(Intro) Well, it started with a boiler that was fit to burst, Five misfits detained for the Empire’s worst. Caught pilfering tea, or just being “peculiar,” Now we’re stuck in detention with a steam-powered ruler. (Verse 1) The Urchin’s got soot and a cockney grin, The Tinker’s lost tools—again—in the bin. The Aesthete’s adjusting their monocle’s gleam, While the Explorer plots routes to places unseen. (Pre-Chorus) And the Basket Case? Oh, they’re a delight— Debating if the automaton’s alive or just polite. Here we sit, under gears and brass, Bonded by boredom and an overcooked gas. (Chorus) We’re the Steampunk Breakfast Club, In the fog and the grime, we find our snub. Through clanking gears and tea-stained steam, We’re a clockwork rebellion, a Victorian dream. Not just cogs in the wheel, oh, can’t you see? A Street Urchin… a Tinker… an Aesthete… and me. (Verse 2) The Urchin brags they’ve got the Queen’s own key, The Tinker claims they’ve built a clockwork bee. The Aesthete critiques our “ghastly attire,” While the Explorer’s trapped in a dirigible wire. (Verse 3) And then there’s the Basket Case, a curious plight, Reckons steam is sentient and “makes a good fight.” We pass the hours with tea and wit, Trading sarcasm like it’s counterfeit. (Pre-Chorus) The Aesthete’s aghast at the tea’s poor brew, While the Urchin just grins, “It’s better than stew!” The Tinker’s tweaking a brass-handled wrench, The Explorer dreams of conquering the French. (Chorus) We’re the Steampunk Breakfast Club, In the smog and the grime, we find our hub. Through piston sighs and a puff of flair, We’re rebels with goggles and steam in the air. Not just cogs in the wheel, oh, can’t you see? A Street Urchin… a Tinker… an Aesthete… and me. (Bridge) Oh, the Empire’s a bore with its rules and pomp, We’d rather take tea with a steam-powered romp. From Piccadilly to the fog of Limehouse, We’re redefining rebellion with a brass-bound house. (Spoken Interlude – Dry Humor) Urchin: “Right, so if the Queen ain’t using that key, can I sell it?” Tinker: “You could, but I’d wager it’s cursed. Everything is these days.” Aesthete: “Cursed? Don’t be absurd. It’s simply… gauche.” Explorer: “If we’re done bickering, I’ve found a map to Atlantis.” Basket Case: “Atlantis is a metaphor for society’s collapse.” Urchin: “Society collapsed the day they taxed tea.” (Chorus) We’re the Steampunk Breakfast Club, In the soot and the smog, we rise above. Through boiler screams and the hiss of steam, We’re the Empire’s nightmare, a punk’s wild dream. Not just cogs in the wheel, oh, can’t you see? A Street Urchin… a Tinker… an Aesthete… and me. (Finale) So here’s to the rebels in waistcoats and grime, Who turn tea-drinking into a protest of time. We may be absurd, but we’re never too glum— The Steampunk Breakfast Club— Long live the plumbum! (Cue the sound of a kettle whistling and a clock chiming dramatically.) (Finale) So here’s to the rebels in waistcoats and grime, Who turn tea-drinking into a protest of time. We may be absurd, but we’re never too glum— The Steampunk Breakfast Club— Long live the plumbum! (Cue the sound of a kettle whistling and a clock chiming dramatically.) (Instrumental with steampunk musical instruments) (Big Finish) So here’s to the rebels in waistcoats and grime, Who turn tea-drinking into a protest of time. We may be absurd, but we’re never too glum— The Steampunk Breakfast Club— Long live the plumbum!
