Richard Dawson - The Vile Stuff lyrics

Year 7's on a school trip to Featherstone Castle and some wee scallywag's brung a Coca-Cola bottle containing a spirit Poor Peter Hepplethwaite cracks open his head on a shiny bra** bedknob And has to be rushed by helicopter ambulance to Haltwhistle Hospital Si Shovell fills a Reebok pump with the pulp from his belly then sets off a fire-extinguisher in the girl's dormitory And finally clambers into bed with Miss Bartholomew Much to the chagrin of the deputy headmaster whose scarlet skull is firmly locked between her thighs I only drank a few little droplets I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff Downing Asda's own-brand stubbies in the lad's bogs I listen to the dull reflection of a carillon in the toilet bowl My A-Levels drifting away from me Matthew Mooney's hockle in my hair smells like menthol tabs Outside the chip-shop Thaddeus Wagstaff fractures my cheekbone 3 empty cans of Castlemaine XXX go rolling down my trouser leg Blood, snot and curry coalesce in the corners of my nails My friends drifting away from me I only drank a few little droplets I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff Attempting to penetrate a coconut husk with a Philips-head screwdriver I pierce a hole straight through my hand into the laminate worktop It's a major operation to repair a damaged tendon I come around with the tube still down my throat The milk of amnesia fills my cup and back into the hole I go Snoring like a pan of broth I arouse the ire of my fellow patients wagging their ladles in the dark My neighbor Andrew lost two fingers to a Staffy-cross Whilst jogging over Cow Hill with a Pepperami in his bum-bag He's a junior partner at James & james no-win no-fee solicitor thinking of relocating to a Buddhist monastery in Halifax He reckons I should try meditation He reckons it would benefit my peace of mind My bedroom walls are papered with the stripes of Newcastle United Between which I perceive the presence of a horse-headed figure holding aloft a flaming quiver of bramble silhouettes He is the King of Children singing like a boiler, "tomorrow is on its way" I haven't had a wink of sleep and now the sun is in my porridge I'm starting a BTEC in engineering at Tynemouth College My thermos flask leaks parsnip soup on the metro clogging up the keys of my MacBook Carrot pennies steam amidst a pyre of pencils Ruck-sack dripping up the steps of WH Smith to buy a fresh pad of paper I only drank a few little droplets I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff