I do the pub life,

everywhere I go,

And for no necessary reason,

But for my own solitude.

 

I don't choose to spill my pints

staggered, pissed, and tilted

On the floor,

Neither do I 'shit' up bored obscenities,

Upon the toilet doors,

With the graffiti of my stench,

but I'm not saying that mine is pure,

 

still .. MUGSY IS A WANKER,

Or for a good time call you know

Who's not bad for a peroxide blonde

an all. Roller empty of bog roll,

these paper piss drench templates of alcoholics law.

 

By my second pint of cider

I swap emotions for a bag of peanuts,

and smoke my 24th fag.

I'm another 2 minutes no wiser,

and just thinking after a shag,

that subtext in the rest room's 'ta blame for that.

 

Oh she's the one of the one of the one

that pierced and poisoned my heart.

She must live in brimstone,

that angst queen beauty scruffy - kick-start.

Bollacks to that!

But the image grows more.

 

Someone rustles sports pages,

Who gives a toss about a defeat at Lords?

Or a devil driven racehorse,

or the 'footy' that's happening abroad?

I'm dreaming up a romance higher than the shelf,

"load up a vodka chaser double,

since it's one I can afford."