a southwest London cul -de -sac
Where mum had her hair like Cher
and those jackets with shoulder pads
and the hurricane stole my cat
And my sister started hanging about
with all these older lads
The school all I ever gave a crap about
was Donkey Kong and Thundercats
I got jumped in my lunch break
and hung up by my underpants
And all this Peter Pan ever wanted
And my sister was conceived
you can get me on the phone
I'm gonna try this on my own
I've nothing to say, please go away
you can get me on the phone
I'm gonna try this on my own
I've nothing to say, please go away
and the time that I packed
Meanwhile I superglued my way
through the egg and spoon race
And the first time that I saw mum cry
was the night that grandpa died
So I wrote to Jim, I'll fix it,
but the bastard never replied
with grated cheese and baked beans
Mum face inches away from the screen,
Sunday mornings, just a daydream
Horse night, cracklin' pot
And the first place you could look for me
You can get me on the phone
I'm gonna try this on my own
You can get me on the phone
I'm gonna try this on my own
Take the sound of an ordinary cymbal
Now have you heard it backwards?
On the same trip, trip, trip, trip together
I hate the sound of an organism.
Now, have you heard it back?
On the same trip, trip, trip, trip together.
you can get me on the phone.
I'm gonna try this on my own.
I'm not free to say, please go away.
You can get me on the floor,
I'm gonna try this on my own,
4.7
