Invites call the debs to play
Social climbers polish ladders
Wayward sons again have fathers
Edgy eggs and queuing cumbers
Rudely wakened from their slumbers
Time has come again for slaughter
On the lawns by still cam waters
It's a slaughter, it's a slaughter
Champagne corks are firing at the sun again
Swooping swallows chased by violins again
Straafed by strauss they sulk in crumbling eaves again
Aperitifs consumed en masse display
Their owners on the grass
Couples loiter in the cloisters
Social leeches quoting chaucer
Doctor's son a parson's daughter
Where why not and should they oughta
Please don't lie upon the grass
Unless accompanied by a fellow
May I be so bold as to perhaps suggest othello
Punting on the cam is jolly fun they say
Beagling on the downs, oh please do come they say
Rugger is the tops, a game for men they say
They say, good God they say
Angie chalks another blue
Mother smiles she did it too
Chitters chat and gossips lash
Posers pose, pressmen flash, flash
Smiles polluted with false charm
Society columns now ensured
Returns to mingle with the crowds
Oh please do come they say
Oh please so come they say
Garden party held today they say
Oh please do come, they say
WRITERS
IAN MOSLEY, MARK KELLY, PETER TREWAVAS, STEVE HOGARTH, STEVE ROTHERY