The Chatham National Anthem

Gentlemen, I should like to sing a song about Oxford degrees. About myself, about yourselves, about the way our cultured, sophisticated hearts beat way down in the bottoms of our smoothe, lucious chests, about that special feeling we get in the cockles of our hearts (or maybe below the cockles in the sub-cockle area, maybe in the liver or the kidneys or even in the colon - we just don't know) whenever we lie on a couch, sipping the finest French absinthe, popping glaciet mints in our mouths and texting to the next door neighbours to turn down the noise so we can enjoy Bowie's LOW album...

I'm a sophisticated Oxford graduate
But I don't actually have a job
I have a degree in archaeology
But it's untrue that I'm a snob

I like Bowie, and absinthe
And books about Celts
I live in an exclusive appartment
With nice leather belts

I hate students, and old folk
And hysterical bints
Upper class homophobes
Though I quite like fresh mints!

I'd rather lie on the couch
Than travel through time
Oh no, no way, uh uhh
Instead I just text UNIT
And Torchwood when my ass
Is on the line
Oh yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah

I offer Fox mints
To people in pain
I find it endearing
They think I'm insane!

I'm a scumbag
(he's a scumbag, what a scumbag)
I'm a scumbag
(he's a scumbag, such a scumbag)

I can't keep my shirt on
I like being half-nude
While everyone I know
Thinks I am incredibly rude!

I'm a scumbag
(he's a scumbag, what a scumbag)
I'm a scumbag
(he's the worlds biggest scumbag)

I have women on my arms
But it's just a bunch of lies
I'm ashamed of being gay
Don't look so surprised!

I'm a scumbag
(he's a scumbag, what a scumbag)
I'm a scumbag
(he's a real bloody scumbag)

Maybe I shouldn't
Take quite so long
To answer calls for help
When Corrie is on
Maybe they're right
When they tell me I'm wrong...
...

NAAAHHHHH!
I'm a scumbag!
(he's a scumbag, what a scumbag)
I'm a scumbag!
(he's the world's biggest scumbag)

You know what I am going to do?

I'm going purchase myself a 1947 Bently convertible - hot pink, with Ood skin hub caps, an all-leather Slitheen interior and big Zranti Beast eyes for headlights!

And I shall drive around in that vintage automible at 115 miles per hour getting one mile per gallon, consuming bottles of Finest French Absinthe and whole packets of Fox Glacier Mints in the old-fashioned non-biodegradable packets.

And when I have finished my gargantuan repast, I intend to daintily wipe my mouth with a stolen copy the Big Issue and then I will toss the rubbish right out the side and there isn't a single, solitary thing anybody can do about it.

And do you want to know why?

Because I have a degree, that is why!

Two words: Oxford Fucking Degree!!!

Is that understood!?

David Bowie is not dead, he is just having a gap year!

Together with David Bowie and Lee Williams and Jonas Armstrong and Joe Absolom and a crate of finest French absinthe, I shall drive down to New Zealand and liberate Adam Rickitt...

(Hey, Hey! You know you really are a scumbag!)

Untrue! Why don't you just shut-up and sing the song, you chav scum?

I'm a scumbag!
(he's a scumbag, what a scumbag)
I'm a scumbag!
(he's the world's biggest scumbag)

C - HA - TH - AM!
Everybody!!
S - CU - MB - AG!

C - HA - TH - AM!
*dog barking noises*
S - CU - MB - AG!

I am a scumbag. But I have a degree.