‘I worked so hard for the money I earn’ I didn’t lift a finger for a penny of mine So who’s the loser? I know who I’d choose Not the snivelling suit, begging for the bag Big Twenty’s riddled with that kind of vermin Slapping our backs like they know us when they’re finally coming up That dopey gurn just spurs me on to Burn down every single thing that ever meant something to me ‘Cause they’ve got it and they’ll keep it too The sterile stink of new money coke fiends Clicking their fingers as if we’re on the books Brand activations at demonstrations Bank sponsored seances, communing with the debt ‘Cause they’ve got it and they’ll keep it too Not a lot is sacred, joy mechanically copied and sucked out of spaces by corporate monoliths, and simplified and compressed into something sellable, neat, compact and relatable to a feeling we once felt, but now I’m not so sure, and when that all fades, it’s dumped into the cosmos, ready for saucer men to find and trade in the death knell of an earth, fumbled and wasted by men with dollars in their eyes and all the rest of it but something existed, and it was cultivated in cracks and darkened corners, which maybe there used to be more of, but either way, will always be there. It’s a stop-start conversation with a stranger in a stairwell, asking how their set went, after they’ve played to 30 people in the only pub not turned into a bar within a 100 mile radius. A shared moment no one can really put their fingers on, but it seems more worth it than anything And those oily snouts, they’re twitching for more ‘Cause they’ve got it and they’ll keep it too

And oh God, the scene is so hideous Hunt down the schmuck who started it And beat the life out of the idiot It’s such a strange loop Self-applauding saps slinging shit at the rich kids As if you wouldn’t be doing exactly the same thing, shut up It’s such a strange loop And James says, where does the time go? Mostly up my nose still but I feel so sick Sick of the static, sick of the same Sick of the obscurity, man, we could be great It’s such a strange loop Sucked It Sore Sucked it sore Steph steps in, all glistening wet, like some primordial toad Designed to waddle about in the ooze and not a lot of anything else ‘It’s easy when you know how it’s done’ Blears out to an empty room in an even emptier club, so bunch up Of course it’ll falls to the firms, If no one’s really there to defend it God knows we need a breather, but if it goes there’s no way to reclaim it So I’m stuck in this cesspit, too submerged to move, and that’s cool Sucked it sore Mark makes the play to pick up but I tell him he’s had plenty enough The smoking area doesn’t need another hour, listening to more of his bunk Because the Bourgeois, aren’t in the slightest bit scared of me Stephan’s eyes roll so hard, you can practically hear the bearings crank, so let’s dance Of course it’ll falls to the firms, If no one’s really there to defend it God knows we need a breather, but if it goes there’s no way to reclaim it So I’m stuck in this cesspit, too submerged to move, and that’s cool

Sucked it sore Steph steps in, all glistening wet, like some primordial toad Designed to waddle about in the ooze and not a lot of anything else ‘It’s easy when you know how it’s done’ Blears out to an empty room in an even emptier club, so bunch up Of course it’ll falls to the firms, If no one’s really there to defend it God knows we need a breather, but if it goes there’s no way to reclaim it So I’m stuck in this cesspit, too submerged to move, and that’s cool Sucked it sore Mark makes the play to pick up but I tell him he’s had plenty enough The smoking area doesn’t need another hour, listening to more of his bunk Because the Bourgeois, aren’t in the slightest bit scared of me Stephan’s eyes roll so hard, you can practically hear the bearings crank, so let’s dance Of course it’ll falls to the firms, If no one’s really there to defend it God knows we need a breather, but if it goes there’s no way to reclaim it So I’m stuck in this cesspit, too submerged to move, and that’s cool

So settle down, it’s never as hard as the first time round Kicking around with low-lifes and lower, you’ve got to remember- The slower you slip, the sadder it is, and that’s just it So see it off, to set it off See it off, to set it off now Combatants are complicit but they’re not really with it, and never were Lining up like the grooves on your phone screen from another night spent as a has-been So beat it down, screw it so deep you can’t find the thread Because I’m in bed, and not planning on leaving For something as trivial as what’s in your head So see it off, to set it off See it off, to set it off now Combatants are complicit but they’re not really with it, and never were Lining up like the grooves on your phone screen from another night spent as a has-been

