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