Well haven't you seen the indie disco kid,
Scrabbling on the floor for his poppers' lid?
Pushing to the front of the cubicle queue,
With a pocket of powder that's soaked right through?
Haven't you seen him throwing some shapes,
Blurring the line between humans and apes?
Desperate to score but he'll leave alone
And give it one last shot on the night bus home.
It's always the same, I know what you're thinking:
A short, sharp song about dancing and drinking.
Spiced up with a fucking swear word or two.
Stick it on the web and watch the hype come true
So what do you think about such and such?
Is a Mercury prize too hot to touch?
Can you please give us leave from the Brit Awards farce
And an enema to clear the NME from our arse?
Friday, December 15, 2006
[A quick pastiche of 2006's hottest band (apparently): Arctic Monkeys]