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The script came from Monty Python's PythoNet. Sounds came from Monty Python's Flying Circus In Australia, Linus the Llama's Virtual Camelot, and Another Monty Python Page.
SIDE TWO:
I BET YOU THEY WON'T PLAY THIS SONG ON THE RADIO
Written and sung by Eric Idle
[catchy music plays]
I bet you they won't play this song on the radio
I bet you they won't play this new (*beep*) song
It's not that it's (&heeeeh&) or (^honk honk^) controversial
Just that the (%bing%)ing words are awfully strong
You can't say (#awoooga#) on the radio
Or (@skip@)
Or (~thunk~)
Or (!AARRRGH!)
You can't even say I'd like to (+twirl+) you some day
Unless you're a doctor with a very large (*boing*)
So I bet you they won't play this song on the radio
I bet you they daren't (::scratch::)ing well program it
I bet you the ($chi-ching$)ing old program directors
Will think it's a load of horse (poot)
THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. VICTOR
Starring Michael Palin as a Vicar
[spoken as a Church sermon]
And it came to pass that Saint Victor was taken from this place to another place, where he was lain upon pillows of silk and made to rest himself amongst sheets of muslin and velvet. And there stroked was he by maidens of the Orient.
For sixteen days and nights stroked they him, yea verily, and caressed him. His hair ruffled they. And their fingers rubbethed they in oil of olives, and ranneth them across all parts of his body for as much as to soothe him.
And the soles of his feet licked they. And the upper parts of his thigh did they anoint with the balm of forbidden trees. And with the teeth of their mouths, nibbled they the pointed bits at the top of his ears, yea verily, and did their tongues thereof make themselves acquainted with his most secret places.
For fifteen days and nights did Victor withstand these maidens, but on the sixteenth day he cried out, saying "This... is fantastic. Oh, this is terrific."
And the Lord did hear the cry of Victor. And verily came He down and slew the maidens, and caused their cottonwool bras to blow away, and their Kleenex to be laid waste utterly. And Victor, in his anguish, cried out that the Lord was a rotten bastard. So the Lord sent an angel to comfort Victor for the weekend. And entered they together the jaccuzzi. Here endeth the lesson.
HERE COMES ANOTHER ONE
Words and music by Eric Idle
Sung by Terry Jones
[an awful, tuneless song, without music, sung excruciatingly slowly by an awful, nasal voice]
Here comes another one
Here it comes again
Here comes another one
When will it ever end?
I know whatever it is
I've not seen one before
But here comes another one
And here comes a bunch of 'em
Here comes another one
Thank God I'm not having lunch with them
-- Um, that's it, is it?
Well, obviously it would be better with a full orchestra...
-- Y-yes, I suppose it would.
[A reprise is then done in disco format. The music blares and pulsates. The nasal voice remains. And then there's the country western version and... Oh well, just forget it.]
BOOKSHOP
With John Cleese and Terry Jones
(sound of small tinkle bell ringing as door opens)
Customer: Good morning.
Proprietor: Good morning, sir. Can I help you?
C: Er, yes. Do you have a copy of "Thirty Days in the Samarkind Desert with the Duchess of Kent" by A. E. J. Eliott, O.B.E.?
P: Ah, well, I don't know the book, sir....
C: Er, never mind, never mind. How about "101 Ways to Start a Fight"?
P: ...By?
C: An Irish gentleman whose name eludes me for the moment.
P: Ah, no, well we haven't got it in stock, sir....
C: Oh, well, not to worry, not to worry. Can you help me with "David Coperfield?"
P: Ah, yes, Dickens.
C: No....
P: (pause) I beg your pardon?
C: No, Edmund Wells.
P: I... think you'll find Charles Dickens wrote "David Copperfield", sir...
C: No, no, Dickens wrote "David Copperfield" with two Ps. This is "David Coperfield" with one P by Edmund Wells.
P: "David Coperfield" with one P?
C: Yes, I should have said.
P: Yes, well in that case we don't have it.
C: Funny, you've got a lot of books here....
P: (slightly perturbed) Yes, we do, but we don't have "David Coperfield" with one P by Edmund Wells.
C: Pity, it's more thorough than the Dickens.
P: More THOROUGH?
C: Yes...I wonder if it might be worth a look through all your "David Copperfields"...
P: No, sir, all our "David Copperfields" have two P's.
C: Are you quite sure?
P: Quite.
C: Not worth just looking?
P: Definitely not.
C: Oh... how 'bout "Grate Expectations?"
P: Yes, well we have that....
