Practised Room

bet ya never had to practice

in a rental shed with smelly dykes

a shed full of wasted lives

old sponges and stolen bikes

bet ya never had to practice

near the river cunt throwing rocks

pinging off the tin with an awful din

the silly cunt was off his fuckin chops

bet ya never had to practice

in accordance with a lease

under the baleful eyes of cunty neighbours

while awaiting the arrival of the police

bet ya never had to practice

In a pokey little squiddy room

while mr and mrs fuckin greg

did an upstairs fucking fume

bet ya never had to practise

while the next door fuckers were out

trying to find the perfect time

just to avoid their man hating pout

bet ya never had to practise

in a maze of rotting rooms

so much gear got fuckin stolen

transient guitar tombs

bet ya never had to practice

with barbed wire behind the doors

serial killers in the stairwells

and the call of outdoorsy whores

we practiced in the living room of a share house

it was lined with the dead amber remains of a thousand empty long necks

hope, guitar leads and take away food wrappers littered the floor

it was a place we called home!