Four and twenty virgins came down from Inverness,
And when the ball was over there were four and twenty less,
Singing "Balls to you father, backs against the wall,
If you don't get shagged on Saturday night you'll never get shagged at all".
Little Tommy, he was there, but he was only eight,
He could not woo the women so he had to Masturbate,
Singing "Balls to your Father, backs against the wall..."
Farmer Giles he was there, his scythe was in his hand,
And every time he swung around, he circumcised the band,
Screaming "Balls to your father...".
The Bride was in the parlour explaining to the groom,
That the vagina not the rectum is entrance to the womb.
Singing "Balls to your father...."
There was shagging in the hallways, shagging on the stairs,
You could not hear the music for the swish of pubic hair,
Singing "Balls to your Father...."
The village policeman he was there, a credit to the force
They caught him in the stable block tossing off a horse
Singing 'Balls to your partner...'
The village cripple, he was there, he wasn't up to much,
So they laid the bugger on his back and f...ed him with his crutch
Singing "Balls to your father...."
The village idiot he was there, sitting on a pole,
Pulling his foreskin over his head and whistling through the hole
Singing "Balls to your father...."
And when the ball was over, everyone confessed,
They'd all enjoyed the dancing but the shagging was a mess,
Singing "Balls to you father, backs against the wall,
If you don't get shagged on Saturday night you'll never get shagged at all".