C: That's "G-R-A-T-E Expectations," also by Edmund Wells.
P: (pause) Yes, well in that case we don't have it. We don't have anything by Edmund Wells, actually... he's not very popular.
C: Not "Knickerless Knickleby"? That's K-N-I-C-K-E-R-L-E-S-S.
P: (taciturn) No.
C: "Khristmas Karol" with a K?
P: (really quite perturbed) No....
C: Er, how about "A Sale of Two Titties"?
P: Definitely NOT.
C: (leaving) Sorry to trouble you....
P: Not at all....
C: Good morning.
P: Good morning.
C: (turning around) Oh!
P: (deep breath) ... Yes?
C: I wonder if you might have a copy of "Rarnaby Budge"?
P: No, as I say, we're right out of Edmund Wells!
C: No, not Edmund Wells - Charles Dikkens.
P: (pause - eagerly) Charles Dickens ??
C: Yes.
P: (excitedly) You mean "Barnaby Rudge"!
C: No, "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens. That's 'Dikkens' with two Ks, the well-known Dutch author.
P: (slight pause) No, well we don't have "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens with two Ks, the well-known Dutch author, and perhaps to save time I should add that we don't have "Karnaby Fudge" by Darles Chickens, or "Farmer of Sludge" by Marles Pickens, or even "Stickwick Stapers" by Farles Wickens with four M's and a silent Q !! Why don't you try W. H. Smith's?
C: I did; they sent me here.
P: DID they.
C: Oh, I wonder...
P: Oh, do go on, please!
C: I...I wonder if you might have "The Amazing Adventures of Captain Gladys Stoat-Pamphlet and her Intrepid Spaniel Stig Amongst the Giant Pygmies of Beckles"...Volume Eight.
P: (after a pause for recovery) No, we don't have that... funny, we've got a lot of books here... well, I musn't keep you standing here... thank you--
C: Oh, well d-do you have --
P: No, we haven't. No, we haven't.
C: B-b-b-but--
P: Sorry, no, it's one o'clock now, we're closing for lunch--
C: Ah, I--I saw it--
P: I'm sorry--
C: I saw it over there! I saw it...
P: What? What? WHAT?!?
C: I saw it over there: "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds."
P: (pause, trying to stay calm) "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds?"
C: Yes...
P: O-L-S-E-N?
C: Yes....
P: B-I-R-D-S??
C: Yes.....
P: (beat) Yes, well, we do have that, as a matter of fact....
C: The expurgated version....
P: (pause, politely) ...I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that.
C: The expurgated version.
P: (exploding) The EXPURGATED version of "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds???"
C: The one without the gannet.
P: The one without the gannet-! They've ALL got the gannet! It's a Standard British Bird, the gannet, it's in ALL the books !!
C: (insistent) Well, I don't like them... th-they wet their nests.
P: (furious) All right, I'll REMOVE it !! (sounds of paper ripping) Any other birds you don't like ?!
C: I don't like the robin ...
P: (screaming) The robin! Right! The robin! (sound of paper ripping) There you are, any others you don't like, any others???
C: The nuthatch...
P: RIGHT! (flipping through the book) The nuthatch, the nuthatch, the nuthatch, here we are! (ripping) There you are! NO gannets, NO robins, NO nuthatches, THERE's your book!
C: (indignant) I can't buy that, it's torn!
P: (Incoherent growling)
C: Ah, I wonder if you have--
P: GO ON, ask me ANYTHING ! We got lots of books here, you know, it's a bookshop !!
C: Er, how 'bout "Biggles Combs his Hair?"
P: No, no, we don't have that one, funny!
C: "The Gospel According to Charley Drake"?
P: No, no, no, try me again!
C: Ah...oh, I know! "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying".
P: No, no, no, no, no ... What? WHAT ???
C: "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying".
P: "Ethel the Aa--" YES!! YES!! WE'VE GOT IT!! (throwing books wildly about) I-I've seen it somewhere !! I know it !! (laughs like a madman) HAHAHAHA! RRMRAMAGAGAA --- WAIT! WAIT !! Is it ?? Is it ?? (triumphant) YES !!! Here we are, "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying!" There's your book ... NOW, BUY IT.
C: (quickly) I don't have enough money.
P: (desperate) I'll take a deposit!
C: I don't have ANY money!
P: I'll take a check!
C: I don't have a checkbook!
P: I've got a blank one!
C: I don't have a bank account!
P: RIGHT !! I'll buy it FOR you! (cash register sounds) There we are, there's your change, there's some money for a taxi on the way home, there's your book, now, now ...
