Menu - Jam Baxter, Dirty Dike, DJ Sammy B-Side

Was up late calling people high on drugs, with ideas that only vaguely make

sense

Explained at great length, on the main stage sweatin' out play the game drenched

Out the front shottin' vials of that tailor made stench

Dear mother, I landed that position that I ran for

Screaming at people in small towns from a raised platform

Climbing and diving into 'em, land flat on damn floor, black out

Today’s messiah enters through the back door and

Steps out like «bathe now in the wisdom»

Found face down in a strange town in the midlands

Spinning at 12 hundred, 50 degree drunkard

I’m just tryin' to wash the chemical stain out of my system

I live in a high budget so surrealist film I direct poorly

So out to every creepy underling that checks for me

Scrawny mess slash born again success story

Memories of last night strewn along the M40

On the real, (on the real, on the real.)

You people are very strange, sweaty stained

Vibrating tin men of every age

Shrink-wrapped shipped out and slapped alive ready-made

The messy-range exclusive to the front row of any stage

Ready James?

Run the tune Sammy

Half the wrap and half the rider got the crew scatty

At 9 A.M.

still flogging a dead jam

And that’s about as gang as yelling «gang» when your not gang

Steam rolling in without warning

(I'm only in town for two nights, what’s on the menu?)

About 20 bottles, blotters and this liquid I been hauling

(What's on the menu?)

A sea of drunk devils at the front all brawling

(I'm off the rails)

That’s why they yelling gang

That’s why they yelling gang

That’s why they yelling gang

That’s why they yelling gang

(Verse 2: Dirty Dike)

I hang with you loose groupies

'Cus I ain’t trying to bang we’re just having a few smoothies

Blue cheese crackers a sack of these blue lagoons

And its back to back with jam baccarack and booze boozey

Some shows move me, other shows are stuck in glue

But what the fuck d’you do

You smoke a tonne of marijuana in the bus and move

Discuss the news, and fuck up the club and boot

Climb inside a tin can and boot it into boiled mash

Ten thousand ways to bring a movement in a foil bag

Oiled rags, dads mums, fat cunts, spoiled slags

All come for full scale attack clap your balls and hands

Bitches with their tits out, ink splash and stage dives

On stage we’re best mates the next day you hate Dike

Why?

Because I brainwashed the rave watch

Ain’t stopping shit except to celebrate the take-off

Fuckin' up the pay and you can get the bloody AIDS cloth

Just another day to let the substance in my face rot

Ready Jake?

better give the walrus a shout

'Cus I ain’t seen him since the last shot he poured in his mouth

And there’s a bunch of freaks applauding on the floor in this town

And man its our responsibility to slaughter the house

Storming about the stage gets a slap in the face

And raped from mad-passion, sadgasms and hate

Steam rolling in without warning

(I'm only in town for two nights, what’s on the menu?)

About 20 bottles, blotters and this liquid I been hauling

(What's on the menu?)

A sea of drunk devils at the front all brawling

(I'm off the rails)

That’s why they yelling (gang!)

That’s why they yelling (gang!)

That’s why they yelling (gang!)

That’s why they yelling (gang!)