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Bohemian Curry

(with apologies to Freddie)

Naan-aa, just killed a man
Poppadom against his head
Had lime pickle, now he’s dead
Naan-aa, dinner had just begun
But now I’ve gone and crapped it all away

Naan-aa, oo-oo-oo-ooo
Didn’t mean to make you cry
Seen nothin’ yet, just see the loo tomorrow
Curry on, curry on,
‘Cos nothin really madras

Too late, my dinner’s gone
Sends shivers down my spine
Rectum’s aching all the time
Goodbye, every bhaji, I’ve got to go
Gotta leave you all behind and use the loo

Naan-aa, oo-oo-oo-ooo
This dopiaza’s mild
I sometimes wish we’d never come here at all…

(guitar solo)

I see a little chicken tikka on the side
Rogan josh, rogan josh
Pass the chutney made of mango
Vindaloo does nicely,
Very very spicy, me!

Biryani (biryani)
Biryani (biryani)
Biryani and a naan

I’ve eaten balti, somebody help me
He’s eaten balti, get him to a lavatory
Then stand well back, ‘cos this loo is quarantined

Here it comes
There it goes
Technicolor yawn
I chunder –
It’s coming up again
(There it goes!) I chunder
It’s coming up again
(There it goes!) I chunder
It’s coming up again (up again!)
Coming up again (up again!)
Coming up again – oh-oh-oh!
No! No! No! No! No! No! NO!
I’m on my knees, I’m on my knees
I’m on my knees (Oh there he goes)
This vindaloo is about to burst my guts
Poor me, poor me, poor meeeeee!

(headbanging guitar break)

So you think you can chunder and it’s all right?
So you want to scoff curry and lager all night?
Oh maybe, now you’ll puke like a baby,
Just get it out, just get it right out of here

(build up to big finish)

Korma, saag or bhuna,
Balti, naan, bhaji
Nothin’ really madras
Nothin’ really madras to me…
(Any way my wind blows…)

This version of Bo Rhap, or at least something like it, was given to us by Chris, a Man City fan we met in Thailand. Thanks, Chris!

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