There's a smug, annoying bastard on my telly
As sartorially deluded as Fonzarelli
His jacket and his jeans never seem to fit
And he hosts every show with his massive tits
On display
He calls 'em “Hammond” and “May”

He's on the Digger's payroll and he's friends with Dave
The planet isn't something that he wants to save
He coughs out fatuity with every breath
And thinks that cyclists should suffer a violent death
Or disease
Oh, someone tell me please ...

CHORUS
Why can't Jeremy Clarkson just fuck off?
He's a petrol-headed nobber and we've all just had enough
Pedal to the metal, no turning back
A lifetime of laps around the “Top Git” track
The race is over, the chequered flag's unfurled
He's the biggest fucking bell-end ... in the world

Public-sector strikers, he'd take 'em out
Like an injunction to cover up his shagging about
There's no end to the verbal toss he flings
Though he has done one teeny, tiny thing
That is ace
He punched Piers Morgan in the face
(He's still a twat though)

REPEAT CHORUS

What is the point of the environment?
The whole of Wales should be bulldozed flat and turned into a giant car factory
You know how they put fluoride in the water supply? Well, they should put meat juice in there as well, just to annoy vegetarians
All electric, hybrid, and fuel-efficient cars are gay
If I was prime minister, it would be illegal to be an animal that doesn't appear on a restaurant menu
Why can't my car be fitted with a laser that vaporises all forms of public transport?
I mean, how hard can it be?!

CHORUS
Why can't Jeremy Clarkson just fuck off?
He's a petrol-headed nobber and we've all just had enough
A walking, drivel-slinging bucket of fail
And total cock-womble on an epic scale
A scouring pad-haired, irritating media blight
And on that bombshell ... good night!