[Intro] (Complex acoustic guitar tapping in eleven-eight time) (Glitchy vinyl crackle and the sound of a motor struggling) [Verse 1] Happy anniversary, darling, put the kettle on the hob Ten years of marriage and you are still a monumental nob I expected a weekend in Venice or a diamond on a band But you have got that gormless look again, box in your sweaty hand It is wrapped in crinkled foil with a ribbon made of string I ripped it open hoping for a bit of sparkly bling But there it sits, the apex of your domestic design A cordless piece of plastic trash to keep the carpet fine. [Pre-Chorus] (You total bloody muppet) (It is a sucker, not a sparkler) The cyclonic separation of my sanity today I am tallying the reasons why I am going to make you pay. [Chorus] Oh, the Cyclone vacuum, spinning at a hundred thousand revs It is the ultimate romantic gift for middle-aged chavs But wait a minute, Gary, why is the canister so opaque? There is a viscous, milky residue that was not part of the make You have not just bought a vacuum, you have bought a mechanical bride And judging by the smell of it, you have been living deep inside. [Verse 2] I took it to the utility room to give the rug a go But the suction was erratic, rhythmic, and strangely slow I clicked the filter off to check for a blockage or a hair And found a biological disaster living in there It is not pet dander, Gary, and it is certainly not dust It is the congealed manifestation of your lonely, plastic lust You have been testing out the nozzle in the shed since half-past nine Treating a hundred-and-fifty-watt motor like it is a valentine. [Pre-Chorus] (You have christened the canister) (Bio-hazard on the linoleum) The centrifugal force of your absolute depravity Is pulling down the curtains and defying every gravity. [Chorus] Oh, the Cyclone vacuum, spinning at a hundred thousand revs It is the ultimate romantic gift for middle-aged chavs But wait a minute, Gary, why is the canister so opaque? There is a viscous, milky residue that was not part of the make You have not just bought a vacuum, you have bought a mechanical bride And judging by the smell of it, you have been living deep inside. [Bridge] (Polyrhythmic guitar slapping) (Glitchy electronic breakdown) Five Hundred and Ninety-Nine Pounds on the joint account To turn a household tool into a silicon fount You said it had Radial Root Technology and power But you used it for a solo session in your darkest hour I am not using the crevice tool, I am not touching the hose I am packing up my knickers while you wipe your crusty nose. [Guitar Solo] (Aggressive acoustic tapping in seven-eight time) (Stuttering bitcrushed effects) [Extended Chorus] Oh, the Cyclone vacuum, spinning at a hundred thousand revs It is the ultimate romantic gift for middle-aged chavs But wait a minute, Gary, why is the canister so opaque? There is a viscous, milky residue that was not part of the make You have not just bought a vacuum, you have bought a mechanical bride You have got your DNA in the motor and nowhere left to hide. [Outro] I am taking the cat and the toaster, you keep the bagless bin Enjoy your anniversary, drowning in your own sin (Suction motor dies out) (Yeah, proper mental) (That is well rank, that) [Fade Out]
