WHY YOU LIVING IN THAT ROT? British Gothic Horror • Darkwave • Post-Punk • Industrial Rock [Intro — Deep, raspy British spoken voice] Oi… mate… what’s that smell? Good Lord, man… is that your house?! The curtains are mouldy, the carpet is green… And something in the kitchen’s just looked at me! [Verse 1 — Slow, creepy, grinding bass] There’s a crust on the window, a slime on the floor, A thousand dead flies congregating by the door. Your kettle’s gone furry, your sink’s growing hair, There’s a suspicious black puddle climbing the stairs! Old tins in the corner, old bones in a sack, A bin bag burst open and something crawled back. The wallpaper’s weeping, the ceiling’s gone black— WHO LET THE BLOODY ROT MOVE IN AND NEVER MOVE BACK?! [Chorus — Huge Gothic guitars, haunting female backing vocals] WHY YOU LIVING IN THAT ROT?! That filthy, festering, rancid old spot! Muck in the bath and slime in the pot, Sweet Mary Mother—WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU GOT?! WHY YOU LIVING IN THAT GRIME?! That mould’s been there since Victorian times! Your dust has dust, your squalor’s sublime— OI! CLEAN YOUR HOUSE BEFORE THE HOUSE STARTS CLEANING YOU, MATE! (Female backing vocals: Rot… rot… beautiful rot…) [Verse 2 — Faster drums, sinister violin] There’s a cabbage in the cupboard that’s learnt how to speak, And a damp little creature that lives underneath. Your fridge hums a funeral tune every night, And your toilet just whispered, “We must put this right…” The sofa’s got secrets, the curtains have teeth, A colony of mushrooms has conquered the wreath. The bins are performing some horrible dance, And a maggot in a top hat has asked me to prance! [Chorus — Full band, snarling vocals] WHY YOU LIVING IN THAT ROT?! That mouldy old dungeon of muck and snot! Rubbish piled high like a king’s bloody lot, Even the plague says, “I’m moving out of this plot!” WHY YOU LIVING IN THAT GRIME?! Your bathtub’s been classified as a crime! The walls are alive and the floorboards whine— OI! YOUR HOUSE NEEDS A PRIEST AND A BLEEDIN’ SKIP, NOT A DESIGNER! [Bridge — Church bells, whispering choir, distorted bass] (Whispered voices circling in the dark) Scrape it… sweep it… The rot’s beneath it… Burn the old curtains— The rats have inherited it… (Deep voice, spoken with aristocratic British disdain) I say, old chap… That isn’t damp. That’s an entire civilisation. And I believe the chief rat has just put your name on the lease. [Final Chorus — Explosive drums, choir, distorted guitars] WHY YOU LIVING IN THAT ROT?! YOUR HOUSE HAS BECOME A BIOLOGICAL PLOT! The ceiling’s dripping, the kettle’s gone hot— THE BLOODY MOP HAS JUST BEEN EATEN BY THE SPOT! WHY YOU LIVING IN THAT GRIME?! THE MOULD’S NOW PAYING RENT AND IT’S CLAIMING YOUR TIME! The dust is immortal, the stink is divine— OI! SOMEBODY GET THE COUNCIL ROUND BEFORE THE BIN BAGS FORM A UNION! [Outro — Music fading into rain and distant church bells] (Deep, breathless whisper) Well… On the bright side… You won’t need to decorate. The mould’s already chosen the wallpaper. (A wet squelch. A door creaks.) “Oi… mate…?” (Silence.) “The dustbin’s asking for a cup of tea.”
