One has not a house or garden nor fence to jump over, no hedge to piss upon, sofas fridges fences, fat bins, bills & papers, bottles, cans waste, upon the wasted,
Covered in but a hand, showing half dead destitute in delirious mortgage madness. To keep with the Jones with do strive,
Covers the garden, the bank manager calls at no 10, I guess one comb one’s hair was this an important thing, a universal man you are now a credit to the nation. Mason Cult.