Monday, 9 May 2011

Hangover Hospital & Chicken in a Box that you Eat on the Bus

Well I've excused The Nude Scientists previously so you know what you're getting but I mean really...there is no excusing song number two here! Number two being appropriate. Radio-4-Mitch-Benn-Middle-class-middle-aged-smugness-by-numbers and, unforgivably, not that funny. But then...the chorus really works as a sort of shield-battering call to arms and really I used to hate those little fuckers when I lived in London. So fuck 'em.


Oh my my aching head,
As I resolve to get out of bed,
My tongues as dry as Ghandi's sandal,
Hanging on to the toilet's handle,
Why do we do it to ourselves?
Joylessly sinking pint after pint,
My teeth are veined with purple stains,
Monday's Valpolicella night,

I wish that there was a hangover hospital,
Where a normal life lived was sort of possible,
I could dry out, try out for the human race,
Leave behind this state of disgrace,

I run a razor over my tongue,
My nose is crusty and my eyes are stung,
My hands are shaking and here come the sweats,
My skin is yellow and it's sopping wet,
The bathroom floor is an oasis of calm,
But my stomach won't let me be,
Lurching forward with mounting alarm,
I grab the loo seat like a steering wheel


I wish that there was a hangover hospital,
Where a normal life lived was sort of possible,
I could dry out, try out for the human race,
Leave behind this state of disgrace,

Doctor, Doctor please come quick,
It's not natural to feel this sick,
You've got to help me to shake this disease,
"Son I'm not sure you can meet my fees,"
I can take the empties back to the shop,
And I'm collecting all the bottle-tops,
"Let me tell you son what I'm thinking,
Your best bet is to give up drinking!"



Chicken in a box that you eat on a bus

Hot date over on the estate,
Oh how to get there - I don't want to be late,
I'm looking bare good,
You can see my pants from space,
The only thing is,
I haven't fed my face,

Chicken in a box that you eat on the bus,
Chicken in a box that you eat on the bus,
It stinks and it's greasy and it doesn't half smell,
And you can leave it on the bus as litter as well,

I've made an effort,
I'm a ladies man,
I play my tunes on my phone,
And as loud as I can,
And no one better tell me,
I should turn it down,
Ain't grease on my phone,
For you you clown,

Chicken in a box that you eat on the bus,
Chicken in a box that you eat on the bus,
It stinks and it's greasy and it doesn't half smell,
And you can leave it on the bus as litter as well,

I tuck my trackies,
Into my trainers,
Wear my gusset,
Down to my knee,
Walk like i've been buggered,
In a prison shower,
And nobody can say to me,
This isn't cool,
Or this isn't chic,
Or that I dress,
Like a mental defective,
Looking as shit as possible,
Is the teenage prime directive,

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