First of all, this song represents one of the first instances of all four Monkees being allowed to play their own instruments on a recording. (Specifically: Micky Dolenz sings lead and plays drums/tympani, Davy Jones performs backing vocals, Mike Nesmith plays guitar, and Peter Tork plays piano/organ. Their producer, Chip Douglas, plays bass.)
Prior to Headquarters, the group's record label had forced them to record exclusively with session musicians. Label execs had purposely left the group out of the creative and songwriting processes, ostensibly to allow them to focus on acting in their NBC sitcom. The label's stance was that The Monkees were just actors being paid to play musicians; however, The Monkees felt they were artists, first and foremost, and had a responsibility to fans and themselves to not just mime their songs. Ultimately, The Monkees won the battle.
Secondly, the song is one of the few instances of a Monkees hit single that actually was written by a Monkee: in this case, Dolenz.
Lyrically, it's about The Beatles (the four kings of EMI) throwing a "welcome to England" party for The Monkees in early 1967. On each verse, Dolenz recounts the festive atmosphere in a stream of consciousness sort of way. But then, the chorus purposely breaks from the narrative and provides a burst of confrontational chaos in the midst of the merriment. It's a blunt jab at the killjoy establishment, touching on hot-button topics of the time from the Vietnam War to longer hair.
The odd title of the song is unrelated to either topic, though. While The Monkees were touring England, Dolenz happened to see a TV program called Till Death Do Us Part—a Britcom that centered around a grouchy, bluntly racist, blue collar patriarch who often butted heads with members of his family—particularly his progressive, strong-willed son-in-law. (The show eventually was adapted for US TV by Norman Lear as All in the Family.) One of the patriarch's common retorts to the son-in-law was the phrase, "Randy Scouse git!"
Dolenz thought it was a funny line and felt it might make for a catchy title for his new song. He didn't realize, however, that it was slang for "horny Liverpudlian bastard"—"git" being a shortened version of the word "illegitimate." When the band's label notified Dolenz that it was potentially offensive to Brits, it was irreverently retitled "Alternate Title" for the UK market.
Most of all, though, it's just a great, innovative pop song. At the time, few mainstream artists (apart from The Beatles and Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys) were writing songs with shifting dynamics or stop-start structures. But here, Dolenz throws convention out the window, opening the song with a tympani solo that suddenly gives way to mock 1920s dancehall music before erupting into a cacophony of pounding drums and shouted vocals. The moment it all seems ready to careen out of control, everything halts and retreats to the lighthearted flapper motif, starting the cycle all over again.
(And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Dolenz's damn fine scat singing on the third verse.)
All this from a guy and a band who supposedly weren't real musicians.
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