[Intro] (Rhythmic tapping on the guitar body in eleven-eight time) (The sound of a sliding automatic shop door and a faint beep) [Verse 1] I marched back into Curry’s with the box beneath my arm Looking for a manager to cause some bloody harm I found a lad named Kevin, wearing a polyester tie With the vacant, soulless shimmer of a dead fish in his eye I slammed the Dyson on the desk, it made a squelching thud I said "This machine is faulty, it is covered in... well, mud" Kevin pulled his goggles down and clicked his plastic pen He said "Let’s have a look-see at the filter then, my hen." [Pre-Chorus] (He’s got the torque wrench out) (The customer service is a shout) The warranty is valid for at least another year But the smell coming from the nozzle is a brand new kind of fear. [Chorus] Oh, the manager is shaking and the floor staff are in shock They have called the local vicar and the man who runs the dock Because the HEPA filter’s pulsing with a tiny, rhythmic beat There are little plastic toes growing near the carpet feet It is not a clog of carpet fluff or a bit of stray linguine The vacuum cleaner’s pregnant with a miniature Houdini Gary’s little swimmers found a home inside the bin And now the retail park is witnessing the fruit of his sin. [Verse 2] Kevin used a multimeter to check the battery life But it showed a little heartbeat, and he looked up at the wife He said "Madam, this is awkward, and I am not a medical man But there is a secondary motor forming in the cooling fan" It is a hybrid, semi-sentient, cordless little freak With a telescopic hum and a very tiny squeak The return policy is silent on the matter of a birth Especially when the father is the biggest prick on Earth. [Pre-Chorus] (Call the head of floorcare) (There is a heartbeat in the hardware) The centrifugal separation of the species is complete There is a tiny little Dyson growing tiny little feet. [Chorus] Oh, the manager is shaking and the floor staff are in shock They have called the local vicar and the man who runs the dock Because the HEPA filter’s pulsing with a tiny, rhythmic beat There are little plastic toes growing near the carpet feet It is not a clog of carpet fluff or a bit of stray linguine The vacuum cleaner’s pregnant with a miniature Houdini Gary’s little swimmers found a home inside the bin And now the retail park is witnessing the fruit of his sin. [Bridge] (Aggressive guitar tapping in thirteen-eight time) (Sound of a digital ultrasound machine glitching) Three Hundred and Forty-Nine Pounds for a machine that can’t conceive That is what the brochure said, but I am forced now to believe That Gary’s special sauce has got a high-tech, bionic kick He has fathered a handheld with a very narrow wick The store is being cordoned off by the health and safety board While the baby-vac is tangled in its own umbilical cord. [Guitar Solo] (Fast, percussive acoustic tapping) (Glitchy electronic pulses and distorted vacuum whirring) [Extended Chorus] Oh, the manager is shaking and the floor staff are in shock They have called the local vicar and the man who runs the dock Because the HEPA filter’s pulsing with a tiny, rhythmic beat There are little plastic toes growing near the carpet feet It is not a clog of carpet fluff or a bit of stray linguine The vacuum cleaner’s pregnant with a miniature Houdini Gary’s little swimmers found a home inside the bin And now the retail park is witnessing the fruit of his sin. [Outro] (The sound of a small, high-pitched vacuum whirring) (Kevin: "Does it come with a crib or just a charging dock?") (Yeah, proper mental) (That is a biohazard, that) (I am not touching the crevice tool) [Fade Out]
