Bad Review -

Re: Our gig at Deptford Abyss

Who the hell does Jeff Dreadnought think he is?

Was he even there?

(I ask myself)

Does he even care?

(don't kid yourself)

Wait 'til our PR men hear of this

It’s a bad review, we got a bad review… oh Lord

It’s a bad review — wotta we gonna do?

…oh Lord

I can’t walk down the street ‘cos other groups I might meet, and they’ll smirk

Oh, it’s a rum old do, is a bad review… oh Lord

And my girlfriend’s fuming

You hacks don’t know where it’s at

You can’t appreciate the master of the Strat

Not that I’m concerned (‘course you’re not)

Your paper’s full of crap (‘course it is)

I only read the gig guide anyway

It’s a bad review, a b-b-b-bad review… oh Lord

We got a bad review, I can’t believe its true… oh Lord

Well I know what you look like, so don’t ever come near Stroud

Page 32, it’s a bad review… oh Lord

My girlfriend’s fuming

OK — let’s go to chapel

Oo-oo — what’s to do?

It’s a bad review

Oo-oo — what’s to do?

It’s a bad review

The fearsome hollow boom of the older boys in the deep end

The green shoots of recovery shrivelled up in harsh tomorrows

Left to pick dry sticks and mumble to myself

A melancholy emblem of parish cruelty