Lyrics:

Christina Aguilera!
Some dead-eyed child bride has learned to dance
BFW! Sisqo!
One pack of vicious blacks hates another
BFW! Moby!
A geography teacher bought a blues record
BFW! Radiohead!
Redefining the very idiom that is modern music
BFW! Psy-trance!
Big beat, prog house, old school, hard house and nu skool breaks
BFW! London!
The five-hundred most snooty people think something's important
BFW! Acting in a movie!
Walk to the mark, say the line, do it again
BFW! Video clips!
The revolving moose-head shot cost quarter of a mil'
BFW! Pay TV!
'Gilligan's Island', rugby, 'Gilligan's Island' again
BFW! The Internet!
More crap at your fingertips than on 'em
BFW!

Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Whoopee!
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Whoopee!

Giorgio Armani!
Makes dresses, makes more dresses
BFW! The Queen Mother!
Fucked the right guy, lots of money, drunkard
BFW! Vegans!
Deeply committed people, better than you and me
BFW! Stock market!
Lots of guys with rat cunning, ripping each other off
BRW! BMW!
You hop in this car, then you drive it
BFW!
Drive it! Drive

Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Whoopee!
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Whoopee!
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Whoopee!
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Whoopee!
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Whoopee!
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Whoopee!
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Whoopee!
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Big fucking whoopee
Whoopee!

You wanna know about big fucking whoopee?
Let me tell you about big fucking whoopee!
Skateboarding – that's big fucking whoopee!
Finnegans Wake – BFW!
That long-haired choreographer on PopStars
Who looks like the Paddle Pop lion
And who was just so loving being on camera
And getting the chance to bully a group of 20-year-olds
BFW mate, in a big way!
Fatboy Slim Dusty!
Chefs, especially celebrity chefs, but all chefs, really
Good ones, I mean, the ones with the snooty attitude
Who think what this world really needs
Is another braised quotquot in a rococo of couscous
And people who like all that shit
Like John Hindle and Claude Forrell and all those food critics
By Christ, when your life's specialty
Is forcing another morsel of over-glazed lamb shank
Down your oily, globular, over-opinionated gullet
When, of all the things in the world men are called to do
Of all the vocations of love and adventure
Of all the trials of the emotions
And amongst all the voyages of spirit mankind can embark upon
When, given this whole universe of possible callings
The one you choose
Is to sit on your crapulent crack
And lazily whine about someone else's cooking
That's when you know
You are at the very acme of the BFW shit heap

Ian Forrester – BFW
Abstract expressionism – BFW
BF-fucking-W to all them
DVD players, 'til they can record, I mean, that's fucking BFW
Every article about feminism in 'The Age' – BFW
Acland Street; Brunswick Street
I mean, you're still just walking up and down the fucking road
I can do that in fucking Rowville, too
Fucking sick of this
BFW to the fucking lot of it
Fucking BF-fucking-W!
Actually, now I fucking talk about it
Teenagers are fucking BFW
Tae Bo, live theatre, all of which is fucking crap
The Grand Prix, golf, Mietta's death
Tap dancing, harp playing, Federation
Cathy fucking Freeman
And every other fucking track-and-field athlete
BFW to the lot of ya!
Tom and Nicole!
Tom and Nicole Brown, I mean
Uh, whose parents moved into the house
Next door to ours for six months
Back when I was nine and I played with, uh
I played with them after school for a while
But I never saw them again after their parents split up
And they had to sell the house
I mean, that Tom and Nicole, Tom and Nicole Brown
Are obviously B, um, BFW
Ah, not the Tom and Nicole
Whose similar marital troubles are terribly vital to me and us all
One thing I would like to know
Why is it Kylie Minogue
Amongst groovers is all the go
But that same crew slag off Bardot?
Who writes the songs?
That's the thing, any clotheshorse can learn to sing
Kylie's albums are all eponymous
But the songwriters stay anonymous
Naughty by Nature, the Backstreet Boys
Boyz II Men, who makes the noise?
Sisqo, Snoop Dogg, less heard then seen
Writing lyrics ain't nothing—'cept these, I mean
Who are the ugly bastards hidden away
Who write the tunes that get airplay?
Listen, Kylie, I don't want to trouble ya
But if you don't write the songs
Bee... Eff... Double-ya