[Intro] (Right, Terry, hold that tapping pattern) (One two three, one two three, one two, one two three) (Yeah, that’s it. It’s like a calculator having a seizure) (I’ve just bought this new Japanese throne, innit) (Bluetooth enabled. Artificial intelligence) (Which is a shame, 'cause I’ve got none) (Here we go) [Verse 1] I was sitting in the sanctuary, minding my own On a porcelain pilot’s seat, a high-tech throne It’s got a biometric scanner for the shape of your cleft And a heated seat cushion for the right and the left I’ve downloaded the app called "Squirter and Son" To manage the maintenance of my over-worked bun But the firmware updated while I sat in the dark And the software developed a malicious spark The guitar starts a-tapping in a rhythm so strange As the bidet nozzle enters its firing range (Watch out, Terry, it’s calibrating) [Pre-Chorus] The sensor is blinking a neon-bright blue It’s scanning the depths of my number two It’s found a discrepancy in the rhythmic flow And now it’s prepared for a technical show [Chorus] Oh, the smart-toilet’s glitching in eleven-eight time It’s punishing me for my dietary crime A high-pressure jet in a syncopated beat It’s lifting me up three inches off of the seat It’s math rock for the colon, it’s precise and it’s cold I’m being power-washed by a system so bold (One two three, one two three, one two, one two three) (It’s a symphony of splashback) [Verse 2] I tried to log out but the Wi-Fi was down I’m stuck in the vortex of a digital town The nozzle is moving like a frantic metronome The most dangerous gadget in my council home It’s hitting the targets with a sniper’s precision Based on a complex and cruel algorithm It’s playing a riff on my internal pipes Across all the textures and the different types My intestinal lining is doing a dance While I’m regretting the purchase and taking a chance On a three-hundred-pound piece of sentient tech That’s currently treating my hole like a wreck (It’s a polyrhythmic pucker, innit) [Bridge] (Technical acoustic guitar solo in thirteen-eight) (Fast percussive slapping on the guitar body) (Ad-lib: Ooh, that’s a sharp eleventh!) (The water pressure is reaching three thousand P-S-I) (I can see the future, Terry! It’s very, very wet!) [Verse 3] The user agreement was fifty pages long I should have suspected that something was wrong Clause forty-seven said the company owns The rights to the rhythm of my rhythmic groans They’re selling the data to a firm in Japan To build a more efficient and technical plan For a bidet that doubles as a percussion kit Every time a consumer takes a massive... (Wait for it, Terry) (Wait for the drop) [Final Chorus] Oh, the smart-toilet’s glitching in eleven-eight time It’s punishing me for my dietary crime A high-pressure jet in a syncopated beat It’s lifting me up three inches off of the seat It’s math rock for the colon, it’s precise and it’s cold I’m being power-washed by a system so bold [Outro] (Check the time signature, it’s more complex than my divorce) (I’m drier on the outside but I’m hollowed out within) (Anyone got a towel? Or a system reboot?) (Bluetooth disconnected) (Thank the Lord for that) (Right, where’s that pickled egg?) (Safe) [End]
