Grimsby, a murky wee northerly town And lousy with houses of seedy renown The ladies wear only a loose fitting gown Transactions are furtive and quick And every street corner is coated in brass With a ****** for every discernable class In a spectrum of hues and selection of mass All awaiting a dip of the wick Diseases are spreading and taking a hold With pimples and blisters and, finally, mould But just when the punters are starting to fold A saviour arrives in the nick
Doctor McNaughty, King of the Kink And his brothel of many surprises A welcoming smile, a comfortable bed And some help with whatever arises The rooms are fantastic, the ropes are elastic With feathery leather and spikes It wanders the street on mechanical feet And it scoops up the punters it likes
There’s something to suit almost every wish With strawberries and freshly whipped cream in a dish There’s a bucket of springs and a kettle of fish And the manacles, shackles and chains A selection of ******* and optional clamps There’re pulleys, tackle and half-pipe ramps A physio suite for reduction of cramps And the treatment of ****** strains A marshmallow room with a candyfloss bed And hookers of platinum, purple and red And for those who are hankering after the dead There’s a room full of human remains
Doctor McNaughty, Lord of the ***** A magical, mystical **** With wonders galore behind every door And occasional chicken or gimp His visits are brief, but of major relief To the multitude often attending Then he’s off in a flash with a bundle of cash He so loves a happy ending