I’d rather go to prison or be given a huge fine
Or have cosmetic surgery from Doctor Frankenstein
Sit through a boring lecture on interior design
Yes, I’d rather do most anything than cross a picket line
I’d sooner scratch my itches with a prickly porcupine
Or spend the night in darkest woods when evil stars align
De-skin my legs with sandpaper and wade through lakes of brine
Yes, I’d rather drown in vats of rats than cross a picket line
I’d rather drink a cocktail made of sweat and turpentine
Or live beneath a spiky hedge in Lower Lichtenstein
Lie face down in the middle of an open-cast coal mine
Yes, I’d rather eat stale camels’ feet than cross a picket line
I’d rather be like Tarzan and go swinging from a vine
Or dive off that big bridge and then go swimming in the Tyne
Bathe naked with piranhas in the Hyde Park Serpentine
Yes, I’d rather lose my other eye than cross a picket line
I’d rather rub a massive turd and try to make it shine
Or dip some poo in superglue and stick it to my spine
Invest my lot in Enron stock and watch its sharp decline
Yes, I’d rather go to Hell and back than cross a picket line
I’d rather face the rising storm in 1939
Or have my photo taken standing by a TURN RIGHT sign
Pretend to have the time of day for Michael Heseltine
Yes, I’d rather have my nails pulled out than cross a picket line
I’d rather take a solemn pledge to never drink more wine
Or place my genitalia in the mouth of a dead swine
Become a Shadow Minister, then run off and resign
Yes, I’d rather scrape the barrel’s arse than cross a picket line
I’d rather turn my bedroom to a Justin Bieber shrine
Or use an Off-Peak Travelcard at twenty-five past nine
Send Iain Duncan Smith a secret, scented Valentine
But I’d never, no not ever, ever cross a picket line
