(or More Reasons To Love Peter Cook)


The Glidd of Glood would wander nude throughout his spacious castle,
So everyone could plainly see his huge brown paper parcel,
In this the Glidd kept carefully hid his jewels, gold and crown,
Tied to his wrists with bits of string, he never put it down.

There's never been a man so mean, he didn't mind the cold,
When clothes grow old their value goes, unlike a piece of gold,
And when the Glidd got into bed he'd cuddle with his treasure,
And kiss his parcel constantly, this was his only pleasure.

His servants all were quite appalled at everything he did,
But no-one dared to say a word, they feared the cruel Glidd,
For he could kill a man at will, his power was absolute,
And every night at half past eight, they'd smile and kiss his foot.

"Oh Glidd of Glood you are so good, as any Glood I knows"
They whispered this each time they kissed his gnarled and grimy toes,
And when they ate it was their fate to sit with him at table,
And look as grateful as they could, but very few were able,
To save on food he fed them wood mixed up with grains of rice,
On Sundays as a special treat he served them boiled mice.

When in the mood the Glidd of Glood would have a bit of fun,
With Sparquin the court jester, a man of 81 one, who'd say
"I say I say I say, who does not love our Glidd?
I beg you, stand and raise your hand"
But no one ever did
"We love him so because we know that nowhere could we find,
A man so generous and true, so gentle and so kind,
Oh lovely Glidd, we love you so
I kiss your knee,
I suck your toe,
Oh lovely Glidd, don't ever go"
And then the Glidd would sternly bid them drink the loyal toast,
With water from a plastic cup, one quarter full at most.

The Glidd of Glood thought he saw God one dark and stormy night,
A figure with a green moustache and clad in shrouds of white,
"You ghastly Glidd" the vision said,
"Get on your knees and pray,
If you want to enter paradise you'll give all your wealth away"
"What, all of it?" replied the Glidd, "My crown and jewels as well?"
"Yes you all of it, you greedy Glidd, or else you'll burn in hell."
In wild despair, with many a tear, the Glidd undid the strings,
And handed over jewels and crown and all his precious things.

The sobbing Glidd returned to bed to moan and weep and fret,
And when the sun came up at dawn his sheets were soaking wet,
His morning tea arrived and he shrieked as he seized the cup,
"Fetch me Sparquin here at once! I need some cheering up"
"I fear he's gone" replied the man, "He caught the morning flight,
"He left behind this green moustache and long white cotton nightie,
And here's a note that Sparquin wrote, it seems a little odd,
It says 'Goodbye you greedy Glidd,' signed Sparquin, alias God."

The Glidd fell ill, a sudden chill, and very soon he died,
The funeral was a gay affair and not a Gloodite cried,
They drank and sang, the church bells rang and then there was a dance,
No flowers decked his grave save one,
Signed "Sparquin, South of France."

And here's the moral of this tale of greed and gross deceit,
If God asks you for all your cash, do ask for a receipt.

You know it makes sense.