THE SONG OF THE KLOOD

(Tune: "The Song of the Clyde")

	I sing of a river I try to elude,
	The song that I sing is the song of the Klood,
	Of all Kastath rivers the queerest to me,
	It flows toward the hills and away from the sea.
	Through Yurinn's Bad Leg, Arse, Crotch, Elbow and Nose,
	And past Charisnaktia, reeking, it goes,
	And no-one apart from a pervert or pseud
	Would want to hear more of this Song of the Klood.

CHORUS	Oh the river Klood, the odorous Klood,
	The name of it puts me in nauseous mood,
	And although it's rude, unseemly and crude,
	I'd rather drink sewage than taste of the Klood.

	The water is greenish, with flotsam bestrewed,
	Which adds to the flavour you find in the Klood,
	It flows like cold treacle and clings like hot glue,
	And you'd never believe all the things it can do.
	It eats through all metal, glass, fabric and skin,
	There's no kind of vessel can hold the stuff in,
	The stone of the banks, with dark magic imbued,
	Is the only thing stronger than water of Klood.

CHORUS

	(Sung twice as fast)
	But the breweries of Lesser Kastath, though they are by some with acrimony viewed,
	Are the only corporations capable of getting value from the river Klood,
	For they run the water into basins which are made as perdurable as the bed
	And then toss in several ingredients which would as like turn your head.
	They let it brew just for a year or two and then they urinate into the vat
	And add the mouldy bones of seven poisoned dwarves and one old charcoal-burner's hat,
	And when the whole repulsive mixture has become inert, impervious and cold,
	They bottle it and put a label on it saying "YURINNITE GOLD."

CHORUS (repeat last line for big finish.)