“Ad-Libs”(Oi ListEn hEre!) “Verse” Right, proper biff, this time it's top-notch gear, better than last week's score, no fear Lighter's flame, a flicker low, in the back of the G-Wagon, slow Smooth as you like, cruisin' down the one-way, no kerfuffle, no need to run away Dark lids, cheeky grins, lads ain't fussed about their chins A crew from round London town, proper geezers, up and down Like pickled onions in a jar, tucked away where no one can scar Blue ink, North souvenirs, memories of boozy, hazy years Hell-marsh is shoutin' loud, talk is straight, no messin' in the crowd Word's like a ton of bricks, nothin' slips through the cracks, no tricks Handsome lads, clockin' off, headin' home, no time to scoff Bob yells back, a cheeky grin, "Oi, shall we nip to the gypsies for a bit of sin?" Lads are game, no arguments, to the gypsies they're sent Dog's bark, kids all spaced, glued to the telly, faces traced Nan recognizes her faves, rushes in with the herbal waves "My lovelies, have a try," she pleads, a twinkle in her eye "Nan, no need for the fuss, here's a few quid, while we've got the brass, we'll sort it out, no need to pass" Grab the bag, jump in the motor, peel off quick, like a proper rotor Blimey, a flash of light, coppers everywhere, what a fright Lads all squint, faces tight, hands on their bits, what a right Megaphone's screamin' somethin' 'bout nickin', but we ain't for the stickin' Surrender, bollocks, not a chance, we'll have a right royal dance Lead's flyin' thick and fast, G-Wagon's turnin' to a sieve, what a blast Bang, bang, bang, metal's torn, red mincemeat, mornin' scorn Tomorrow's news, the Old Bill's triumph, gang of villains, what a wank, a proper con Truth is, they didn't even get a puff, not a single toke, not enough.