Ali liked watching the planes fly overhead and the cars driving out over the new bridge She’d imagine the strangers who were leaving and how one day she’d be one of them, whatever it took She went searching for the name written on the lamppost on her estate, the one her mum got angry about, but it’s since been painted over and she feels erased and more detached than ever All the ties that kept her feeling like she belonged So she went searching for a little connection, but she’s tied to the middle classes - the arts, music, parties and passes. She wonders how Grant’s doing since his mum died and whether the council let Tony keep his family home Feeling left behind, feeling for yourself And the town itself hasn’t changed that much - the blokes still tell the women to avoid King Street. But it is and always has been misinformation - just a fear of others taking what they don’t have themselves. The sad remain sad, and the desperate become guilty. She never much liked the place. But there was a new found fondness. Safe, familiar, in step, cyclical. But she kind of revoked her spot a long time ago when she thought she was above it It all started with K. She told Ali her and her dad’s plans for skipping town. They’d leave in the night, leave her step mum behind. It felt huge, cinematic, until the newspapers caught up with them. She was living the same life, just in some other hole Then where was Becca. Her mum told me to go home cause She’d found something, bright white, squeaky clean, on the way home from Coll’s. Or so her mum said. There’d be less trouble from the police that way. then they were gone Whether it was the drugs on the floor, or ditching in the night. The blue lights and questioning just made it seem that much more attractive. A hint of jealousy, urgency, excitement, and as as Ali got older she accepted the sad reality that something bad has to happen for there to be genuine change

The girl behind the bar sweetly suggests I wipe the coke from my nose before ordering more drinks In that moment I feel so small but grateful there’s people looking out for me Because it’s been a horrid few years, trading joy for resentment For anyone younger than me, still in love with the notion Of a future that looks so big, it’s actually worth hanging around for And it all feels so strange as it all comes away I used to feel so sure but now I’m not so sure Dreaming of the Albion whilst stuck to the sofa playing farm games on a phone, waiting on a dealer Arcadia awaits if I can just sort a few bits I’ll be good for the money by the weekend I had two wet dreams in the space of a night But my libido’s in limbo, I’m so painfully tired So I embrace the indignity, enjoy the experience Find little wins where you can Regress like you mean it

The bumps in the night, well, they barely touch the sides I’m a tangle of wires without a connection All i need is a little investment, so put your money where my mouth is A social strategy to counteract the apathy That only a man, could possibly understand The Movement, Big Twenty and everybody in it, can burn alive Suffice to say, it’s gets harsher everyday The dark mark of non-start, OD’ed on inaction And Soft Action barely gets moving Before it’s skewered in the ground And it writhes like it means it, then curls up and dies Leaves it skin for a stranger, but nobody wants it Who would? All mottled and blotchy Let it rot in the in the ground Let it rot The clientele in the cubicles leaves a lot to be desired But they’ve got me hardwired, how do you expect me to stop? It’s not the substances, it’s the consistency That’s the thing that’s actually killing me That and the glares I get from people who know About the things that we’ve done and the people they’ve told And oh my God, I can’t shake the feeling That the things that we did might not have been worth it

The bumps in the night, well, they barely touch the sides I’m a tangle of wires without a connection All i need is a little investment, so put your money where my mouth is A social strategy to counteract the apathy That only a man, could possibly understand The Movement, Big Twenty and everybody in it, can burn alive Suffice to say, it’s gets harsher everyday The dark mark of non-start, OD’ed on inaction And Soft Action barely gets moving Before it’s skewered in the ground And it writhes like it means it, then curls up and dies Leaves it skin for a stranger, but nobody wants it Who would? All mottled and blotchy Let it rot in the in the ground Let it rot The clientele in the cubicles leaves a lot to be desired But they’ve got me hardwired, how do you expect me to stop? It’s not the substances, it’s the consistency That’s the thing that’s actually killing me That and the glares I get from people who know About the things that we’ve done and the people they’ve told And oh my God, I can’t shake the feeling That the things that we did might not have been worth it

Julie 1 and Julie 2 fought it out in a few square feet, There’s pride in these people, for better or worse, but then there has to be When they come for their education and stick around to watch them fight, Calling time on all the businesses, pushing the old boys out. Is she sick or is she lazy? Staring up at the mildewed ceiling Spending hours working out if the lack of sustained comfort Is something that she could have dealt with or maybe it just is It’s easy to get jaded, when nothing ever gives And like pigeons with twisted feet The neighbours are clubbed, battered, and unrelenting Adapted to life lived on the floors and huffing up the scraps They can’t live off of goodwill gestures, where’s the mobility? Just a little hope, something monetary There’s not many more first times Everything feels so far away ‘Like a bad head in the morning’ or a glass just out of reach. Why do you ruin a beautiful thing with such ugly language? ‘Your accent belies your intelligence, man’ Just call it a day

