The Rectal Warehouse Management Protocol

Acoustic Math Folk, British Hip Hop, Glitchy Folktronica

[Verse 1]
I was strolling past the Greggs with a swagger in my stride
Feeling somewhat heavy in the lumbar region hide
When a copper with a forehead like a slab of greasy ham
Said "Oi, you there, Sunshine, stop right where you am"
He clocked my gait was awkward, like a penguin on the booze
I said "It’s just a hernia, I’ve got nothing left to lose"
But then a rhythmic rumbling started deep within my gut
A tectonic plate shift in the region of my butt.

[Pre-Chorus]
(Here it comes!)
The pressure was immense, a domestic hardware surge
(Internal inventory!)
A psychological and physical white-goods-related urge!

[Chorus]
And out popped a Bosch Classixx six kilogram load
With a spin cycle screaming as it hit the dusty road
I said "Officer, I swear on my departed Mother’s soul
I didn’t know that washing machine was up my brown hole"
He looked at me with pity, then he looked at me with dread
As a Samsung American Fridge-Freezer landed on its head!

[Verse 2]
"Explain that," said the copper, pulling out his little book
I said "I must have sat on it? Why that suspicious look?"
I’m a medical phenomenon, a biological freak
I’ve been passing small electronics for the best part of a week
Then my sphincter did a somersault, a multi-syllabic twitch
And out slid a Dyson with a carbon-fiber switch
One Thousand and Two Hundred Watts of suction on the floor
I said "I’ve never seen that vacuum cleaner ever once before!"

[Pre-Chorus]
(Check the serial!)
My colon is a portal to a Curry’s warehouse floor
(It’s a miracle!)
I’m a walking, talking, shitting local hardware store!

[Chorus]
Because out popped a Bosch Classixx six kilogram load
With a spin cycle screaming as it hit the dusty road
I said "Officer, I swear on my departed Mother’s soul
I didn’t know that washing machine was up my brown hole"
He looked at me with pity, then he looked at me with dread
As a Morphy Richards toaster landed squarely on his head!

[Bridge]
(The guitar shifts into a frantic seven-eight math-rock breakdown)
It’s a matter of the physics, it’s a matter of the space
I’m a TARDIS for the kitchen, I’m a rectal disgrace
Two-Slice, Four-Slice, Integrated Microwave
I’m taking all these warranties straight to the bloody grave
The copper tried to cuff me but he slipped on all the suds
From the bottle of Ecover leaking out my under-duds
(Dirty laundry!)
(Rectal inventory!)

[Guitar Solo]
(High-speed, polyrhythmic acoustic fingerstyle solo with glitchy delay pedals and percussive body-slaps on the guitar)

[Verse 3]
By now there’s a crowd and the forensics team are here
Collecting all the kettles while I’m crying in my beer
They found a SodaStream and a George Foreman Grill
Balanced on my prostate with a terrifying skill
The Sergeant said "You’re nicked, lad, for the theft of half of Brent"
I said "It’s not my fault, it’s just the way the products went!"
But as they bundled me inside the back of the police van
I passed a Siemens Tumble-Dryer—catch it if you can!

[Outro]
(The rhythm slows down into a distorted, glitchy folk coda)
One Hundred and Fifty-Nine Pounds for the extended care...
I didn't know it was in there...
(I really didn't know...)
(Is that a Nespresso pod?)
(Keep the change, officer!)
(Fade out on the sound of a toaster popping up)
[Fade Out]

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[Intro] (Fast, erratic acoustic guitar tapping in an unstable eleven-eight time signature) (Glitchy electronic clicks and the sound of a heavy sliding door) (Wait, officer, I can explain the plumbing!) [Verse 1] I was strolling past the Greggs with a swagger in my stride Feeling somewhat heavy in the lumbar region hide When a copper with a forehead like a slab of greasy ham Said "Oi, you there, Sunshine, stop right where you am" He clocked my gait was awkward, like a penguin on the booze I said "It’s just a hernia, I’ve got nothing left to lose" But then a rhythmic rumbling started deep within my gut A tectonic plate shift in the region of my butt. [Pre-Chorus] (Here it comes!) The pressure was immense, a domestic hardware surge (Internal inventory!) A psychological and physical white-goods-related urge! [Chorus] And out popped a Bosch Classixx six kilogram load With a spin cycle screaming as it hit the dusty road I said "Officer, I swear on my departed Mother’s soul I didn’t know that washing machine was up my brown hole" He looked at me with pity, then he looked at me with dread As a Samsung American Fridge-Freezer landed on its head! [Verse 2] "Explain that," said the copper, pulling out his little book I said "I must have sat on it? Why that suspicious look?" I’m a medical phenomenon, a biological freak I’ve been passing small electronics for the best part of a week Then my sphincter did a somersault, a multi-syllabic twitch And out slid a Dyson with a carbon-fiber switch One Thousand and Two Hundred Watts of suction on the floor I said "I’ve never seen that vacuum cleaner ever once before!" [Pre-Chorus] (Check the serial!) My colon is a portal to a Curry’s warehouse floor (It’s a miracle!) I’m a walking, talking, shitting local hardware store! [Chorus] Because out popped a Bosch Classixx six kilogram load With a spin cycle screaming as it hit the dusty road I said "Officer, I swear on my departed Mother’s soul I didn’t know that washing machine was up my brown hole" He looked at me with pity, then he looked at me with dread As a Morphy Richards toaster landed squarely on his head! [Bridge] (The guitar shifts into a frantic seven-eight math-rock breakdown) It’s a matter of the physics, it’s a matter of the space I’m a TARDIS for the kitchen, I’m a rectal disgrace Two-Slice, Four-Slice, Integrated Microwave I’m taking all these warranties straight to the bloody grave The copper tried to cuff me but he slipped on all the suds From the bottle of Ecover leaking out my under-duds (Dirty laundry!) (Rectal inventory!) [Guitar Solo] (High-speed, polyrhythmic acoustic fingerstyle solo with glitchy delay pedals and percussive body-slaps on the guitar) [Verse 3] By now there’s a crowd and the forensics team are here Collecting all the kettles while I’m crying in my beer They found a SodaStream and a George Foreman Grill Balanced on my prostate with a terrifying skill The Sergeant said "You’re nicked, lad, for the theft of half of Brent" I said "It’s not my fault, it’s just the way the products went!" But as they bundled me inside the back of the police van I passed a Siemens Tumble-Dryer—catch it if you can! [Outro] (The rhythm slows down into a distorted, glitchy folk coda) One Hundred and Fifty-Nine Pounds for the extended care... I didn't know it was in there... (I really didn't know...) (Is that a Nespresso pod?) (Keep the change, officer!) (Fade out on the sound of a toaster popping up) [Fade Out]

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