John Willie's Grandad went to France
And roamed the Riviera in his underpants,
Shouting "Tickle mi fancy" and "Oo la la."
The gendarmes flocked from near far
And he marmalized 'em 'till they cried enough;
Singing: "Never rub yer yed against a roughyed's yed
'Cos a roughyed's yed's reight rough.
He kicked ten bobbies up the cul de sac,
Gave blow for blow and crack for crack,
Shouting: "Eau de Cologne," and "Negligee."
It took 56 gendarmes to put him away.
From his prison cell you could hear his voice far off:
Singing: "Never rub yer yed against a roughyed's yed
'Cos a roughyed's yed's reight rough.
He bent the bars of his prison cell,
And he damned them French gendarmes to Huddersfield.
He shinned down the wall. What a coup de grace.
He fell but he landed on his paillasse.
Then like the slopstone ghost he bellowed up the sough:
Singing: "Never rub yer yed against a roughyed's yed
'Cos a roughyed's yed's reight rough.
Now if ever you're in the town of Nice,
And you want to fear the nice Nice police
Mention John Willie's granddad and the slopstone ghost
And they'll jump and shout and leave their posts.
No longer will they stand there big and tough.
They say: "Never rub yer yed against a roughyed's yed
'Cos a roughyed's yed's reight rough.
John Willie's granddad plays for Wigan now
In th'second row and bugger me how.
But they say he'll never make a tour of France
'Cos the bobbies'd recognise his underpants
And his tackling that is far from powder puff.
"Never rub yer yed against a roughyed's yed
'Cos a roughyed's yed's reight rough.