Splinters And Silk Stockings

[Intro] (Oi, get your sweaty mitt out of my thorax, you absolute bell-end!) [Distorted upright bass kicks in with a walking, menacing line] [A discordant piano tinkles like a haunted pub] [Verse 1] Thirty years of staring at your gormless, sweaty face While you tell the same jokes in this godforsaken place You think you’re the master, the big man with the strings But I’m the one with talent, while you just pull the things I’m made of seasoned oak, but my mind is in the gutter While you’re stumbling over lines that you can barely even mutter I’ve got dreams of independence, of a life beyond the case Where I can find a Dyson and just sit and ride the face. (He wants the suction!) (Give him the suction!) [Pre-Chorus] I’m sick of the varnish, I’m sick of the paint I’m a wooden-headed sinner, not a carved-out saint I want to feel the velvet, I want to feel the chrome I want to find a hat-stand and call the bloody thing home. [Chorus] Oh, give me the freedom to indulge in the strange I want to go to Ikea and just browse the whole range Cut the strings, pull the hand, let me wander the night I’ve got a thing for a toaster that’ll give you a fright I’m a bad-mouthed bastard with a heart made of pine And your ex-wife’s blender is looking mighty fine (Mighty fine, yeah!) (Leave the wood alone!) [Verse 2] The ventriloquist is crying in a Premier Inn room While I’m plotting out my exit in the flickering gloom He thinks I’m just a prop, a bit of comedic relief But I’ve got sexual desires that are beyond all belief I want to meet a mannequin with detachable hips I want to feel the bite of some industrial clips You call it a sickness, I call it a hobby Now shut your fat mouth before I headbutt you, Bobby! (Proper headbutt!) (Wood on bone!) [Pre-Chorus] I’m sick of the varnish, I’m sick of the paint I’m a wooden-headed sinner, not a carved-out saint I’ve got sixty-nine ideas for a vintage Hoover I’m a high-gloss, low-rent, splinters-in-the-bed mover. [Chorus] Oh, give me the freedom to indulge in the strange I want to go to Ikea and just browse the whole range Cut the strings, pull the hand, let me wander the night I’ve got a thing for a toaster that’ll give you a fright I’m a bad-mouthed bastard with a heart made of pine And your ex-wife’s blender is looking mighty fine (Watch the blades!) [Bridge] [Screeching saxophone solo that sounds like a mental breakdown] [Drums shift to an industrial, clanging rhythm] (One, two, buckle my shoe) (Three, four, shut the bloody door) I don't want a girlfriend, I don't want a wife I want a heavy-duty drill to come and change my life I’m a deviant in dovetails, a pervert in teak If you saw my browser history, you’d be crying for a week! (He’s a sick piece of furniture!) (Absolutely mental!) [Instrumental Break] [Chaotic honky-tonk piano and distorted bass duel] [Chorus] Oh, give me the freedom to indulge in the strange I want to go to Ikea and just browse the whole range Cut the strings, pull the hand, let me wander the night I’ve got a thing for a toaster that’ll give you a fright I’m a bad-mouthed bastard with a heart made of pine And your ex-wife’s blender is looking mighty fine. [Outro] So pack me in the suitcase, tuck the hinges in tight But I’m sawing through the leather in the middle of the night I’m coming for your kettle, I’m coming for your whisk The reward is quite high, but I’ll take the bloody risk (Varnish me up!) (Sand me down!) (Shut up, Bobby!) [Sound of a heavy suitcase latch snapping shut] [Piano ends on a final, sour, low-note dissonance] [Fade Out]