It’s hard to live in the present when the present is this depressing And you wonder why everything we do is so steeped in nostalgia? Dewy-eyed for something so distinctly average But it’s the last time i felt something a little less than evil A little less than evil Gloopy fuck, denying the joy of a perpetual pile-on Why aren’t you smiling? There’s so many people left below us This is as good as it gets, if you squint you can see to the top It’s almost enough to get off on, James coughs then falls unconscious One hand, still down the front of his trousers One hand, the other grabbing clumps of the carpet Buildings get bigger, to the point where it’s sickening to ever look up That’s why I stick to the low life, surf in the sludge with the other grunts And man, If this is as good as it gets, I guess all of this must be good We should make peace with the fact, a little inequity never hurt any one One hand, still down the front of his trousers One hand, the other grabbing clumps of the carpet On one hand, another year wouldn’t do any damage On the other, I’m almost certain it will

And after years of this shit, I think the resolve might be starting to slip So let’s quit, up and move to the sticks and find a regular fix Some leather-clad creep in a farmhouse, with more cash than he knows how to spend A pastoral existence, sounds like a bliss to me Weekends waving at families in hatchbacks, as our eyes roll to the back of our heads Walking the 3 miles down to the mill, man, just to get there and push you in And I hold your head under the water, a minute longer than I probably should You come up spluttering trying to scream, so I grab your head and do it again A pastoral existence, sounds like a bliss to me Attracting animals close enough to kick, and kicking them as hard as we can Terrorising the local community, actually giving them something to think about And I think about the things we’ve done, man, in the grotesque quiet of night Then kill it with the last of the stockpile, the rest we can leech off the land A pastoral existence, sounds like a bliss to me

We’re all stood out here on the sharp end of some legacy I wish I had some rich uncles in the industry who could bankroll me And while that’s actually true, I do, we’re not really that kind of family Like everyone in this city Making marks is for marks, make enough to make escape velocity. Build the club, get some kids who believe, make some money Sell the club, take their money and just leave I had no idea at the time, I was five A child wondering why the vodka bottle labels are upside down at Aunty Joans Or why there’s speakers wrapped up in tarps poking out of the grass in the backyard Well child there’s gonna be a fire There comes a point when any business you build will expire so the trick is just to get in first Leave a door unlatched and let the boys do the worst You’d be surprised at just how often it happens Pushes up the premiums so you have to plan carefully I guess that’s why they chose to diversify Deny a glorious trilogy, make pop history Left us with a brand of big Wednesday mediocrity Some legacy. But the biogs all attest that the second was the best that’s when the scene started picking up press They had the decor imported, all the shit that New York did All that snow to be snorted, white Christmas, gold hoarding until NME let the hordes in They made their mark and the marks just poured in, all the starry eye’d students adoring Stole ashtrays faster than reordering but at this point the band were recording And the common carnage of the club scene club is just..boring So someone sold them a cellar in the centre of town Divert the students underground where they can water drinks down Make a list of the hits and just stick to it but make sure the DJ thinks they’re the important bit It’s all about the sounds, not the clubs that house them And holy fuck when they found them they found them Went from house band fame to household name in the time it takes to construct a yacht And with 20 off the top, what else you got? Am I bitter? No. Could I do better? No My Aunty Joan says that Ozzy himself laid bricks And like, the timeline doesn’t match but the narrative fits How every local favour gets called in when you're leaving All them bright-eyed local bands, building the box they’ll be buried in And they called it snobs, because the family would prefer it if you all got jobs And understood how much replacing those imported coke mirrors cost Like, it’s cheaper just to fit them on yachts, good god that’s grim The idea, the execution The gaping chasm that’s spread between the two of them The intention and the movement, I definitely mentioned that more times that i should have But nothing penetrates that tiny head Slab thick with nothing much to say Besides babbling like a baby about past indiscretions Things that I told you were always gonna happen I’ll be dead eventually and none of this will bother me The boot, the brick, the brain between The smile I forced when you eyeballed me But did you listen? Not even once Discounting gospel as something like a hunch But i know you, and your futures I’ve seen every one and they’re only getting bleaker So please believe me when I said that I made you Stitched you together from the dregs and scraps and debris Every sinew, every vein, every grim thought that bounces round that brain I’ll be dead eventually and none of this will bother me The boot, the brick, the brain between The smile I forced when you eyeballed me