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Score of Angeline
A classic bawdy song which nobody can ever remember when you come to sing it, however, there are usually some clever clogs that know all the words, then the rest of us join in with the bits we know!
The words "bloody, fucking hell" should be shouted not sung and Angelines declared love for the blacksmith should be sung in falsetto. The last line should be sung slowly with a big grin and a sort of sigh!

She was sweet sixteen little Angeline,
Aways dancing on the village green,
As the boys passed by you could hear them cry,
Poor little Angeline.

At the village fair the Squire was there,
Masturbating on the village square,
When he chanced to see the dainty knee,
Of poor little Angeline.

Now the village squire had but one desire,
To be the biggest bastard in the whole damn shire,
And he set his heart on the vital part,
Of poor little Angeline.

As she lifted up her skirt to avoid the dirt,
Tripping through the puddles of the Squire's last squirt,
And the sight he saw, made his prick grow more,
For poor little Angeline.

So he raised his hat and said ,"your cat,
Has been run over and is squashed quite flat,
Now my car's in the square and I'll take you there,
Poor little Angeline."

Now the filthy old turd should have got the bird,
But she climbed right in beside without another word,
As they drove on by you could hear her cry,
Poor little Angeline.

They had not gone far when he stopped the car,
And he took little Angeline into a bar,
Where he gave her gin just to make her sin,
Poor little Angeline.

When he'd oiled her well, he took her to a dell,
And there he gave Angeline (shouted) bloody fucking hell,
And he tried his luck with a low down fuck,
On poor little Angeline.

With a cry of "Rape" he raised his cape,
And poor little Angeline had no escape,
So it's time someone came to save the name,
Of poor little Angeline.

Now the village blacksmith was brave and bold,
And had loved little Angeline for years untold,
And he vowed he'd be true, whatever they may do,
To poor little Angeline.

But sad to say that very same day,
The blacksmith had been taken off to jail to stay,
For coming in his pants at the local village dance,
With poor little Angeline.

Now the window of his cell overlooked the leafy dell,
Where the squire was giving Angeline (shouted) bloody fucking hell,
And there on the grass he observed the arse,
Of poor little Angeline.

Now he got such a start that he passed a huge fart,
That blew the bloody walls of the jail apart,
And he ran like shit lest the Squire should split,
His poor little Angeline.

When he got to the spot and he saw what was what,
He tied the squires bollocks in a fucking great knot,
For there upon the grass was the imprint of the arse,
Of poor little Angeline.

(falsetto) "Oh, blacksmith blacksmith I do love you,
And by the bulge in your trousers that you love me too,
Now that I'm undressed, come and do your best,"

Cried poor little Angeline.

It would be quite wrong just to end this song,
For the blacksmith had a prick of over one foot long,
And his phallic charm was as thick as your arm,
(slow) Happy, happy Angeline.

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