[Verse 1: Posh-accented English male MC, crisp posh delivery over skippy two-step drums and rubbery sub bass] Three weeks, no boiler, and the showers come out ice Rang the landlord seven times and got the voicemail every time So I wrote my brother Rupert, quite a lot, I must confess Called the man a damp biscuit with a mortgage and a mess Said his moustache owes us rent, said his heart is in arrears Said he hasn't fixed a single thing in forty-seven years Rather rude, rather long, rather beautiful, I'd say Then I pressed the little arrow and I sent it on its way Then I looked at where it went, and my blood went thin as tea "Larchmont House Residents," forty flats, and him, and me [Hook: Posh MC, crisp and quick, the two-step drums skippin' under every line] Hit send on the wrong chat, sent it to the block Forty flats and the landlord, every one of 'em read the lot Rather rude and terribly true, and there's no takin' it back It was the wrong chat, darling, but it was the right chat [Verse 2: Posh MC, faster, rubbery bass bouncin', chopped guitar stabs] "Seen by thirty-eight," it says, I'm sweatin' through my vest Tried to take it back, but it was far too late to un-confess Then a bubble from the second floor, it's Mrs. Okafor And she writes one word, "Agreed," and then the fella on the fourth Flat nine writes "Hear, hear," flat twelve sends a picture of his tap Brown water in a teacup with a caption, "Look at that" Then the man in three who never speaks, he writes "Well put, old chap" Rather chatty for a man who's had a ceilin' in his lap Forty flats in twenty minutes and every one agreed Turns out the building had the words, the words just needed me [Hook: Posh MC, crisp, the garage drums shufflin' under every line] Hit send on the wrong chat, sent it to the block Forty flats and the landlord, every one of 'em read the lot Rather rude and terribly true, and there's no takin' it back It was the wrong chat, darling, but it was the right chat [Verse 3: Posh MC, reply reveal, the landlord's one-word answer is the very last line] Then the dots come up. He's typin'. Then he stops. Then types again Ten whole minutes in my dressing gown, I'm countin' up to ten Nothin' comes. I go to bed and lie there frightfully awake Seven in the mornin', there's a knock, and how my knees did shake Plumber with a toolbox and a boiler on a cart Says "Landlord sent me, first thing," and I'm clutchin' at my heart Hot water by eleven and the radiators knock Then the chat goes off at noon, and it's the landlord, to the block One word, no full stop, from the damp biscuit himself He wrote "Fair." [Final Hook: Posh MC, everything in, two-step drums and sub bass] Hit send on the wrong chat, sent it to the block Forty flats and the landlord, every one of 'em read the lot Rather rude and terribly true, and there's no takin' it back It was the wrong chat, darling, but it was the right chat [End]
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