by Ben Mousley Swimmer got his name from the fact He was always splashing about, Some folks said his father were fine But his mum were a bit of a trout. In every sense of the phrase, it's said He'd water on the brain, Described as he was, in many ways, But never as being sane. Despite his less than normal life And love affair wi' water, Swimmer met a lovely lass And set his mind to court her. She fell for him, and he proposed; They vowed their lives to share, But true love's course is rarely smooth When one half's not all there. Up to Blackpool, one weekend Went a coachload from the 'Ford Swimmer were there (he loved the sea) And so were his missus, Maud. Out on the town they went that night And all got pissed as sin, Fond of water as Swimmer was He preferred it wi' three parts gin. Well he lost 'is way in his drunken funk And stumbled around for a while, Then curled up in a heap for the night On a bench on the Golden Mile. Followin' day the bus drove past On its way back down the 'Ford, And someone hollered, "There he is! Now get him back on board." Now Swimmer, blissfully unaware Of all that had occurred, Lay spark out down in the back of the coach And not so much as stirred. He stayed that way 'til journey's end Back home in Stockingford Then someone gently woke him up, And asked him, "Where s your Maud?" Perplexion masked upon his face His head he tried to clear, Realisation slowly dawned; Confusion turned to fear, " Why'm I on this bleedin coach!? She'll murder me!" he shrieks, Me and Maud were on us hols, We're up there two more weeks!"
The end