Songtext von The Serial

"christ i need a wank" muttered collin Wafting farts with a back issue of jaynus The bed-sit was ten foot by three foot six And housed three bachelors of diverse, taste, age and conduct It was littered with old football programmes The only window was always shut owing to it's being stuck by layer upon layer of gloss paint The smell of rancid brown ale pungent chip wrappings and overflowing ash-trays Fused with the natural secretions of the three into a nauseous corporate He's always fucking her on the floor discovered kevin As tiny avalanches of plaster peppered his ice cream "maybe they're having a scrap" said burt The smart one And as the mopeds - rasped off to the seaside Yvonne looked to the trees And her stomach turned."