I sit, here as for twenty years I’ve sat,
wearing my music critic’s hat.
I mean it’s clearly not an actual hat.
It’s metaphorical.
And in those twenty years I’m sad
to say these wondrous promenades
have gone from bad to worse to bad
to pretty [bad word] to bloody horrible.

I admit, I’m a bit of a classical music boffin
and although I’ve said this often,
the final nail in the coffin
of these proms is surely imminent.
Yes, we survived Nigel effing Kennedy
but surely there’s no earthly remedy
for a night of [bad word] hosted by an immigrant.

Why we insist on this tosh is a mystery.
Classical music and laughter don’t mix, you see
One hundred and sixty years of history
tossed away for a cheap guffaw.
One of our nation’s finest traditions,
some of our country’s finest musicians,
forced into humiliating conditions.
Is nothing sacred any more?

Classical music should always be
performed, well, you know, classically,
with suitably solemn solemnity
and usually in three-four, two-three-one-two-three…
Now we have this, [bad word] prom,
it’s all boom-tish and pom pom pom.
What are these BBC idiots on?
Is nothing sacred any more?

I remember, it seems like yesterday,
watching the greats [bad word] to play.
It was so magical and [bad word] 
back when [bad word] meant something good.
I wish that I were back there one again,
when the orchestras were made of men
and some patience and a penny
could give you Henry Wood - you would get Wood…

Oh, what Henry Wood would think
if only Henry Wood could think.
Though he’s extinct
he would have died if he had seen this.
Endless rhymes and dirty puns,
people [bad word] with their tongues,
they think it’s funny
forcing divas to sing  [bad word] .

…

I remember, it seems like yesterday,
when conductors were bearded and grey.
This little twerp is not yet shaving
or evening looking at the score.
Is nothing sacred any more?
We used to care about the Arts.
I mean honestly! Look at this violinist’s chart.
It actually says  [bad word] .
Is nothing scared any more?

So nothing’s scared any more.
Stories that inspired the greats of yore:
sin, redemption, and the Lord,
heaven’s glory and [bad word] s fires,
the battle of the light against the dark,
the timeless narratives that drove Mozart and boring Bach.
We no longer give a fark.
‘cause nothing’s sacred. Praise the Lord.

I reckon it’s time to start a new tradition,
something designed for [bad word] musicians.
We’ll do it every year at [bad word] Prom.
It’ll be a ritual from now on.
At the end of the night, right, listen up,
before they kick us out, start packing up,
I reckon all you peasants in the cheap seats
should take off your clothes and writhe naked on the floor while a member of the Royal family plays the tune to Doctor Who on a keytar…