Eyes like cherries Chasing after a Henry Folded in a lottery slip Mind the plastic, give it a snip. He says it’s 'Squidgy Black' But it looks like tarmac Doesn't matter, get it in the lung The anthem of the unwashed young. Stinks of diesel , stinks of a old van The holy grail of the working man. Blue flames flickering on the ring Waiting for the metal to do its thing. Two butter knives glowing bright red Enough to blow the roof right off your head. Kitchen's getting cloudy, kitchen's getting thick Don't touch the blade or you’ll get a nasty lick. It’s a science, it’s a craft Don't let the smoke escape the draft. Water bongs a proper mind-fucker Lung capacity for the desperate sucker. One big hit and your knees go weak You won't be able to hear or speak. Burn and skin up in a bit of backy Hot rocks burning holes in your tracky. A Henery in the pocket, the Gold Label's out This is what the weekend’s all about. Soap bar, black, and the diesel scent Every single penny of the giro spent. Combustion, suction, internal destruction Follow the dealer’s dodgy instruction. Wrapped in a "See You Inside" card Life in the suburbs can be hard. Cardboard roach from a Rizla pack Sit on the sofa, let your head go back Is it boot polish? Is it beeswax? Whatever it is, it makes the brain relax. Mixed with the plastic and the cling film too A potent brew for me and you. "Is the kettle on?" "Watch your joggers, mate... too late." "That's a proper Henry, that." Burn and skin up in a bit of backy Hot rocks burning holes in your tracky. A Henery in the pocket, the Gold Label's out This is what the weekend’s all about. Soap bar, black, and the diesel scent Every single penny of the giro spent. The staple diet... Proper mind-fucker... Keep the knives on the heat...
