Build Me a Flat

I was haunted by an image
I envisioned in a dream
A modern, shining citadel
Where glass and steel did gleam

A place where all are welcome
Through the ever-open door
As long as they are young
And earning fifty grand or more

And their perfect teeth are glinting
As they laugh and smile and laugh
One is laughing in the shower
Another's laughing in the bath

And then I woke and rose
And squinted through my bedroom window slats
And I saw this was no dream
It was a billboard selling flats

And I wanted one, more than anything else in the world!

So come on, build me a flat that I can call my own
With a shiny tumble dryer and a video entry phone
No more lonely hours down the laundromat
No, no, no, come on mister builder, won't you build me a flat
I said get up off your arse and just go build me a flat

Give me a kitchen where cappuccino flows free
And I can share a plate of sushi with some people just like me
Give me suede upon my sofa, and cotton on my bed
On my feet are Gucci loafers, Gucci thoughts are in my head

So convert me a flat that was a church or pub
A warehouse, or a windmill, or a burned-out Nazi sub
There's a brewery next door that's selling Baijiu one-bed vats
So come on get those plans drawn up and just convert me a flat
Find a tiny, little shed and please convert me a flat

We could have our media friends 'round
Share a bottle of Cherese
We could turn up our surround sound
And enjoy some acid jazz

The Brand New Heavies sound just as good today as they did in 1992, actually

We could read the Sunday papers wearing leisure pants from next
We could make our real-wood flooring squeak by having routine sex