Girls From Home drink white wine They've got big tits and sad eyes And they want to have a good night Girls from home have soft thighs They want to make it alright They leave before the fist fight They don't want to see the boys cry Girls from home have BCG scars They dance til 3 am in shit bars And spend the weekends driving round in small cars Girls from home, they kiss hard They've got dry lips, and dresses, tight, with flowers They taste like rum and coke, and apple sourz Girls from home all say they miss me Now that I'm Mr. Cool, and living in the big city They say "how could you just forget me? You only call when you want to go to bed with me." Girls from home are OK, and I don't mind them, Some of them go both ways, and it's exciting, Some nights we can't stop fighting And there weren't any nights where it meant nothing There weren't any nights where it meant nothing And there weren't any nights where it meant nothing There weren't any nights where it meant nothing

Friday, I leave site and head home on a sticky bus to wash the dust off in the shower. People are fanning themselves with magazines and staring out the window, at the bright sun light hitting pavements, trees and car windscreens. It’s a leaving do for one of the lads, so at home I spray myself with aftershave and put a shirt on. A girl I know from school is having a party later on as well, and we’ve been texting recently. I think she’s probably just a friend for now, but it’s summer, and I’m single, and to some extent, all bets are off. Well all the boys are at a pub in Spitalfields, and Shoreditch is buzzing. We drink Heineken and talk about shagging. Girls walk past wearing summer dresses, and we laugh at videos on each other’s phones. After some arm wrestling, we go to sing karaoke at a place in Farringdon, but we’re all pissed up, and we end up smashing glasses everywhere, spilling tequila on ourselves and taking off our trousers. It’s all good fun when the blood is up, and we all sing Angels by Robbie Williams with as much passion as possible before our hour is up and we all get kicked out by the bouncers. But outside there’s a fight between two of the boys who split a gram – they grab each other by the throats and shove each other against the railings. Of course we all try not to take sides, and eventually we break it up, But neither of them will back down and suddenly we’re all divided. Everyone scatters on to trains and buses, and for most of them the night’s already over. Two of the boys say they’re going to carry on in Camden, but it’s too far for me, so I text the girl to say I’m coming to her party up in Islington. But by now it’s a different town Drunk middle class kids on the night bus, And men who stop me to ask if I want to buy cocaine. Whilst the drainpipes drip on me, And foxes hiss at me from alleyways; A queue at the kebab shop, And stumbling tramps, with cans of Super Tennants, kissing in the street. I breathe it in, I’m part of it now, And eventually I get to the big white house, where the party is in full swing. I swim through the swinging faces, til I see her in the kitchen, And she smiles at me and takes me by the hand towards a table stocked with beer. Later on, when I’m kissing her, I keep thinking about her at school – All the possibilities, and everything we could have been, before our lives started to fill up the blanks where we used to have a future. Our lips are dry And to be honest, I’m too drunk, and too tired, to do anything properly, but it’s nice just to be there. Eventually we both fall asleep, her with her head on my chest, me with my arm around her waist, and I don’t wake up again until the morning. In the morning she says nothing, And I know what she means. I’ve already given up on most of my dreams. I just want to wake up in a bed with clean sheets, In a room with a window, That looks out on trees. We go and get breakfast together, And I feel comprehensively hungover. But we have a nice chat, and it’s clear we’ll probably both just forget about the night before. We say goodbye, And before I get on the bus home, I buy one of those 35p energy drinks that you always see labourers and homeless people drinking. It doesn’t make me feel any better, And once I read the ingredients, I conclude that it will probably give me cancer.

Come close The streets are so full of ghosts; All those that time replaces New faces, and old roads Down at the African barbers They've braiding hair in Jesus' name With virgin Brazilian extensions Reminds me of the first time, When drunk, and shy, and falling into love - And when we finished there was blood on the sheets I stripped the bed, and went down to make you a cup of tea whilst you were dressing. There has to be a loss for every blessing. Comedown, The streets are so full of ghosts now, Doors close, And time replaces new faces on old roads And down at the street market, They're selling memories off, any bowl a pound, In plastic tubs labelled "childhood" and "NHS". I put my hand into my pocket, But there's a hole in there, that all my change has fallen through. And I'm a geezer, ain't I, Life just bounces off of me like hailstones Until one day it starts to snow, And I get buried. On days like this. [Guest vox by DM.]

20 PINT WEEKEND -- in the Stag's Head with a couple of real lemon squeezers. He's looking at me and smiling over his moustache. Where's the fags Fred ? They're in the fuckin bin -- sex, blood, booze, and death: a big night out -- down in Brighton, seagull attack outside the McDonalds. Went for a disappointing Japanese meal. Currently drinking a schooner of craft beer BELIEVE IN THE GEEZER For a second I'll be waiting while you're checking on your phone Is there something that you're taking is there something that you know Is there something that's been breaking is it just because you're broke Is there something you've been taking is it taking all your hope, yeah 20 PINT WEEKEND (when you answer your phone) 20 PINT WEEKEND (when you leave on your own) 20 PINT WEEKEND (they always call) 20 PINT WEEKEND (with chemicals) -- I'm ambitious - I want everything this life has to offer. I want a burger, and, I want a kebab -- Amsterdam, red light district, Friday night. You'd think half these cunts had never seen a pair of tits before For a second I'll be waiting when we're falling out the pub And I'll hold you in my arms when we're collapsing in the club Is there something that's been breaking is it just because you're broke Is there something you've been taking is it taking all your hope, yeah 20 PINT WEEKEND (when you answer your phone) 20 PINT WEEKEND (when you leave on your own) 20 PINT WEEKEND (they always call) 20 PINT WEEKEND (with chemicals) -- Walthamstow, with a cigarette and a hard-on. The Arsenal. Dogs, tattoos, Morrissey, vegan breakfasts. Couple of pints with a couple of lads, tapping the ash straight onto the tip, and standing in the window wanking into the street. Walthamstow, 2016 BELIEVE IN THE GEEZER For a second I'll be waiting while you're checking on your phone Is there something that you're taking is there something that you know Is there something that's been breaking is it just because you're broke Is there something you've been taking is it taking all your hope, yeah Is there something you've been taking, Is there something you've been taking, I'll be checking on your phone, Checking on your phone, Is there something you've been taking, Is there something you've been taking, You'll be checking on your phone, Checking on your phone yeah 20 PINT WEEKEND 20 PINT WEEKEND 20 PINT WEEKEND 20 PINT WEEKEND

Made my girlfriend cry again, It's shit, I'm shit, Jealous guy, get angry over nothing, Want to solve things with my fists. Soft in the middle but rough around the edges: Act tough in pubs, but stress out over a WhatsApp message. Get drunk in clubs and forget to count my blessings. I want to touch it but I can't I want to be it but I can't I want to touch it but I can't I want to be it but I can't I want to touch it but I can't I want to be it but I can't I want to touch it but I can't I want to be it but I can't Loving is a constant act of courage You have to trust in something you can never really know It's the faith that keeps you going, With the knowledge sometimes faith is all that stops you letting go. When I was at school I used to fight in car parks, When I loved a girl she went and fucked somebody else; When I got home I told my mum I'd fallen over -- I told my mum I was upset about something else. I don't know where to put my anger, I don't want to have to carry it around. I want to step inside of you, and stop being a stranger -- I want to touch it, but I don't want to break it in my hand. Loving someone is a constant act of courage; You have to believe in something you can never really know. It's the faith that keeps you going, In the knowledge they can always let you go. [Sax solo by Joe Murgatroyd]