[Intro] (Strumming of a slightly out-of-tune acoustic guitar) (Heavy, shuffling garage beat kicks in) You knows it! It’s a proper disaster, innit? Absolute state of affairs. Put the kettle on, this is gonna hurt. [Verse 1] It started in a terrace house in Pill, just off the M-four Six people in a bedroom, and a mattress on the floor The vibe was strictly budget, cheap cider and some snacks We were looking for some friction, but we didn’t check the packs I reached into the bedside drawer, my vision slightly blurred Looking for the lubricant, or so I had inferred I grabbed a tube of something white, I thought it was the grease But I’d triggered off a chemical war that wouldn’t bloody cease I applied it with some gusto, thinking I was being slick Then I felt the menthol fury start to colonize my stick. [Pre-Chorus] (Oh, the burning!) (It’s like a thousand tiny suns!) It wasn’t KY Jelly, mate, it wasn’t fun for anyone The vapors hit the air and then the room began to cry As the Deep Heat started cooking every single human thigh. [Chorus] Now I’m the Sovereign of the Scrotal Singe, the king of menthol pain My reputation’s down the drain like Welsh autumnal rain The mob is at the window and the cameras are all live I’m the only man in Britain who’s unlikely to survive (He’s burning up!) (He’s glowing in the dark!) A televised catastrophe, a tragic little spark. [Verse 2] The screaming reached a crescendo, like a banshee in a bin As the capsaicin and the menthol started soaking through the skin The neighbors called the coppers, said there’s riots in the street But it was just a dozen swingers with some highly heated meat The BBC arrived with vans, Sky News was on the scene Broadcasting my agony in high-def on the screen Mob justice took a hold of ‘em, they dragged me to the park While my lower regions shimmered like a glow-worm in the dark The Prime Minister gave a statement, said my morals were a crime While the paramedics hosed me down with buckets full of lime. [Bridge] [Beat Drop] [Bass Heavy Breakdown] (Check the label!) (Always check the label, you muppet!) (Phonetic: One hundred percent pure agony) (Phonetic: Two thousand volts of stinging) [Guitar Solo] (Acoustic guitar played with frantic, percussive intensity) [Verse 3] Fast forward twenty years and now I’m living in a mansion The infamy provided quite a lucrative expansion The makers of the muscle rub, they saw the viral clip And offered me a sponsorship to keep me in their grip I’m the face of "Deep Heat Ultra", and I’ve got a shiny crest I was knighted by the monarch, put the service to the test "Sir Burny-Bits" they call me when I’m walking down the street For proving that the human soul can handle any heat My grandkids sit upon my knee and ask me for the tale Of how Grandad’s fiery knackers landed him in Newport jail. [Extended Chorus] Now I’m the Sovereign of the Scrotal Singe, the king of menthol pain My reputation’s down the drain like Welsh autumnal rain The mob is at the window and the cameras are all live I’m the only man in Britain who’s unlikely to survive (He’s burning up!) (He’s glowing in the dark!) A televised catastrophe, a tragic little spark. [Outro] (Beat fades into a solitary, melancholic acoustic guitar) Yeah, so that’s the story, kids. Now go and play outside. And for the love of everything holy... Stay away from the medicine cabinet when you’re older. (Fades out) (Slight sizzle sound effect) Proper mental. [Fade Out] [End]
