False Grit

This town was tailor made for dying in
And on these streets
The gutters are for crying in
And no-one’s flying in anytime soon
We’re all lying in bed until noon

Knock-kneed and hackneyed
It was ever thus
If we’re not waiting for a kidney
We’re waiting for a bus

I got a cold call
On a hot summer’s day
I didn’t really
It’s just written that way

Feisty harridans, angels and crones
Get the Haynes and call Suranne Jones

Cup cakes and clichés
New drama for spring
Thanks for the warning
I’m gonna be in Beijing

Rodney Ontong and Lynsey de Paul
On the ale on the Antonine Wall
He bleating keenly
On seven point nine
She veering wildly
Away from the line
Away from the line
Away from the line
Away from the…