The Vile Stuff Lyrics
| Song | The Vile Stuff |
| Artist | Richard Dawson |
| Album | Nothing Important |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Richard Dawson | |
| 作曲 : Richard Dawson | |
| Year 7's on a school trip to Featherstone Castle and some wee scallywag's brung | |
| a Coca-Cola bottle containing a spirit. | |
| Poor Peter Hepplethwaite cracks open his head on a shiny brass bedknob | |
| and has to be rushed by helicopter ambulance to Haltwhistle Hospital. | |
| Si Shovell fills a Reebok Pump with the pulp from his belly | |
| then sets off a fire-extinguisher in the girl's dormitory | |
| and finally clambers into bed with Miss Batholomew | |
| much to the chagrin of the deputy headmaster | |
| whose scarlet skull is firmly wedged between her thighs | |
| I only drank a few little droplets | |
| I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff | |
| Downing Asda's own-brand stubbies in the lad's bogs | |
| I listen to the dull reflection of a carillon in the toilet-bowl | |
| My A-levels drifitng away from me | |
| Matthew Mooney's hockle in my hair smells like menthol tabs | |
| Outside the chip-shop Thaddeus Wagstaff fractures my cheekbone | |
| 3 empty cans of Castlemaine XXXX go rolling down my trouser leg | |
| Blood, snot and curry coalesce in the corners of my nails | |
| My friends drifting away from me | |
| Attempting to penetrate a coconut husk with a Philips-head screwdriver | |
| I pierce a hole straight through my hand into the laminate worktop | |
| It's a major operation to repair a damaged tendon | |
| I come around with the tube still down my throat | |
| The milk of amnesia fills my cup and back into the hole i go | |
| Snoring like a pan of broth I arouse the ire | |
| of my fellow patients... wagging their ladles in the dark | |
| My neighbour Andrew lost two fingers to a Staffie-cross | |
| whilst jogging over Cow Hill with a Pepperami in his bum-bag | |
| He's a junior partner at James & James no-win-no-fee solicitor | |
| thinking of relocating to a Buddhist monastery in Halifax | |
| he reckons I should try meditation... | |
| he reckons it could benefit my peace of mind | |
| My bedroom walls are papered with the stripes of Newcastle United | |
| between which I percieve the presence of a horse-headed figure | |
| holding aloft a flaming quiver of bramble silhouettes | |
| He is the King of Children | |
| singing like a boiler - 'tomorrow is on its way'. | |
| I've haven't had a wink of sleep and now the sun is in my porridge | |
| I'm starting a BTEC in engineering at Tynemouth college. | |
| My thermos flask leaks parsnip soup on the metro | |
| clogging up the keys of my MacBook. | |
| Carrot pennies steam amidst a pyre of pencils | |
| Ruck-sack dripping up the steps of WH Smith | |
| to buy a fresh pad of paper |
| zuo ci : Richard Dawson | |
| zuo qu : Richard Dawson | |
| Year 7' s on a school trip to Featherstone Castle and some wee scallywag' s brung | |
| a CocaCola bottle containing a spirit. | |
| Poor Peter Hepplethwaite cracks open his head on a shiny brass bedknob | |
| and has to be rushed by helicopter ambulance to Haltwhistle Hospital. | |
| Si Shovell fills a Reebok Pump with the pulp from his belly | |
| then sets off a fireextinguisher in the girl' s dormitory | |
| and finally clambers into bed with Miss Batholomew | |
| much to the chagrin of the deputy headmaster | |
| whose scarlet skull is firmly wedged between her thighs | |
| I only drank a few little droplets | |
| I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff | |
| Downing Asda' s ownbrand stubbies in the lad' s bogs | |
| I listen to the dull reflection of a carillon in the toiletbowl | |
| My Alevels drifitng away from me | |
| Matthew Mooney' s hockle in my hair smells like menthol tabs | |
| Outside the chipshop Thaddeus Wagstaff fractures my cheekbone | |
| 3 empty cans of Castlemaine XXXX go rolling down my trouser leg | |
| Blood, snot and curry coalesce in the corners of my nails | |
| My friends drifting away from me | |
| Attempting to penetrate a coconut husk with a Philipshead screwdriver | |
