Anything

There’s a bitter scene brewing on the edge of town

Where the BMX boys would meet the skateboard crowd

White washed walls in fifty shades of grey

Have purified the streets in such a soulless way

Every single scene’s become a weatherspoon pub

Where the pensioners are grateful for the two-pound grub

The only melody’s a medley of the general moan

And music is just a ring tone that you get on a phone

Where the ones you’ve known the longest

Aren’t actually your friends

And support becomes a labour on which your family depends

Scratched on the walls it says keep your wits about

Because you could be somebody if you can just get out

From the tanning booths of Chelmer

To Mr Rams kebabs

Where the blokes are always boasting

About the pussy that they’ve had

The squawks from the wags on a girl’s night out

Make you wonder what the fuck all this shit’s about

It’s the small town mentality that we struggle to out grow

In the search for something meaningful in the place that we call home