Pink Wellies

Pink Wellies

Oh Oscar! How Frivolous! Oh Oscar! How Gay!
I fallen in love with the nonchalant way
you never mean a single thing that you say
cos forming opinions can eat into your day
why encumber with thought your post-modern displays?

Why bother liking what you actually like
when you can embrace all manner of shite
Hello Kitty bracelets, caps that say YIKES
on a six foot four man on a BMX bike
cos you can just pass it all off as IR-ON-IC, right?

Like middle class mothers in belts that say BLING
twenty-six year old women sporting pink fairy wings
like wearing a suit seemingly made out towel
and your dead baby jokes - fuck me - I howled

when you slapped that girl's arse, golly - how laddish
my sides split like the skin of past sell-by date haggis
when you voted BNP- so funny, so caddish
suddenly a world of substandard crap is

finding it's way onto your kosher list so
dance like a twat at Liquid's Skool Disco
holiday in Basra, shun San Francisco
but before you do that you should listen to this though:

One day you will wake up
and only ironic you will be left
one day when you wake up
and the real you will be dead

with skin like the crust of stale french bread
covered in low-fat margarine spread
pulling pink leggings over varicose thighs
skin hung like a scrotum under glazed over eyes
a Barbie lunch box clutched in a liver-spotted hand
like something just died in your pineal gland
feeling so dumb with no thoughts you can trust
so shallow and dry that your brain formed a crust

and you're thinking:

why do I own all of Allo Allo?
why have I tickets to see Cheryl Crow?
why am I drinking this peach alco pop?
why is one leg of my trouser rolled up?
why are my jokes all about pedophiles?
why do i own the wrist watch of a child?
Is that me, at a party, wearing a dress?
why did I tattooed my own face on my chest?
is that a shellsuit? Where did that come from?
why this abundance of dvd bum porn?
is that my needle? my blackened spoon?
and when did i start using the word "coon?"

it used to be funnier, didn't it?
it's meant to be funnier, isn't it?
life used to be funny.

But hold on, don't cry, dry your mascarara
get something to wipe up that nose carbonara
you're not alone, I know how it starts yeah
you're young, over educated trying to impart yer
views on a world that's much thicker than you
a world on the whole that's much shitter than you
and day upon day it will cave in your skull
everybody you meet will be pallid and dull
with pensions and neatly ruled notebooks of lists
it's like they all got some memo you missed
cos your skint and these arseholes all earn so much money
so to make it all better you say “life's so shit it's funny”

and that cynical armour, it starts growing there but
you wear just like an asymmetrical haircut
as you slice through your days on a comedy deathwish
nothing means anything, it leaves you so breathless
trapped in the back with child-safe locks on
so peel off your armour and leave it in Hoxton
remember what it was like when you were a child
just don't dress like one, those pink wellies are vile
just recover some sense of who you really are
try being honest and stop propping up bars
try opening up, try being straight
then form some opinions before it's too late.