis way). Between their skirts run the Dwarfs & Defecators & Dylantines endlessly quoting in the wake of the Vegetable Normopaths who sow the Earth with asterisks that the Children of If may harvest Boredom. The Amputees lining the route are excited & their truncated capers & squeals signify .... Most Glorious of All ... the Coming of the Leg!

In the green forest the Watcher turns away & covers his face. He has seen the Leg & his vigil is over. The mental-pygmies screech from the branches: "Stay? Stay? " . . . but he is gone! The Leg ... O Heavenly Vision. And astride it, shining like a toad ... Norry Berg, sleek as raincoats, slippery as haddocks, saturnine & cruel. Bartering flesh in robes of richest skin. And the crowd knelt before the God & some so far back, seeing nothing, so sickened by the squeeze & hot breath of the horde; blinded with percentages, numb with numbers & deafened by the clicking ciphers cried out. OUT. OUT!!! & he was ... refreshed & caused to be drawn up an Equator of Greed. A contract to encompass the whole world, strangling several thousand unlucky Chinamen standing end to end & disappearing up his own accountant. And so on and so on, nearer & nearer in rhythmic procession & constant squirty- squirty....


(V. Stanshall)

And it came to pass a great storm & ocean-going liners were flung about like match boxes in the boiling ferment & the drained white bodies of drowned sailors made a soft blanket for the shores of the sea. And on the land, an earthquake of such dreadful effect that Graves cracked & said that Siegfried was really a shit. And the stink of the deads gangrene hung in the atmosphere in a sweet pestilential cloud.

But the sky over Keynsham was clear & blue & filled with giant birds bristling with stars, & non-stick frying pans ringing & bashing like Ragnars' halls, & bootee-style brick shirts studded with ketchup & diamonds. But in the Museums deep in the catacombs where chains have teeth & priceless collections of silk socks shine in cabinets; ageing bestial courtesans injected themselves with paraffin & became so enormous that they clogged the tunnels. In the streets, the Dwarfs ran amok & spread fish-paste on the windows of tailors-shops and delicatessens. They seized the terrified Rhino as he snuffied near a roll-mop barrel & put a helmet of sardines on his head. They stuck a gherkin on his nose & they beat him with whippy sticks & they made him wear a sign around his neck that read: "Hello, I AM PLANTIMAL. INSIST ON VAN SMEERENS". On the walls the Rabbit showed forty-five films describing Don Quixote in 17 positions in marble, celluloid & plaster bas- relief; lectured on the Symbolism of Trousers in Renaissance Thought, the Importance of F in Art & followed with a short quiz accompanying himself on the euphonium "Working backwards thru'the Norm, Nora, No, No, NO. The 3 is magic. (Trinity). Walking under ladders? Tut, tut, Jacob. Ascend! Rising early in the morning ... monochrome Seurat Room, (or Engine of the House). Room 1225 is merely Room 1335A but the number has been changed because the band don't know it. Proven by ordeal. A Trilogy affording a contemporary gander at the Flasher Idea. Conan on the Khyber? Mais, oui, certainement. Does that answer your question? Now read on....


(V. Stanshall/N. Innes)

I'm filthy, I'm hungry, I'm fed up to the teeth.
I'm very revolutionary, I haven't washed in weeks.
You've seen me dancing topless & kipping on the beach.
I'm so bloody normal yet I'm one of Nature's freaks.
I think it would do more good to try & understand the other guy,
In the soft-grey squeeze as they "Mind the Doors". Like a sacrifice for the Minotaur.
All together in the Blood-rush Hour. C'mon Fish-face, you got the power.

P.C. Gibbon (the long arm of the law)

(Conversation recorded during the execution of my dirty).
"HELLOELLO, whatsall this 'ere? I'll trim your wellingtons for you, my dear.

I proceeded to plod at a porcupine pace,
When I spotted the accused & decided to give chase.
He blotted his copy-book straight away
'Cause as soon as 'e saw me ... whoops ... 'e was away,
Running like a rabbit from a frisky poodle.
Blowing his trousers like a bugle.

Then I went & got busted.
They say I'm maladjusted
And I never can be trusted by anybody anymore.
Yay, yay, yay, I got busted.
My own Mother was disgusted.
I got busted by the Law.

"Where are you going, Jonas?" "Down south, Sir. There's a few buffalo down there. Not many, just a few. I intend to find 'em".


Any artiste mentioning FOOTBALL on the stage will be paid off immediately

From the Kilroy's Renaissance pamphlet (1982), by Debbie Schaefer:
[Bonzo Dog]
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