The corner shop is now a brothel,
Call that gentrified.
Ignorance sold by the bottle,
Glee is synthesised.
The supermarkets have been shut,
With famine guaranteed.
The local paper has been cut,
‘Cos no bugger can read.
The natives taste no difference,
Between vinegar and wine,
Feel I’m going backwards in this town ahead of time.
No need for modern medicine,
When you’ve got class A spice,
No need for Thomas Edison,
Don’t need to see the light.
The paving stones beneath your feet,
Built on disdain and lies,
The station clock is obsolete,
No motive to keep track of time.
So come on – move in – realign,
Just sign upon the dotted line,
You don’t know what you’re missing in this town ahead of time.
We don’t work nine till half past five,
We hardly work at all,
Don’t need success to feel alive,
That’s what the drugs are for.
A vodka-cocaine jamboree,
Conducted with finesse,
Got blood and guts and mushy peas,
All down my Sunday best.
The vicar wears a tracksuit,
His faith is bastardised,
But prayers and gospel won’t do shit,
Satanically inclined– resigned,
I think you’ll find,
The ever-boundless paradigm is:
There ain’t no escaping from this town ahead of time.
No social ladder left to climb,
What’s yours ain’t yours,
What’s mine ain’t mine,
Cos there ain’t no escaping from this town ahead of time.