I don't want to go back anymore.
I don't wanna go to work in the rain.
No more toast grilled on the heater.
No more of that A&R girl.
And having to meet her.
It writes everywhere (in race anywhere)
And I stick my Parker pen under my ear
Beneath my own carefully scruffed hair.
What I wear
Have to check out of Moody's lair
Hang on, leaves your bad house with me
Into the room of the bass player.
Why won't you go up stairs?
Don't think he's don't get in slippery
I believe there's a new drug out.
It's called speed I wrote a song about it
Conceptually a la Bowie.
But it's been lost in the vaults of the record company
By our manager
So instead our new 45 is 'Girlies'
(Eckides) on, brown tonguer
Everyone says "please"
Anyway is a waste of life
Wait to say it in Lancashire
You had the best summer
And now it's wearing off.
No more excuses
For your traitorism.
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