Cigs and Sunshine

Stamp out your fag butt,

As you roll another one,

Papers stuck together,

From the sweat upon your bum,

Shake out the last of the dust,

Frantically tryna find,

Just enough to roll it up,

This task is such a grind,

Fumble ’round in your Levi’s,

Searching for a flame,

Stolen your best pals lighter,

And you’ll never feel no shame.

Old England

Mindless murmurs,

Daytime gurners,

Those without a clue,

Early learners,

Crash and burners,

Those with nothing better to do,

The list goes on and on and on,

Those who’ve come and gone and gone and gone,

Their stories will always go untold,

Their tales so strong and bold,

Their stories so damp and stale,

Their faces so weary and pale,

The drinks tumble down and down and down,

‘Pour me another one…another one…another one mate’

Carry on spilling out your guts,

‘Fore you’re told ‘the bar’s now shut!’,

Sup the last of your London Pride,

Speaking of how Old England had died.

Just Waiting

Eternally lost in the midst of the city,
Noses peering out of windows,
Dreams get forgotten along with the pity,
Forgetting to go to all the live shows,

Go up and down to find the scene,
So you can stamp in your place,
Started to feel like a giddy teen,
When I found the scene to chase,

Seen a few of these messed up shows,
Monsters shouting and lairiness vacating,
Standing so proudly in their ripped off clothes,
For this, I had been waiting.