Fellatio Nell Son Lyrics

Let me tell you about the worst blow job I ever had,
(It was alright, actually, it wasn't that bad)
If you just want the smeg licking off your bell end
There's a tart in Lancashire I'll recommend
She'll do it in the pub, you don't have to go to bed
She'll even put a beer towel on top of her head
And get a round in if you keep her well fed
Fellatio Nell, son, you won't like the smell, son
Gangrene and death come across in her breath, Fellatio
Nell, son.

I was watching the final on the TV, when the smell of a
urinal wafted over to me
I thought of open sewers and unflushed bogs,
But the smell of manure was coming out of her gob
No body's snogged her since '71
Coz her gob's always full of somebody's come
And there's seven types of dick cheese under her tongue

Fellatio Nell, son, you won't like the smell, son
She'll gobble up your scrote and fit it down her
throat, Fellatio Nell, son.

Running sores round her cakehole, but I took the chance You can't see her face when its in your underpants
She's swallowed more foreskins than a Yid doctor's
bucket
She sees a bulging crotch, she just has to suck it

Fellatio Nell, son. You won't like the smell, son
She can suck your bollock through the hole in your
cock, Fellatio Nell, son.

----- {LP Version- (ƒ B G#m A E F#m)- additional
lyrics}-----

She can drool on your tool faster than blinking
She won't even mind if you carry on drinking
She'll even put a beer towel on top of her head
And get a round in if you keep her well fed

Nobody's snogged her since '72, her gob's always full
of somebody's tool
f*ck off down the chemists get some listerine
Your breath smells like the creature from the black
latrine

She'll clean out your Jap's eye with the tip of her
tongue
Eat the worms round your warhead if you're very well
hung
Her face is always buried in somebody's flies

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