It's really F-ing cold

This is a bit of an odd one. It's meant to have a bit of audience participation on the chorus - I say 'It's cold, it's cold' then the audience shout out 'It's really f-ing cold!' then the verses get faster and faster - with me kind of shivering more as it goes on.

It’s cold, it’s cold,
It’s really F-ing cold
It’s cold, it’s cold,
It’s really F-ing cold

Yes. The Shetland Isles are cold. But I guess you already figured that.
I’d figured it as well– that’s why I bought this massive hat
But alas before an hour’s elapsed it turns out both my lips are chapped
The cold means that I can’t relax. On top of that, the thermostat
Has begun to have a heart attack, the dial flips like an acrobat
And I figured I could handle that. it’s cool, I’ve got my anorak,
And more layers than a ziggurat. But even so, this winter snap
Has chilled me to my cataracts. The water in my bottle cracks
My breathe comes fast, more balls are grasped
And my salivas turned to candlewax.
I wonder for the first time
Can you actually give the funding back?

It’s cold, it’s cold,
It’s really F-ing cold
It’s cold, it’s cold,
It’s really F-ing cold

So I’m sat here in the car, we’ve been driving up through Yell a bit
Wrapped a scarf around my head, and I’m sneaking peeks out through the slit
I lived up here for years, but that was years ago, I must admit
My nips are now as hard as a couple of screwdriver tips
I’m surviving it, it’s fine it’s just this island is a giant fridge
And Byron weren’t as violent in his rages as this ice wind is
I take the rhythm of my shivering and make up words to rhyme with it
But if I’m being honest, this weather is a pile of shit

It’s cold, it’s cold,
It’s really F-ing cold
It’s cold, it’s cold,
It’s really F-ing cold

Now my cheeks have lost their colour as we get to Muckle Flugger
It’s a beauty scarce discovered slightly ruined by my shudders
I’d give my liver for a Cuppa - to back under the covers
The seals are weather lovers but those bastards have got blubber
‘No thermals? Mark, you’ll suffer!’ were the last words of my Mother
Well I’ll notch that as another sign that I can be a sucker
Ooh look what we discovered! Some farmers who aren’t bothered
I try to say hello, but it just comes as a stutter

It’s cold, it’s cold,
It’s really F-ing cold
It’s cold, it’s cold,
It’s really F-ing cold

A vocal kindling this rhythm thing that matches with my shivering
Stops me thinking of the chilling wind that’s pissing itself in my skin
I’m shaking like on kettamin; my breathe is leaving sediment
It really makes me need a wee
But that probably isn’t relevant
And when it comes to piddling
Things get a lot more worrying
How grim indeed! A certain thing
Has really started shrivelling...

It’s cold, it’s cold,
It’s way too F-ing cold
It’s cold, it’s cold,
It’s way too F-ing cold.