Jail Of Love (ft. James Long)

The Silver Spoon

Run Away

The Black and White Love Doctor - RIP 10/12/15

Oh Ricky

Original unabridged lyrics:

A man living in a Mr.Whippy truck told me
that no man is one thousand island dressing
He’s got three pairs of headphones and ‘do you know it's Christmas?’ tattooed round his neck
I trust him
Well the matronly woman at the chippie, she knows me, and some other things less relevant 
her spray tan face is divided up by a fishnet
It makes her look like a byzantine mosaic of a Jeremy Kyle guest
her acrylic nails drum on the counter like rain on a tin roof
She’s got joint custody and cellulite
I dream of scampi and omniscience 
I’ll be her thought bubble 
follow her home
surround her like parenthesis
I’ll heckle Sean while he plays with mecano
I’ll be clandestine then scream like a burglar alarm
Oh to be nine forever 
I keep crying over the Korean section of instruction manuals
It’s one more thing I’ll never know
I’d say those characters are crazy but I’m worried my xenophobic flatmate might get the wrong idea 
How many times do I have to smear pesto on his England flag till he gets the right idea?
And I keep practicing saying I don’t know how that got there in every which permutation
The tiny hairs from his skin head line the sink like a deforested field
I don’t know why I’m in love with him.
I’m afraid he hurts the cat 

I got seagulls up in my head, and crabs crabbing cross my feet
And rumour has it a man of war washed up on the beach
I haven’t seen one since I was on holiday in Crete

Oh to be nine forever.

A man living in a Mr.Whippy truck told me
That life happens without you trying 
and no man is one thousand island dressing
He’s got three pairs of headphones and ‘do you know it's Christmas?’ tattooed round his neck 

I trust him.

[Chorus]

Well the matronly woman at the chippie has seen all 18 seasons of big brother, 
and she knows me, and some other things less relevant 
her spray tan face is divided up by a fishnet
It makes her look like a byzantine mosaic of a Jeremy Kyle guest
Or an aerial view of some dusty orange farmland 
her acrylic nails drum on the counter like rain on a tin roof
She’s got joint custody and cellulite
Those glossy magazines do nothing for her confidence
I dream of scampi and omniscience 
I’ll be her thought bubble 
surround her like parenthesis
and sink into to her skin like eau du toilette 
I’ll heckle Sean while he plays with mecano
I’ll be clandestine then scream like a burglar alarm
So he can grow up jumpy and lacking in hand-eye
Oh to be nine forever 
I’m like you guy’s sometimes I use mr muscle instead of mouthwash
I’d by some more but the polish guy at the corner shop always offers my Rolo’s
I say thank you, then spit them in the bin
One day when I went back for oat milk he laid them out glistening on the counter like petit fours
He looked upset but definite. 
I’d go in when he’s off shift, but he’s on a zero hour contract
He’s flexible so my cupboards are void 
I’ve been practicing asking him how he is in every which variation
Only dogs can hear my upward inflexion
 I keep crying over the Korean section of instruction manuals
It’s one more thing I’ll never know
I’d say those symbols are crazy but I’m worried my xenophobic flatmate may agree too strongly 
How many times do I have to smear pesto on his England flag till he gets the right idea?
And I keep practicing saying I don’t know how that got there in every which permutation
The tiny hairs from his skin head line the sink like a deforested field
I don’t know why I’m in love with him.

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