Try agrophobic, schizophrenic, Paranoid attacks of panic, Epileptic fit of laughter, Twenty five million mornings after
At six foot six and a hundred tons, The undisputed king of the slums
A black eye for a black eye, A chipped tooth for a chipped tooth
I'm underage and uninsured, On the High Road to Domestos
Mirror, signal and manoeuvre, Glory, glory, glory hallelujah!
Parazone and Fairy Liquid, If it's in a glass, you'll drink it
We've got a free pair of flares with every hip replacement, Just take the stairs to the bargain basement
Or just a phone box, a phone box, my kingdom for a phone box
The ambulance sirens rang, as they wheeled her to the stand
If we club together, with all the diamonds we've saved, we could look to our hearts and say, we've got it in spades.
We're going down the tracks and off the page, Past the dole, The Silver Blades
Southern Comfort, mother's ruin, Happy hours of homeless brewing
I'll leave a message on the fridge, And drive my car off London Bridge
Like losers in a Michael Winner script, It's got a BMX certificate
I'm going now to meet my maker, Ignition, clutch, accelerator
Put the Binatone on snooze, Open up some Special Brews and start drinking
Are you prepared to meet your maker, And ask for your money back?
Moving up on second base, Behind Nicholas Van Wotsisface
In the avenues and alleyways, I took a short-cut to the throat
Try agrophobic, schizophrenic, Paranoid attacks of panic, Epileptic fit of laughter, Twenty five million mornings after
At six foot six and a hundred tons, The undisputed king of the slums
We've got yardies, steamers, parasitic cops, Bostik boys playing chicken in the box,
I've lost a stone, I'm just skin and bone, And when I come home today, Look away
Southern Comfort, mother's ruin, Happy hours of homeless brewing
We've got yardies, steamers, parasitic cops, Bostik boys playing chicken in the box,
It's not that I'm agorophobic... it's just that it's not safe to go outside anymore.