He Pep!

I don't want to go back anymore I don't wanna go to work in the rain No more toast grilled on the heater No more of that A&R girl And having to meet her My personage It writes everywhere (in race anywhere) You Pep! And I stick my Parker pen under my ear Beneath my own carefully scruffed hair What I wear Have to check out of Moody's lair Hang on Hang on, leaves your bad house with me Into the room of the bass player Why won't you go up stairs? You Pep! Don't think he's don't get in slippy North-old-hamptonshire I believe there's a new drug out It's called speed I wrote a song about it Conceptually a la Bowie But it's been lost in the vaults of the record company By our manager So instead our new 45 is 'Girlies' (Eckides) on, brown tonguer Yours, brattingly Everyone says "please" Anyway is a waste of life Wait to say it in Lancashire You Pep! You had the best summer And now it's wearing off No more excuses For your traitorism