| I pierce a hole straight through my hand into the laminate worktop | |
| It' s a major operation to repair a damaged tendon | |
| I come around with the tube still down my throat | |
| The milk of amnesia fills my cup and back into the hole i go | |
| Snoring like a pan of broth I arouse the ire | |
| of my fellow patients... wagging their ladles in the dark | |
| My neighbour Andrew lost two fingers to a Staffiecross | |
| whilst jogging over Cow Hill with a Pepperami in his bumbag | |
| He' s a junior partner at James James nowinnofee solicitor | |
| thinking of relocating to a Buddhist monastery in Halifax | |
| he reckons I should try meditation... | |
| he reckons it could benefit my peace of mind | |
| My bedroom walls are papered with the stripes of Newcastle United | |
| between which I percieve the presence of a horseheaded figure | |
| holding aloft a flaming quiver of bramble silhouettes | |
| He is the King of Children | |
| singing like a boiler ' tomorrow is on its way'. | |
| I' ve haven' t had a wink of sleep and now the sun is in my porridge | |
| I' m starting a BTEC in engineering at Tynemouth college. | |
| My thermos flask leaks parsnip soup on the metro | |
| clogging up the keys of my MacBook. | |
| Carrot pennies steam amidst a pyre of pencils | |
| Rucksack dripping up the steps of WH Smith | |
| to buy a fresh pad of paper |
| zuò cí : Richard Dawson | |
| zuò qǔ : Richard Dawson | |
| Year 7' s on a school trip to Featherstone Castle and some wee scallywag' s brung | |
| a CocaCola bottle containing a spirit. | |
| Poor Peter Hepplethwaite cracks open his head on a shiny brass bedknob | |
| and has to be rushed by helicopter ambulance to Haltwhistle Hospital. | |
| Si Shovell fills a Reebok Pump with the pulp from his belly | |
| then sets off a fireextinguisher in the girl' s dormitory | |
| and finally clambers into bed with Miss Batholomew | |
| much to the chagrin of the deputy headmaster | |
| whose scarlet skull is firmly wedged between her thighs | |
| I only drank a few little droplets | |
| I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff | |
| Downing Asda' s ownbrand stubbies in the lad' s bogs | |
| I listen to the dull reflection of a carillon in the toiletbowl | |
| My Alevels drifitng away from me | |
| Matthew Mooney' s hockle in my hair smells like menthol tabs | |
| Outside the chipshop Thaddeus Wagstaff fractures my cheekbone | |
| 3 empty cans of Castlemaine XXXX go rolling down my trouser leg | |
| Blood, snot and curry coalesce in the corners of my nails | |
| My friends drifting away from me | |
| Attempting to penetrate a coconut husk with a Philipshead screwdriver | |
| I pierce a hole straight through my hand into the laminate worktop | |
| It' s a major operation to repair a damaged tendon | |
| I come around with the tube still down my throat | |
| The milk of amnesia fills my cup and back into the hole i go | |
| Snoring like a pan of broth I arouse the ire | |
| of my fellow patients... wagging their ladles in the dark | |
| My neighbour Andrew lost two fingers to a Staffiecross | |
| whilst jogging over Cow Hill with a Pepperami in his bumbag | |
| He' s a junior partner at James James nowinnofee solicitor | |
| thinking of relocating to a Buddhist monastery in Halifax | |
| he reckons I should try meditation... | |
| he reckons it could benefit my peace of mind | |
| My bedroom walls are papered with the stripes of Newcastle United | |
| between which I percieve the presence of a horseheaded figure | |
| holding aloft a flaming quiver of bramble silhouettes | |
| He is the King of Children | |
| singing like a boiler ' tomorrow is on its way'. | |
| I' ve haven' t had a wink of sleep and now the sun is in my porridge | |
| I' m starting a BTEC in engineering at Tynemouth college. | |
| My thermos flask leaks parsnip soup on the metro | |
| clogging up the keys of my MacBook. | |
| Carrot pennies steam amidst a pyre of pencils | |
| Rucksack dripping up the steps of WH Smith | |
| to buy a fresh pad of paper |
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