I'm burning in this pit I dug myself an hour ago and up around the corner lies that ba*tard pub's front door and in my many changin moods and on similar days I've cursed and spat up mercilessly at the foot of her f**in' grace chaos comes inevitably like a monarch dressed in rags grinning like a maniac and splashing cider in my face
I'm going back to San Francisco to be finally at ease
as I've reached the heralded last rung
and become a part-time London drunk
the Bristol boys are lunatics but madness has its virtue they all smash their pints and feign legless fights because it's what they're f**ing used to one autumn night in Birmingham after the band had played we fled into that filthy van and got out of that f**ing place by half a mile or half a minute I was a sunken, bloated slag I puked up on the floorboards, my f**ing jacket and pant leg