Roll Over Gilbert & Sullivan

I am the very model of a Cropredy Fest veteran
In my many years of going I have never met a better one
I arrive on Monday even though the campsite's not open yet
And try to blag my way into the Mill for Fairport's warm-up set

I drink in The Red Lion and The Brasenose and the other one
And then by Tuesday evening all my money for the week has gone
So I have to busk for cash with my guitar and my accordion
Singing songs by Sandy Denny, Ralph McTell and Richard Thompson

When the camp grounds open I will be right at the head of the queue
To bag a good spot half way 'tween the Sports Club and the Portaloo
I try to pitch my tent and find I've left all of the pegs at home
So end up sleeping in a shed, my pillow is a garden gnome

When the music field opens I race there enthusiastically
And buy a dinky programme which I lose almost immediately
I swig a pint of 6X and I feast on Leon's vegetarian
And chat to a real oddball who says he's a school librarian

Around the field are stalls selling odd products made most ethnically
In Africa from bits of wood and beads hypothetically
but really they are just knocked up in a lock-up in Twickenham
by a bloke called Norman who makes a packet out of selling them

There are racks of tie-dyed shirts and masses of wild and groovy gear
Just wear it now because you won't be able to the rest of the year
There's also food from Australia or even Indonesia
But eating it can give you dyspepsia or diarrhoea

Next I spy the Chaps and I greet them most enthusiastically
They shake my hand and laugh as though they really do remember me
I've had thirteen pints of 6X and a vegetable curry
So it is no real surprise when they all depart up wind of me

I soon fall asleep to the sound of music played most folkily
And wake to find the sun has gone and I'm mellowed out totally
I've just got time to buy one more pint of Wadworth's finest bitter
Before catching an Indian band who eat glass and play the sitar

After the gig I sheep-like baa and move almost instinctively
to find Stage 2 where songs get sung often indecipherably
Where cans are sunk and jokes are cracked by revellers indestructible
And tunes are lost and lyrics found to songs that are most memorable

Down the years I've been a regular at this finest festival
And every year it proves again that it really is the best of all
And even though my gut has spread and even though my hair's all gone
I'm still the very model of a Cropredy Fest veteran!

Written by Widds