Who's In The House?!

Guess who's back! Who's in the house?
Yeah, guess who's back in the city!
Older than Moses' flip-flops!
Colder than a witch's titty!

Guess who's back! Who's in the house?
Yeah, guess who's back in the village!
Bigger than King Kong's wang!
Better than a game of cribbage!

Guess who's back! Who's in the house?
Yeah, guess who's back in the hamlet!
More paradox-y than Schrödinger's cat
Arty-er than an art pamphlet!

Guess who's back! Who's in the house?
Yeah, guess who's back in town!
I'm not talking about my sorry ass
I'm talking about Michael Brown!

Moving Down To Battersea

I'm moving down to Battersea
To a flat right near the park
Gonna have me a house party
Like the one in 'Eagle vs. Shark'

I'm moving down to Battersea
Gonna have myself a ball
I'll invite all my friends round
So this party's gonna be small

I'm moving down to Battersea
Moving my yellow ass there in May
I'll be shaking my anaemic butt
Yeah, having me a little par-tay

I'm moving down to Battersea
You want to come and move down too?
You'll get your mother-humping RDA
Of the artist formerly known as Drew

The Continuing Adventures Of Mr. Tourette: Master Signwriter

What do you think you'd call it
If you had a fish & chip shop?
I'd probably call mine 'Fish N' Shit'
But 'shit' as in 'stuff', not 'plop'

What do you think you'd call it
If you had a dirty strip club?
I'd probably call mine 'Beer, Tits and Muff'
Because, well, it's strippers in a pub.

What do you think you'd call it
If you had a cupcake store?
I'd probably call mine 'Cunt-Cakes'
Because 'Drew's Cakes' is a bore.

What do you think you'd call it
If you had a genetically-modified chicken joint?
I'd probably call mine 'Massive Cocks'
It's straight and to the point.

If I Were (The Dr. Seuss Comedown)

If I were an animal
I'd probably be a meerkat
And if I were some headwear
I'd probably be a top hat

If I were a mint
I'd probably be a Murray
And if I were a take-away
I'd probably be a curry

If I were some sneakers
I'd probably be Adidas
And if I were a millionaire
I'd probably be a fat-ass

If I were from outer space
I'd probably be from Venus
And if I were some genitalia
I'd probably be a whale's penis

I Laughed Until...

I was walking up the road
Earlier on the way to work
Some bloke in stupid skinny jeans
Barged right past me like a berk

He rushed quite quickly onwards
In the warm, mid-morning sun
And smacked into a fat bird
Which put him on his bum

The revolving door of Karma
Amused me to my very core
I laughed until I weed a bit
Then I laughed a shit-load more

Lunch Today

What shall I have for lunch today?
I'm fucking bored of sarnies
The same old bullshit every day
It's making me go barmy

Maybe I'll have pasta?
No, that's bloody boring too
Generic pasta/pesto, meh...
Use your imagination, Drew!

There's that Portuguese deli
Just off Marylebone High Street?
Nah, the queues are massive
And it smells a bit like feet.

Mac Dees, KFC, Burger King?
Nah, fast food's not for lunch
There's Cafe Rouge or Strada
(Jesus, who the hell eats 'brunch'?)

That kebab shack near the station?
Not unless I want a sore bum
Well, I guess I'm out of options
So, Nando's here I come!

Caught In A Trap

I'm sweating, but I'm freezing
And the walls are closing in
I feel just like I'm trapped
Inside a big, white wheely bin

I hear a tap slow-dripping
A ceiling fan buzzing up above
Will I ever escape this place?
Please say I will, my love!

The lights above are blinding
I'm in deep, way over my head
I need to find a way out now
Or by morning, I'll be dead

I'm stuck here in the can at work
How will it end, this caper?
It's not my time that has run out
It's the fucking toilet paper

Love Spuds For Sale

I rarely cry at movies
Shed a tear? Not much at all
But I can hand-on-heart admit
'The English Patient' made me bawl

That bit where he goes back to
The cave to see the lady
I didn't really "shed a tear"
I was bawling like a baby

I knew I was in trouble
When my bottom lip went limp
Then I opened up the floodgates
And cried and cried just like a wimp

But I guess that's not so bad
Breaking barriers, knocking down walls
I'm so in touch with my feminine side
That I may as well sell my balls

Arse-Bucks

I walk past Starbucks every day
It's on my walk-to-work route
It's full of self-important twats
And arseholes in expensive suits

