RICHARD LITTLEJOHN: I can't get no vaccination…

RICHARD LITTLEJOHN: I can’t get no vaccination…

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They called it the biggest gathering of musical talent since Live Aid, although to be honest I hadn’t heard of half the acts involved.

Charlie Puth, anybody? Little Mix? Leigh-Anne? Cheesy? Sounds like the sort of savoury cracker you put out with a dip before your virtual dinner party on Zoom — which until recently I always thought was a 1982 hit by Fat Larry’s Band.

No Fat Larry on Sunday night, sadly, but some titans of the rock world did turn up for the Welcome To The World coronavirus singalong. They included Elephant John (© Eric Morecambe), the Rolling Stones, Paul McCartney and Tom Jones, which wasn’t unusual.

Jan Moir did the show justice in her own brilliant, inimitable way in yesterday’s Mail.

But I couldn’t help thinking the event would have been even better if the stars had gone the extra mile and reworked some of their greatest hits for the coronavirus crisis.

So with apologies to Mick’n’Keef, Macca, Elton and the great Barry Mason and Les Reed, who wrote Delilah, here’s what it could have sounded like.

Laydees and gennulmen, would you please welcome to the COVAID stage, the Strolling Bones. As always, it helps if you sing along . . .

Laydees and gennulmen, would you please welcome to the COVAID stage, the Strolling Bones. As always, it helps if you sing along . . .

(To the tune of Satisfaction)

I can’t get no

Vaccination.

All I hear is

Procrastination

Will I die? Will I die?

Will I die? Will I die?

I can’t get no

I can’t get no…

When I’m drivin’ in my car,

And a man comes on the radio

Says I shouldn’t drive too far

And spouts some useless information

About the need for isolation

I can’t get no

No no, no

P.P.E.

That’s what I need…

I can’t get no

Vaccination

I can’t get no

Vaccination.

Will I die? Will I die?

Will I die? Will I die?

I can’t get no

I can’t get no

When I’m watching my MP

And he has the nerve to tell me

About the lack of P.P.E.

But he can’t be a man

’Cos he isn’t wearing

A cheap paper mask like me

I can’t get no

No Fat Larry on Sunday night, sadly, but some titans of the rock world did turn up for the Welcome To The World coronavirus singalong

No, no, no

Hey, hey, hey

No gloves today…

I can’t get no

Medication

No more hand gel for

Sanitation

Will I die? Will I die?

Will I die? Will I die?

I can’t get no

I can’t get no

When I’m scouring the world wide web

And I’m buying this

And I’m buying that

And I’m trying to find

Some Twirls

They tell me

Baby better come back

Maybe next week

’Cos we’ve flogged all our bog rolls

To Paddy the Greek…

I can’t get no

No, no, no

Hey, hey, hey

No milk today.

I can’t get no

I can’t get no

Vaccination

No vaccination

No vaccination

No vaccination …

(Get Off Of My Cloud)

I live in an overcrowded

Flat on the 99th floor

So I head downstairs to the local park

Just to get the hell out of my door

Then along comes a Plod

Who’s all dressed up

In a fancy hi-viz vest

He says: Move along now, son

Or I’m putting you under arrest.

He says: Hey, Hey!

You, You!

Get offa that grass!

Hey, Hey!

They called it the biggest gathering of musical talent since Live Aid, although to be honest I hadn’t heard of half the acts involved. David Bowie is pictured singing at the Live Aid concert at Wembley Stadium in London in 1985

You, You!

Get offa that grass . . !

You can’t sunbathe here,

So move your ass . . .

(Step forward Tom Jones, to the tune of Delilah)

I saw the flashing blue light

As it shone through my window

Wooh, wooh, wooh, wooh,

Wooh, wooh . . .

I heard the ambulance driver

Stamp on the brakes

Wooh, wooh, wooh, wooh,

Wooh, wooh . . .

She’d started sneezing

Wooh, wooh, wooh, wooh,

Wooh, wooh . . .

So I dialled three nines just as soon

As she got the shakes . . .

My, my, my Corona

Diddle, diddle, diddle,

Diddle dum . . .

Why, why, why Corona?

Diddle, diddle, diddle,

Diddle dum . . .

I could see

The woman was going to sneeze

Into her elbow

And she’d forgotten to roll up her sleeves.

At break of day as they drove her away

She was coughing

Cough, cough, cough, cough,

Cough, cough . . .

I closed the windows and then I bolted the door

Clunk, click, clunk, click,

Clunk, click . . .

I went into lockdown

Clunk, click, clunk, click,

Clunk, click . . .

Poured myself a large VAT

And then poured one more . . .

My, my, my Corona

Diddle, diddle, diddle,

Diddle dum . . .

Why, why, why Corona?

Diddle, diddle, diddle,

Diddle dum . . .

Fortunately,

She just had an allergy,

It wasn’t Corona, she was just allergic to me . . .

It wasn’t Corona, she was just allergic to ME!!!

(Close your eyes and it could be Paul McCartney)

In Penny Lane, there is a barber’s with the shutters down,

And the draper has a sign that says he’s closed,

All the people that used to come and go

Have to stay at home . . .

On the corner there’s a banker with a mobile phone

And a hardware shop that’s close to going broke

But the banker won’t give them a loan

Funny bloke, what a joke.

Penny Lane is in retreat and in despair

Dying in the quiet suburban air

Meanwhile, Asda flourishes . . .

Near Penny Lane, there is an out-of-town superstore

Selling bulbs and rhododendrons by the score

But the garden centre can’t open its doors

Any more, it’s the law . . .

So with apologies to Mick’n’Keef, Macca, Elton and the great Barry Mason and Les Reed, who wrote Delilah, here’s what it could have sounded like

Penny Lane is in retreat and in despair

The barber has been banned from cutting hair

Meanwhile, Amazon knocks out clippers . . .

There’s a roadblock in the middle of the roundabout

Cars are stopping for a copper dressed in black

And the copper wears a baseball hat

What a prat, what a prat . . .

In Penny Lane, the boozer doesn’t have a single customer

The landlord’s livelihood is going down the drain

But the supermarkets can sell the full range

Of grape and grain, very strange . . .

Penny Lane is in retreat and in despair

Dying in the quiet suburban air

And meanwhile, back in . . .

Penny Lane is in retreat and in despair

Dying in the quiet suburban air

Penny Lane . . .

(And finally, it’s the Rocketman himself, Elton John)

And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time,

This lockdown gets me down . . .

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