It’s that time of year again when Joe Public in the UK is sent on a guilt trip because governments around the world have created, and maintained, hunger and starvation all over the globe. And if you so much as open your mouth to question any of these charitable ‘love-ins’ (which usually give low-grade celebrities you haven’t seen on your TV screens since, well, the last f**king public money-grab the chance to bore you rigid once more, ‘all in the name of charity’ of course) you face a wave of opprobrium for being a heartless killjoy who ought to be dragged by his genitalia into the nearest public square and humiliated in the stocks. And the ‘flagship’ song for this year’s ‘Sport Relief’ is a criminal re-hash of the catchy 1980’s song ‘Word Up’ by Cameo. That poor sod Larry Blackmon must be turning in his codpiece. It seems almost appropriate that this song is being crucified at this particular time of year.

So, in the spirit of sticking two fingers up to the masses who cannot see wood for trees, I give you my own contribution.



(with no apologies whatsoever to ‘Little Mix’)




Say ‘what the f**k?’

K-k-k-k-keep it coming

Keep it coming up 😉

This song is pants,

Four chicks that rant

Let’s grab that man, quick

Mama, come on baby

Tell me what’s the word?




Word up!

C’mon, c’mon



We look like four chav slappers from a council estate,

Who have a meltdown if we don’t get laid on a first date,

Tell your brother, your father, any guy will do

‘Cause we’re about to go down,

and we’re gonna get blue.


We’ll take a quickie in the sauna

If we get the chance

We barely have the time to wriggle out of our pants,

A pole dance, for our fans,

All of them are thick, mama

Come on baby, tell me what’s the word


The word’s ‘Sluts!’

What we’re trying to say,

Is if you want some press ups

We’ll go down straight away.

This song sucks.

Nothing else to say,

But you’ll be forced to listen to it

Until Judgement Day!


We’re in a changing room,

Filled with sweaty smells,

Four guys are pumping iron

Watched by four dumb belles.

Guys in tight lycra shirts,

With solid pecs,

Remind us it’s three minutes

Since we last had sex


Two more guys on a row machine

Looking buff

We’ll try to keep our hands off them

We know that will be tough,

This song’s pants,

Screw romance,

I know what I need, mama,

Come on baby

Tell me what’s the word?


A cock up.

These are words we like.

If you need some exercise

Jump on the office bike,

Let’s have a ride,

You know what we mean,

No matter where you say it

You know that it’s obscene.


W-O-R   D cup

W-O-R   D cup

W-O-R   D cup

W-O-R- D slut


W-O-R-D  You coming up?

Dial ‘H’ for ‘Ho’

K-k-k keep it

Keep it coming up

Do a pole dance

You’re a skank,

Do your dance, quick, mama

Come on baby

Tell me what’s the word

The word’s ‘up’

Yeah, yeah

The word’s ‘up’

The word’s ‘up’

Hey, hey