The uniform-clad baristas
Invite you in with a cheeky wink
Then bill you half the national debt
Just to get a fucking hot drink

But that doesn't stop these morons
They're in and out of there non-stop
It's like they're trying to find out
How many dickheads will fit in a shop

Take your shop and piss off, Starbucks
So your idiot-sanctury I won't pass
Stick your piss-poor lukewarm beverages
Up your over-priced fat arse

Neighbours = Morons

If the people underneath me
Slam their fucking doors again
I'll take a cricket bat downstairs
And cause those twats some pain

Seriously, who walks around
Slamming every door they pass?
If they did it with revolving doors
They'd at least kick their own arse

Stop slamming doors, you wankers!
What's the door done to earn that?
The poor door's already suffering
Being in a house full of twats

Who the hell strolls round all day
Slinging doors shut violently?
These pricks should go to college
And study 'Closing Doors Silently'

Smells Like Teen Shiznit

I live next door to wankers
They piss me off so much
When they open their bedroom door
It smells like Gandhi's crotch

The stench is representive
Of Jimmy Kimmel's pits
The odour's reminiscent of
A cat with real bad shits

It pongs like old dead bodies
Like month-old taco dip
It whiffs like Jonas Brothers have
Just tried to play music

Still, I'm next door to wankers
Their room's a bloody farce
I don't know how they live there when
Their place smells like my arse

Guest Poet: Nate Marsh

In the absence of any new material from yours truly, my comrade-in-lyrics Nate Marsh has come up trumps with a song about a mutual canine friend of ours who goes by the name of Jakey B. Mather. It's in the vein of a T-Pain song, and I'm sure you'll agree that it is nothing short of bloody AMAZING...


'Squeak Squeak Bitches'

Liking my sack on a Friday night
Ready to go out & I'm feeling alright

Gotta present the my best for the bitches in my area
Don't wanna look like a punkass Scottish Terrier

Roll up to Costellos - that's where I go to unwind
Young Pekineses catches my eye, damn she's fine!

Refrain:
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
He's the top dog
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
How many bitches he gonna snog?

Feeling pretty hungry, is it dinner time?
Check my doggie rolex, damn it's quarter past nine!

Order a plate of the chef finest dish
Better be Lamb & Rice, Science Diet is the shizz

Toilet or Bottled Water the waitress asks me?"
Give me H2O from where the go human's pee!"

Refrain:
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
He's the top dog
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
How many bitches he gonna snog?

I'm a little fellow and but I gotta big heart
And if I paw-slap you, it's gonna smart!

Ok, get this pup a bowl of Bacardi
- now you how Jakey like to party!

The hot Pekinese is now ready to get busy
But I got some bad news, might put her in a tizzy

I tell this fine bitch about my time in the pound
& that seriously limits how much I get around...

I told her straight up that, damn, I got neutered
She left me with the bill, looking for other suitors...

Refrain:
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
He ain't got no nutz
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
All he can do is sniff butts!

Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
He ain't got no nutz
Jaaaakey Jaaaakey
All he can do is sniff butts!

It's Quiet Here At Work

It's bloody quiet here at work
Is speaking not allowed?
The room is totally silent
Pins dropping would be loud

There's no radio or tape-deck
To play some music on
Right now I'd even listen to
Something by Elton John

Nobody's talking here at work
I hope someone will start
I'm wishing someone speaks loud so
I can squeeze out this fart

Fire-Damaged Underpants

I let a massive ripper go
It nearly blew off my pants
It sounded like I just said "Tea?"
And my boss replied "No, thanks"

I just cranked out a wicked gust
It smelled a bit of cabbage
It tore straight through my underpants
And now they're fire-damaged

My manager said "What the hell?"
He's a sensitive wee bloke
I had to say "It wasn't me
But it was my ass that spoke"

I just ripped my under-crackers
With a noise that was quite rude
But I'm proud to have delivered
A fart of such magnitude

Beaten Cents-less

I looked inside
My bank account
And saw just what was missing

I'm broke, I'm skint
I haven't got
A pot to freakin' piss in

I don't have pounds
Or even pence
I couldn't have any less

I'm strapped for cash
I've zero quid
I'm bloody well penniless

If money were
Good looks and charm
I'd be The Elephant Man

The only beans
My poor ass has
Are the baked ones in a can

I've been beaten
Freakin' cents-less
NatWest Bank would see me drown

If I cannot
Get cash fairly
I'll go sell my ass downtown