Fat fingers rub the train ticket,
The ink all starts to bleed.
It bends like rich tea biscuits,
When they’re dunked in tea.
See bastards will curse faster when he grabs the last first class seat,
Watch him risk it like a rich kid
Ditching class, cos he’s second class
Bald as brass, cheeky monkey, change of tact.
Freebasing lactic acid cos he’s not gonna run.
Which means there’s no more need for the hot air in his lungs
Jolly jaunting northerner
Having fun
When far flung.
But still undone by unpicked stitches
That line the inner lining of his linen jacket
Don’t bother packing, it’s the one he meets in,
He eats in, he fucks in and sleeps in,
Cos London is a city full of unoriginal sins.
Thinks he’s the prince of this world
A Jacomo jock, dove flocking, rock blasting,
Master of the universe paying in diamonds and pearls
Book two nights for work and one more for a girl,
His wife’ll never know cos he’ll give a
Fake name to the girl.
His signature dish finished with a twist and a twirl
And a flourish to nourish his blushing desires:
Out of the marital bed and into the fire.
Chalk up one to the liar, lying silently
Wondering if he should’ve told her
That tomorrow morning
She’s getting the cold shoulder?
Maybe that’s why he’s sweating?
Or perhaps he’s perspiring from all my peering and prying?
But spying is just another form of lying
That gets you ahead
And if you ask the right questions
It might give you an edge. For example:
‘Why’s his hair lying so flat on his head?’
Best guess, gambled on the wetness of wet look gel
And overwatered the flowerbed.
Steady on, don’t go wrong, don’t forget to brush your tongue
When you’re flapping your gums and those big pearly whites,
Flashing LED teeth at the pick of the night,
His shiny smile shinier than the pearl on the ring
That he gave to his wife