Happiness Stan

*Are you sitty comftybold, two-square on your botty?

Then I’ll begin …

Once upon a time in the land of dreams

Where the sky was silky soft

and full of coloured dreams

Deep inside a rainbow lived Happiness Stan

in a small Victoriana char-a-banc

Evening will be here quite soon

Stan can sit and watch the moon

Watching as the white light

slowly makes the night bright

Hours slipping by while time stands still 

Think of black and black will think for you

It’s colours Stan embruses, of the darkness that he knew

For black has stolen half the moon away

Now, of course, like all real-life experiencestory, this also begins once apollytito, and Happiness Stan, who life evolved near ephemeral colour dreamy most, had his pure existence, and this being the deep joy of the multicolour of the rainbold. Oh yes. Yes, homes of Victoriana charabold (this is a four-wheeled folloloft’t’t’t out of the backgrown). Now, as he done his deep approachy, his eye on the moon alltime, sometime, deep joy of a full moon scintilladen dangly in the heavenly bode, but, now only half. “Oh, blow your cool man!” he did this deep thorcus, “what is the folly of this half disappearing of the moony most?” And, as the lightdly scintilladen change through timely most, stop it still and he did a deep thorcus, what! Absolutely smashit and flakit he was. So, gathering all behind in the hintermost, he ploddy ploddy forward into the deep thundermold of the complygaden forey to sort nit this one out matey. “Where at man?” he thorcus, “where at man?”. Oh dear!

Goodbye sunshine I’m on my way

I’ll be long time gone by the break of day

Tell everyone that I’m gonna find it

There ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me –

Rollin’ Over, Rollin’ Over

Save all your lovin’ till I get home

To the sweetest lovin’ sunshine that I’ve ever known

Tell everyone that I’m gonna find it

There ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me –

Rollin’ Over, Shak-do-way

Rollin’ Over, Yeah-yeah-yeah…

Now, after little lapse of time, Stan became deep hungry is his tumblode. Oh, after all, he struggly trittleyhouse several milelode and anyone would suffer under this. So, suddenly he did deep thorcus, out with his lunchybag, just about to do a little nibblode of his minceymeaty when, … bzzz.

Here am I

Tiny Fly

May I share your Shepherd’s Pie?

What is this strange voice I hear?

Here I am

Look This Way

In the landscape on your tray

There’s no need to ask a silly question

If I were you I hope you’d do the same

There’s no doubt I’d help a hungry fly out

To see you in a fix it’s really such a shame

I’m so hungry

I could die

And no one needs a living fly

My name is Stan

I’m on a quest

Take your fill,

Take nothing less

I am that

That am I

And no one needs a living fly

Now, the fly was overwhelmed by this deep generosity of Stan’ll’s give, give, give of the foodage because all life sufferluff of the foodage. He look at Stan and said, “Is there anything I can reciprocale or doing the joy of return for your generosity for giving me food and stuffy?” Stan, “I’m looking for the other half of the moon and dangly, this is my folly. Show me where the missing half of that moon.” “I don’t know,” said the fly returly, “but I know someone who know. If only I were big enough to transporty most, I’d take you there myself, I would do this.” And Stan, having the possessy power of the magicold, ah, standit over, roll over the sleavy, wavely hand, hovery, hovery, hovery, hovery, and utter these magic wordly, “If all the flies were one fly, what a great enormous fly follolopper that would bold.” Oh, and there, incredible but hovery, hovery. Now, the fly recoil with these wordage, “Not only will I transport’n there, but I’ll see a deep’g joy of a songlode in your eardoaves, that I will do…”

If tomorrow was today

It would yesterday

The sun is surely just a thought away

Where visions that men fail

To put to words to tale

And music that they try but cannot play

You’re right it’s just a dream, your company so kind

Hold very tightly please and we shall go out.