C: Wait, wait, wait!
P: What? What?!? WHAT?!? WHAT???!!
C: I can't read !! (staggeringly long pause)
P: (very quietly) You can't... read. (pause) RIGHT !! Sit down!! Sit down!! Sit!! Sit!! Are you sitting comfortably... right !!! (opens book) "Ethel the Aardvark was hopping down the river valley one lovely morning, trottety-trottety-trottety, when she met a nice little quantity surveyor..." (fade out)
DO WHAT JOHN
Words and music by Eric Idle
Sung by the Pythons
[catchy music plays]
Do what John? Do what John?
Come again, do what?
Do what John? Do what John?
Do what? Do what? Do what?
Do where John? Do where John?
Wiv what, wiv whom and when?
T'rific, really t'rific
Pardon? Come again?
Do what John? Do what John?
Come again, do what?
Do what John? Do what John?
Do what? Do what? Do what?
Do where John? Do where John?
Wiv what, wiv whom and when?
T'rific, really t'rific
Pardon? Come again?
ROCK NOTES
Starring Eric Idle
RN: Rex Stardust, lead electric triangle with Toad the Wet Sprocket, has had to have an elbow removed following their recent successful worldwide tour of Finland. Flamboyant, ambidextrous Rex apparently fell off the back of a motorcycle. "Fell off the back of a motorcyclist, most likely," quipped ace drummer Jumbo McCluney upon hearing of the accident. Plans are already afoot for a major tour of Iceland. Divorced after only eight minutes, popular television singing star, Charisma, changed her mind on the way out of the registry office, when she realized she had married one of the Donkeys by mistake. The evening before in LA's glittering nightspot, the Abbatoir, she had proposed to drummer Reg Abbot of Blind Drunk, after a whirlwind romance and a knee-trembler. But when the hangover lifted, it was Keith Sly of the Donkeys who was on her arm in the registry office. Keith, who was too ill to notice, remained unsteady during the short ceremony and when asked to exchange vows, began to recite names and addresses of people who also used the stuff. Charisma spotted the error as Keith was being carried into the wedding ambulance and became emotionally upset. However, the mistake was soon cleared up, and she stayed long enough to consummate their divorce. Dead Monkeys are to split up again, according to their manager, Lefty Goldblatt. They've been in the business now ten years, nine as other groups. Originally the Dead Salmon, they became for a while, Trout. Then Fried Trout, then Poached Trout In A White Wine Sauce, and finally, Herring. Splitting up for nearly a month, the re-formed as Red Herring, which became Dead Herring for a while, and then Dead Loss, which reflected the current state of the group. Splitting up again to get their heads together, they reformed a fortnight later as Heads Together, a tight little name which lasted them through a difficult period when their drummer was suspected of suffering from death. It turned out to be only a rumor and they became Dead Together, then Dead Gear, which lead to Dead Donkeys, Lead Donkeys, and the inevitable split up. After nearly ten days, they peformed again as Sole Manier, then Dead Sole, Rock Cod, Turbot, Haddock, White Baith, the Places, Fish, Bream, Mackerel, Salmon, Poached Salmon, Poached Salmon In A White Wine Sauce, Salmon Manier, and Helen Shapiro.
This last name, their favorite, had to be dropped following an injunction and they split up again. When they reformed after a recordbreaking two days, they ditched the fishy references and became Dead Monkeys, a name which they stuck with for the rest of their careers. Now, a fortnight later, they've finally split up. (telephone ringing) Uh oh... Hello?
CALLER [TJ]: Hello?
RN: Yes?
C: What do you think of 'Dead Duck?'
RN: What do I think of 'Dead Duck?'
C: or 'Lobster?'
RN: 'Lobster?'...
MUDDY KNEES
Written and sung by Terry Jones
[
sung in the soulful manner of a gospel song, perhaps, or a plantation spiritual.]
Muddy knees have got me all a-quiver.
Muddy knees have got me all aglow.
Muddy knees have sent me for a paper
To a newsagent's near here I know.
[spoken]
Muddy knees... have set me all a-quiver.
Muddy knees... have got me all aglow.
Muddy knees have sent me for a paper
To a newsagent's... near here... that I know.
[sung weeping]
Muddy knees have got me all a-quiver.
Muddy knees! Have got me all aglow.
Those muddy knees! Have sent me for a paper!
To a newsagent's near here that I know.
[tempo picks up]
Them muddy knees
Them muddy knees!
