Let me smoke my pipe
Have mercy, Mr. Brown! I hope you don't mind
Well, won't you please let me smoke my pipe?
You see? I'm lighting it now
What are you going to do about it, sir?
You, sir, are an absolute driveller
*coughs* Excuse me
I'm the Gentleman Rhymer named Mr. B
I like to smoke my pipe with a cup of tea
Lapsang Suchon and devilled kidneys
But why would anybody want to stop me?
A man of taste, a man of finesse
But I must get something off my chest:
I'll abide by the laws of your watering holes...
...but I won't stand in the rain with a pack of bloody proles
Puffing on their Marlboros or Mayfair Lights
Or worse, those herbal trade-fair types
If I was in the club with a broadsheet
Waiting for a pinky rub on my bored feet
I would watch them from the window in their sportswear shoes
But now I've got to go out and be bored there, too
So, Prime Minister, sir! This just won't do
Just listen to my plea to you, please...
Let me smoke my pipe
(The pipe, the pipe! Let's pack the pipe!) (repeating)
Let's pack the pipe
My pipe smells nice, check one
My pipe smells nice, check two
My pipe smells nice, check three
The smoke's all gone, but now the pub smells of wee
My pipe smells nice, check one
My pipe smells nice, check two
My pipe smells nice, check three
Won't you come and smoke a pipe with me?
Come on and smoke it! (high-pitched)