Based on Luxembourg 1956 (1)

Here at BBC headquarters ESC’s not our forte
Our last 12 points came from Prussia, our last win was in Pompeii
No-one wants to be our singer, Vera Lynn said no thank you
Right Said Fred said, “Sure, we’re keen… but we must wash our hair till June”

Oh we asked all the stars, Peter Andre’s behind bars
The ugly one from S Club got a new job at a pub

Then we thought we’d found a Nolan – was the one who doesn’t sing
Called Martine McCutcheon’s granny but she let her phone just ring
Then Adele gave us a yes and in our knickers we all pissed
“Adele Scunt, I work at Boots” – we moved her to the maybe list

Oh we asked all the stars, Mr Blobby was aghast
We even asked every class at St Winifred’s, all passed

So we went back, asked the Allisons nicely if they’d died yet
Sadly one had and, “Over my *#&©%#@ corpse!” live one said
Asked, “Are you sure?” – he hung up, my thought bulb though was now lit
Would it be so wrong if we dug dead one up for a bit?

So we traipsed down to the churchyard and we took apart his grave
Took the corpse back up to Salford, Pollyfilla’d the decay
Gave him lovely brand new eyeballs – ping pong balls on which we drew
We don’t have Moldova’s budget but he looks as good as new

Prop him up, prop him up, folk in Spain’ll never know
Just prop him up, prop him up, hope the rotting doesn’t show

Necropop, necropop, necropop

It’s the BBC’s last hope