Them muddy knees
Them muddy knees!
Them muddy knees
(them muddy knees)
Have got me all a-quiver!
(them muddy knees)
Them muddy knees
(them muddy knees)
Have got me all aglow!
Them muddy knees
(them muddy knees)
Have sent me for a paper...
CROCODILE
(Background music: Sportscast intro)
Newscaster: [EI] And right now it's time for athletics, and over to Brian Goebbels in Paris.
Goebbels: [MP] Hello, well, you join us here in Paris just a few minutes before the start of today's big event: the final of the Men's Being-Eaten-By-A-Crocodile event. I'm standing now by the crocodile pit where - AAAAAAHHHHH!
(SFX: Crocodiles eating, crunching, French exclamations and sirens)
Reporter: [MP] Ah. Well, I'm afraid we've lost Brian Goebbels... While they're sorting that out, we have a report from Barry Loathsome in Loughtborough on the British preparations for this most important event.
Loathsome: [EI] Here at Loughtborough are the five young men chosen last week to be eaten by a crocodile for Britain this summer. Obviously, the most important part of the event is the opening 60 yard sprint towards the crocs, and twenty-two year old Nottingham school teacher Gavin Worolowe is rated by some not only the fastest but also the tastiest British morsel since Barry Gordon got a bronze at Helsinki. In charge of the team is Sergeant Major Harold Duke.
Duke: [TJ] No, no, you not only got to get in that pit first, you gotta get EATEN first! When you land in front of your croc, and 'e opens his mouth, I wanna see you right in there! Rub your 'ead up against 'is taste buds. And when those teeth bite into your flesh, use the perches to thrust yourself DOWN his throat...
Loathsome: Duke's trained every British team since 1928, and it's his blend of gymnastic knowhow, reptilian expertise and culinary skill that's turned many an un-appetizing novice into a crocodilic banquet.
Duke: Well, our chefs have been experimenting for many years to find a sauce most likely to tempt the crocodile. In the past, we've concentrated on a fish-based delutee sauce, but this year, we are reverting to a simple bournaise.
Loathsome: The British team are worried because Olympic regulations allow only the competitor's heads to be sauced. Gavin Worolowe...
Worolowe: [MP] Yes, well, I mean, errm, you know, four years ago, everyone knew
the Italians were coating the insides of their legs with bournaise, the Russians have been marinating themselves - one of the Germans, Biolet, was caught actually putting, uh, remolade down his shorts! And the Finns were using tomato flavoured running shoes. Uh, I think there should either be unrestricted garnishing, or a single, Olympic standard mayonnaise.
Loathsome: Gavin, does it ever worry you that you're actually going to be chewed up by a bloody great crocodile?
Morolowe: The only thing that worries me, Jim, is being the first one down that gullet.
Loathsome: Well, the way things are going here at Loughtborough, it looks as though Britain could easily pick up a place in the first seven hundred. But nothing's predictable in this tough, harsh, highly competitive world where today's champion is tomorrow's crocodile shit. And back to you, in the studio, Norman.
DECOMPOSING COMPOSERS
Written and sung by Michael Palin
[spoken]
Well, erm, yeah, darlin', I'll be home about 8:30.
No, I'll go on a bike.
[sung]
Beethoven's gone, but his music lives on
And Mozart don't go shopping no more
You'll never meet Liszt or Brahms again
And Elgar doesn't answer the door
Shubert and Chopin used to chuckle and laugh
Whilst composing a long symphony
But one hundred and fifty years later
There's very little of them left to see
They're decomposing composers
There's nothing much anyone can do
You can still hear Beethoven
But Beethoven cannot hear you
(rather warped section of Beethoven's Fifth)
Handel and Hayden and Rachmaninoff
Enjoyed a nice drink with their meal
But now-a-days no one will serve them
And their gravy is left to congeal
Verdi and Wagner delighted the crowds
With their highly original sound
The pianos they played are still working
But they're both six feet under ground
They're decomposing composers
There's less of them every year
You can say what you like to Debussy
But there's not much of him left to hear
Claude Achille Debussy, Died 1918.
Cristophe Willibald Gluck, Died 1787.
Karl Maria Von Weber, not at all well 1825, died 1826.
Giacomo Meyerbeer, still alive 1863, not still alive 1864.
Modest Mussorgsky, 1880 going to parties, no fun anymore 1881.
Johan Nepomuk Hummel, chatting away nineteen to the dozen with his mates down at the pub every evening 1836... 1837, nothing.
