Well, it’s pretty obvious to me from one listen through:
Tying half a fire, fire the handle of your ball,
But Toulouse is mine, he’s a wazzock from Nepal.
And I’m numb from chews, got those twelfth century shoes.
Don’t want Dave to call, don’t want his bristle down a tube,
Trying to find some hum, and maybe crackers and some Brie
And I’m numb from booze, got that health centre flooze.
I’m not made of bone, so don’t be prepping in that hay,
Cut me garden gnome, cos you don’t fear a wooden sleigh.
Aint got nothing to chew, got those 20th century brews.