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)