The tune is a mish-mash of "Star Trekking" and "While We were Marching through Georgia".  But the real debt is to Pam Ayres's "Littering" and to the dirty bastards who've dumped crap down our local country roads.

 

Fly tipping – we’re out for a nice ride

Fly tipping – the van is full inside

We’d have to pay at dumpit sites so blight the countryside

We’re your friendly fly tippers.

 

Two squashed moggies, mongrel bitch,

Dirty mags, plastic bags,

Mangle and a Hotpoint fridge,

Dumped beside a ditch.

 

Rolls and rolls of Baco Foil

Cans of oil, nappies soiled

Bags of turves and garden spoil

And contraceptive coil.

 

Fly tipping – we feel we play our part

Fly tipping – it’s just a form of art

John Constable did haywains and a Suffolk applecart

Our medium is fly tipping.

 

Busted donkey bought in Spain,

Weather vane, Hornby train,

With a lion that’s lost its mane

Down your country lane.

 

Baggy trousers, de-mob suit,

Rotting fruit, one old boot,

Kid’s tin drum and half a flute,

That once played root-toot-toot.

 

Fly tipping – down all our country lanes

Fly tipping – our rubbish and remains

Contemptuous and ignorant we shit on your domain

We are England’s fly tippers.

 

Asbestos, empty tins of peas,

Cardboard boxes, old settees,

Tampons, condoms, blocks of breeze,

Black bags of dog faeces.

 

Stereos and broken fans

Baked bean cans, pots and pans,

Stockings worn by trans and grans

Cars and burnt out vans.

 

Fly tipping – we’re out for a nice ride

Fly tipping – the van is full inside

We’d have to pay at dumpit sites so blight the countryside

We’re your friendly fly tippers.