Brian Cox's Jazz mag box
Is fastened with a thousand locks
The reason you will shortly see:
A vast array of porn has he
Milfs and grannies, whites and blacks
Midgets, giants, beasts and spacks
Clappy hookers with the pox
Lie within Brian's Jazz mag box


Another thing beneath the locks
Of Brian Cox's jazz mag box
Are grumble vids, both straight and gay
He watches when his wife's away
The things he sees, it won't surprise
Would make on stalks pop out your eyes
His seed he catches in old socks
All kept within the jazz mag box


Brian Cox's tiny winkle
Hanging out the front
On his shoes he's done a sprinkle
What a cunt.

Brian Cox's tiny winkle
Peeking out the front
On his shoes he's done a tinkle
The stupid fucking cunt.


He w@nks, he shoots blanks
He dribbles down the trouser
brian cox, off of the box,
That fucking council houser

He keeps his wheelies in a box
the grinning know-all brian cox
ears all full of loud rocket sounds
on moons of saturn, hedging greyhounds

Brian Cox, Big wet lochs
in the heart of scottish moors
Turgid niggers, driving diggers
and a thousand dirty whores

He travels The Earth, from Sheffield to Thanet
He speaks of the moon and of every planet 
He knows all the Stars by their names and by letter 
He played keyboards on "Things can only get better". 

That Brian Cox off of D-Ream 
Who speaks of places far from earth 
By his grinning face, now it would seem 
That he has had the ol' rebirth

Would you look at Professor Brian Cox 
Slightly too old for his trendy locks
With his gurning, childlike, shiny face 
He comes on the telly to talk about space