Deep Fried in Kelvin

Oh, children of the future

Conceived in the toilets at Meadowhall

To be raised on the cheap cold slabs of garage floors

Rolling empty cans down the stairwell

Don't you love that sound?

Whilst the thoughts of a bad social worker ran through his head

Trying to remember what he learnt at training college

Lester said he wasn't allowed in here

So why don't you get lost?

And if you're good

Then when you grow up, maybe

Maybe you can live

Live on Kelvin

Yeah you can live in Kelvin

On the promenade with the concrete walkways

Where pigeons go to die

A woman on the fourteenth floor noticed that the ceiling was bulging as if under a great weight

When the council investigated, they discovered that the man in the flat above had transported a large quantity of soil into his living room, in which several plants he had stolen from a local park were growing

When questioned, the man said all he wanted was a garden

When questioned, the man said all he wanted was a garden

Oh God, I think the future's been fried

Deep fried in Kelvin

And now it's rotting behind the remains of a stolen motorbike

I haven't touched it, honest

But there wasn't anything else to do

We don't need your sad attempts at social conscience

Based on taxi rides home at night from exhibition openings

We just want your car radio

And those Reflux speakers

Now

Suffer the little children to come to me

And I will tend their adventure playground splinters and cigarette burns

And feed them fizzy orange and chips

That they may grow up straight and tall

That they may grow up to live

On Kelvin

Oh yeah

We can have ghettos too

Only we use air rifles instead of machine guns

Stitch that

And we drink Diamond White

In the end

The question you have to ask yourself is

Are you talking to me

Or are you

Chewing a brick?