키: G minor
Verse 1
Em
Fm
F
I was very disappointed not to be called
Em
Fm
to number 10 down in street.
F
Em
F
minister of nudism.
designed to promote nudism
go hand in hand you see.
There's no nudist
and that's why nudism
Em
F
There's been some wonderful nudists
he was a nudist
F
Bm
F
and that's why he had to go because they
in the Kremlin got at him.
Old Khrushchev used to wander about
the Kremlin with nothing on,
wearing only a little chain
of daisies.
He used to be lovely,
humming Tchaikovsky all the time,
just round about midnight.
A lovely sight,
a little chubby man with nothing on,
wandering round with the daisies
Dm
F
And Mr. Mikoyan was an anti -nudist,
see,
and saw Khrushchev disappear
So he called the Presidium
and they got rid of him.
It's a great shame.
they're anti -nudists.
They never take their clothes
off at all.
They're appalling people.
They take their bath
with their clothes on.
If I did become Minister of Nudism,
Em
though,
I'd be allowed to be on television
C
G
I'd come on and say, Good evening.
F
Em
This is the Minister of Nudism.
And begin to dance about.
about with nothing on.
and if you didn't special inspectors
would come round and
for every article of
clothes you're wearing.
I wish I could get into the government.
F
time you know.
during the war.
Although I wasn't in the government
Em
F
I used to write to Winston Churchill
and tell him what was going on.
I said right at the beginning of the war
I said the people to get are the Bosch.
Beat the Germans and the
war's over.
is Adolf Hitler.
Once you kill Hitler
you're laughing.
And eventually after about
six years
he took my advice.
At the end of the war
I didn't get much credit for it.
Bb
F
The idea of beating the Germans
Bm
F
But at the end you didn't see me waving from balconies,
you didn't see me driv
G#
ing through
in golden coaches
Bm
F
but I'd like to have had some re
cognition.
I've written a little poem
about international nudism.
It's a lovely little poem, it's,
if all the world were nudists,
if all the world were bare,
no war would they declare.
F
D#
Em
as a person I know called John.
anybody called John.
I just put that in for the rhyme.
It's poet's license.
I hope very much that they
Gm
F
will call me to Downing Street,
for years now
Once upon a time
there was a man
of between 30 and 82 years old.
He used to get up in the morning
and have a small breakfast.
And after breakfast he'd put
on a coat
and he'd go wandering round
for several hours
through the trees and through the
shrubs.
And when he'd wandered round
for several hours
he'd wander back again
to where he'd wandered
from.
And he'd have a bit of lunch,
Dm
D#
and then he'd go out and start wandering
F
about again.
Wander, wander, wander.
He'd go wandering o 'er the hill
and o 'er the dale.
That's where poets wander,
is o 'er the hill and dale.
o 'er, they go,
they think it sounds better.
Anyway, when he's wandered er the
hill and er the dale,
he comes back again for a bit of tea,
and then he settles down for the evening
till he falls asleep.
It's not much of a life, is it? I can't see
how anyone can bear
to go on with it.
It's such a mouldy time
we all have.
I've been looking at me diary.
It's the most boring document
I've ever seen in me life.
I hadn't realised what a
It's unbelievably boring.
It's probably the most boring
book in the world.
It should be given to school children
as an examination subject.
You listened to it,
you wouldn't believe it.
Em
E
Listen to this. Monday. Got up.
Had lunch.
Went to lavatory.
came out again, wrote up diary.
F
Em
got up, went out, came in, went to bed.
Next day, got up,
went to bed.
I started doing a few
interesting things.
Bb
F
It's time I found something out,
like the secret of eternal life,
the meaning of the universe,
or how to get hold of women,
or something.
important and amazing very soon.
of somebody in the government
and threw them into the sea
I must do something with me life.
Something I'll be remembered
Perhaps if I got hold of some bees
and trained them to fly
up people's noses
That might do some good.
I could release them in
and every year people would burn effigies of me on E .L. Whistey
night and dance round a beehive.
There must be something memorable
I can do before I die and leave this mortal coil on which we strap and fret our adulter ways,
as Shakespeare put it, God bless him.
Anyway, I've decided to go
out and do something.
If you read of C .P. Snow
exploding in his bath,
you'll know it's my work.
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