BELLS
Starring Graham Chapman and Terry Jones
(Sound: Church bells, lots of them, ringing.)
Man [GC]: I wish those bloody bells would stop.
Wife [TJ]: Oh, it's quite nice dear, it's Sunday, it's the church.
M: What about us atheists? Why should we 'ave to listen to that sectarian turmoil?
W: You're a lapsed atheist, dear.
M: The principle's the same. Bleedin' C. of E... The Mohammedans don't come 'round here wavin' bells at us! We don't get Buddhists playing bagpipes in our bathroom! Or Hindus harmonizing in the hall! The Shintos don't come here shattering sheet glass in the shithouse, shouting slogans-
W: All right, don't practice your alliteration on me.
M: Anyway, when I get my membership card and blazer badge back from the League of Agnostics, I shall urge the executive to lodge a protest against that religious racket! Pass the butter knife!
W: WHAT??
M: PASS THE BUTTER KNIFE!! (pause) THANK YOU! IF ONLY WE HAD SOME KIND OF MISSILE!
W: 'ANG ON, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW.
M: WHAT?!
W: I SAID, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW!
(Sound: Window closing, bells get faint, but are still there)
M: If only we had some kind of missile, we could take the steam out of those bells.
W: Well, you could always use the #14 St. Joseph-the-Somewhat-Divine-on-the-Hill ballistic missile. It's in the attic.
M: What ballistic missile would this be, then?
(Sound: Bells begin to get increasingly louder)
W: I made it for you, it's your birthday present!
M: Just what I wanted, 'ow nice of you to remember, my pet. 'ERE!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!!
W: THE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER! OOOH, LOOK!
M: WHAT?
W: THE CHURCH, IT.. IT'S COMING CLOSER! ITS COMING DOWN THE 'ILL!
M: WHAT A LIBERTY!
W: ITS TURNING INTO OUR LANE!
M: STRAIGHT THROUGH THE LIGHTS OF COURSE!
W: TYPICAL! WELL, YOU BETTER GO PUT IT OUT OF ITS MISERY!
M: WHERE'S THIS MISSILE, THEN?
W: IT'S IN THE ATTIC CUPBOARD! PRESS THE BUTTON MARKED 'CHURCH!'
M: 'OW DO I AIM IT?
W: OH, IT AUTOMATICALLY HOMES IN ON THE NEAREST PLACE OF WORSHIP!
M: THAT'S ST. MARKS!
W: IT ISN'T NOW, LOOK!! OH, ITS OP'NING THE GATE.
M: WHAT? USE THE MEGAPHONE!
W: IT'S OP'NING THE GATE!!
M: I'LL HOP UP THE ATTIC CUPBOARD!
W: HURRY UP, ITS TRAMPLING OVER THE AZALIAS!
(Sound: Missile launch, explosion, bells die out)
Did I hit it?
W: Yes, right up the aisle.
M: Well I've always said, There's nothing an agnostic can't do if he really doesn't know whether he believes in anything or not.
TRAFFIC LIGHTS
Written and sung by Terry Jones
[odd tuneless song sung by one somewhat bored-sounding man]
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
No matter where they've been
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
But only when they're green
[he is joined by an odd and even more bored-sounding chorus]
Chorus:
He likes traffic lights
He likes traffic lights
He likes traffic lights
No matter where they've been
He likes traffic lights
He likes traffic lights
He likes traffic lights
But only when they're green
Solo:
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
That is what I said
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
But not when they are red
Chorus:
He likes traffic lights
He likes traffic lights
That is what he said
He likes traffic lights
He likes traffic lights
He likes traffic lights
He likes traffic lights
He likes traffic lights
But not when they are red
Solo:
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
Although my name's not Bamber
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
I like traffic lights
I... Oh God ...
ALL THINGS DULL AND UGLY
Traditional, words by Eric Idle
[sung by a Churchish young boys' choir]
All things dull and ugly
All creatures short and squat
All things rude and nasty
The Lord God made the lot
Each little snake that poisons
Each little wasp that stings
He made their brutish venom
He made their horrid wings
All things sick and cancerous
All evil great and small
All things foul and dangerous
The Lord God made them all
Each nasty little hornet
Each beastly little squid
Who made the spikey urchin
Who made the sharks? He did!
All things scabbed and ulcerous
All pox both great and small
Putrid, foul and gangrenous
The Lord God made them all
AMEN.
A SCOTTISH FAREWELL
Sung by John Cleese
[bagpipes]
Heeeeeeere comes another one.... AAAGGHHH!!!
[:: GUNSHOTS ::]