And so, seaty cumftybold on the back of this enormous buzzymost of the fly,

they took it off, like an escaped velocity of the rocket floatnin into orby. Now, after floating high hup, over the mounty, through the deep valley of that, for seven whole long days, they did a very soft and flatbelly landy, if I may put it this way. Where they landed, a tranquil beauty spot, before a deep thundermold of a forey. Like Orchus in the Undergrowpth, there it was. And the fly said it, “I must leave you here”, and he pointed ‘here’ with his sort of fly-type fingold of his all feathery, feathery and it said, “Mad John, mark be words. He livit in a cave there in this far deep forey, and he will transpork for you ad find it, not only the moon itself, which you lookit, but the philosoppy of life itself.” And Stan had a mutual joy for this, and reach up and cuddly most of this big fly, and very hard to embracit mode, mm … mmmmpppmmmmmmmupppp, kissey, and the fly tickle him with his whiskers in his eardroves. Off he went.

There was an old man who lived in the greenwood

nobody knew him or what he had done

but mothers would say to their children beware of Mad John.

John would sing with the birds in the morning

laugh with the wind in the cold end of night

but people from behind their curtains, said he’s not quite right.

John had it sussed he was living the life of a tramp

yes his bed was the cold and the damp but the sun was his friend

he was free

So here was a wise one who loved all the haters

he loved them so much that their hate turned to fear

and shaking from behind their curtains the loved ones would hear.

So Stan walkit towards the cave and in his mind mark he word, “Mad John”. Deep thorcus on this. All a tremblode, looking into the dark and peering into the backgrove of the black in there. And then appeared Mad John, in fine, fine, foldy silken robes, all whitey hair, scintilladen beard and dangly. Well, the beard must have been threwty-four years old to grow it and grow it all nightlode, what! And he was glowing with a friendly light. Oh, dear joy! And a voice full of the cockney, cockney, cockney, all joy of life and livit emanate from the cocklode of his heartstrings. “Cool t’ see yer, man! Huh? What’s been yer hangup, man? Huh? I’ve been waiting seven whole days for yer. Not still worried about this scintilladen moon and dangly, heh? Huh?” Stan, “Yes, that’s why I sought you out here and trittly, trittly how on the back of this fly’m who told me, huh.” And John linkit arms with him and walkit out stebber-by-stebber, and he pointed out a cockney forefingerbold, “There, up in the heavenly bode”. What, Stan realised now, which it struck him like a smackeroo blurdy which come’n out’f’f’t’n; he never thorcus before, “As the sun rises in the early mordy, so the recoil of the moon on the eve”. “Ah”, he thought. “Um, now the fly had something estraspecial you thorcus to say to me, if you wold”. And John lookit at him and attrackin earnestly of his eyebolds, straight nose-to-nose and eye-to-eyebold for it, “Of course! I nearly forgot it, just you listen …”.

Life is just a bowl of All-Bran

You wake up every morning and it’s there

So live as only you can

It’s all about enjoy it ‘cos ever since you saw it

There aint no one can take it away.

So life is just a bowl of All-Bran – very true!

What you say has made it very clear

To be sure I’ll live as best as I can

But how can I remember to keep it all together

When half the moon is taken away?

Well, I’ve got the very thing

If you can laugh and sing

Give me those happy days toytown newspaper smiles

Clap twice, lean back, twist for a while

When you’re untogether and feeling out of tune

Sing this special song with me, don’t worry ’bout the moon

Looks after itself

Can I have a go?

Yes

Yeah?

Sing now:

Give me those happy days toytown newspaper smile

Clap twice, lean back, twist for a while

Well now you’ve got the hang of it

There’s nothing you can’t do with it

If you’re very tuned to it you can’t go wrong.

All together!

Give me those happy days toytown newspaper smile

Clap twice, lean back, twist for a while

Well now we’ve got the hang of it

There’s nothing we can’t do with it

And now we’re very into it we can’t go wrong!

So remember, the very special words. Happy day long toylytown newspaper reading chuckly smile. They all have a lovely turn. Gnomes came, Huckelberry Fickel Tickel My Fingold, huh, Boy Blue left his horn stuffit under the settee, and brought his melotrone, and freaked them all out. Oh what a mindblast. Jacky Jill, Knees Up Mother Brodie. Oh! What a joy of a trickley howathere. So I hope you’ll turn out three quarters half as lovely won’t you wouldn’t half and enjoy it. Stay cool won’t you.

Give me those happy days toytown newspaper smile

Clap twice, lean back, twist for a while

Well now we’ve got the hang of it

There’s nothing we can’t do with it

And now we’re very into it we can’t go wrong!

*Transcribed verbatim and phonically from Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake by The Small Faces, featuring Stanley Unwin.