And you'll praise me for making you fit to be seen!
With a fillip, a fillip, a fillip.
A fillip, a fillip, a fillip.
A fillip, a fillip, a fillip, a fillip,
A fillip, a fillip, a fillip, a fillip!"
Conan: Let me go, will you! Let you stop!
The soap that is going into my eye!
Celia: My grief you are! Let you be willing
to suffer, so long as you will be tasty and decent
and be a credit to ourselves.
Conan: The suds are in my mouth!
Celia: One minute now and you'll be as clean
as a bishop!
Conan: Let me go, can't you!