In the room with the sloping roof
In your director’s chair
You talk with your hands
About what you will do next year
But no-one gives a toss
And we all go to Europe
Watch Alwin Schockemohle
Where’er he competes

Doreen, Doreen
Doreen, Doreen

The recreation ground by us
Don’t seem to have
Many facilities
For the kids and the dogs
I submitted a poem
To the council chambers
But they just looked surprised
Like the front of an Anglia
There are no dark corners of cool relief
It’s a tragedy with few interludes

Doreen, Doreen
Doreen, Doreen

The five-day breaks
And the long weekends
Give me plenty of time
To see the everyday things
I was faintly amused to see
Dutch veterans Alquin
Fooling around
On pleasure craft at Chester

Walking up Scafell
Swinging a chain
Along came a hosteller
I asked him his name
When he said he was Malcolm
Of Arimathea
My rejoinder was “Die,
You off-beat cabaret type.”

Doreen, Doreen
Doreen, Doreen
Doreen, Doreen
Doreen, Doreen

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