For the noisiest socks I could find
Spots up the front, clocks up the side
Zig-zags and squirms up behind
The kinds that I've seen, well, my modesty shocks
And I set for myself this most difficult task
When I entered the shop and modestly asked,
Chorus: 'Does this shop stock shot socks with spots?
Does this shop stock shot socks with spots?
Shot socks with spots give my wife shocks
So does this shop stock shot socks with spots?'
I've seen blue socks and red ones, some black ones shot green
Some split flannelette ones in white
And a mixture of oilcloth and pink crepe-de-chine
With a special insertion for night
A fine yellow hue with a little black speck
That'll reach to the elbow and tie round the neck
And I felt quite upset at the terrible task
As I spluttered and stammered, and nervously asked, er
Chorus:
I've just seen some socks that I'd like to try on
Bright with mirrors, brass on the soles
Made of old Brussels lace trimmed with galvanised iron
That want rivets to darn up the holes
A pair, with a pattern like French Irish stew
That keep slipping about, so they fix them with glue
They'd some watertight pairs you could use as a cask
But it's socks that I want not beer, when I ask,
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