Alchemisland

I prophesy that all these property guys are fake tycoons

Lying lines on graphs bad maths, lunatic goons lying about profits

More stops on this trip than a heritage map because I drank orange

Piss exploding out near the hips in a torrent

Looming over their underlings, yuppie arrogance dealing psychic damage

I’m frothing, wet as a bath mat after all night uppers and pint slamming

Suffering for neglecting to eat supper, I need ballast and stuffing

All things back in balance except the ledgers, still askance

I’m about to serve a damaging shit sandwich to upper management

All that’s left to do is stay standing and nail the landing

All of these glad handers with hair plugs and bad tans

They have big plans to install Turkish gnashers, all Oasis Dads

Mock ups, projections for the next twelve months, all chaps rum

Shock when I rock up asking for cough up

For rock dust snorted up in the club, I don’t budge

“Alright you cunts, you’re rumbled!” Hand out hundreds of drubbings

Partridge prickly, customers tricky; “These sales projections are gubbins.”