the chorus is the title

THE CHORUS IS THE TITLE

Nobody likes a smart arse, so big up half rice, half chips
With spacehopper memories n newscaster lapses, the anecdotal couple of quid
Well, "Put your pinky on the twelfth fret", so says 'The Dummies Guide To One Night Stands'
Found in the dark satanic call centres of England's green and pleasant land

'How Dull Are Your Curtains?', 'Meet Britain's Least Polished Shoes'
Mid morning DNA tests, Shock! Horror! Teenage girls imbibing booze
Well, to put it all in perspective, you're what the Yanks call a pacifier
You know, it's easy just lower your standards and get as much sex as you desire
And at the bar of Le Mediocre they're playing 'Truth or dare?'
Like some fatwaphobic joker, the rebel punches the air
But "Vanilla Classic or Mint Hint, baby?" and a kittens special meat,
With Dyson eyes as blue as maybe, knocks him off his feet

Oh dear drummer, oh career guitar
Nostalgic for some Summer and the texture of catarrh
So satisfied the punk caberet is not a pretty sight
Just another hero riding through the night

Ah, the burning issues, Oh holy smoke!
Getting through a box of tissues on one not so fantastic joke
"I wanna softly poached Great Britain", More food! More fashion! More interiors!
In the style of a magic painting, "C'mon, let's process hysteria"
Let's raise a glass to the high street honey and the king of the men that pause
"Kimchi, baby, I'm not being funny, I know the author of the get out clause"
Huh, so hard a cat couldn't scratch it and the back end of a bus
With corresponding personation, make whoopy, yeah yeah, 'twas ever thus
"Well I got Blackfoot Sue n I got Pussycat n these gals just wanna have fun,
So just close your ears to the abjectness of what you're saying, spit it out and be done"