I′m aware, on some level, that I justify my tropes

In a vague, infernal attempt to cope

With the fact I'm evidently quite madBut it beats ripping fuck out and feeling bad

Hence the strange attitude to performance art and drugs

In my daily obsession with out-psychopathing thugs

Being a skinhead therefore obviously in the KKK

I′m reclaiming the 'N-word' for use by our community

So from now on I do intend to say Nutter with impunity

And rather than let over a billion anecdotes go to waste

I′ve learnt it′s quite fun being somewhat bad taste

Hence the usual pretentious title in this cheerful little ditty

If you know me quite well then you'll know just how pretty

And subtle my delicate verses can be

Especially these vaguely sardonic ones about me

Still there′s no real point in avoiding the fact

Pleonasm aside I'm slightly lacking in tact

However, as I′ve never quite explained before

It takes a few years' practice to turn into a whore

And that′s what I thought I'd talk about this morn

My somewhat damaged theories on kink and porn

In an inadvertent mission to keep pace with the Devil

Welcome to the sodding neurotic meta-level

And if you're sat in a room chewing down your own meat

To screeching Industrial noise and loud beats

It′s harder to mention these little enigmas

Without encountering a bit of stigma

Keeping dark glasses on, stumbling out in a daze

But I′ve had Photosensitive Insomnia for over 900 days

And I'm a bit short-sighted and Photic sneeze in the light

Oh dear, there goes the local stereotype

Better turn it back on and keep that stiff upper lip

So something about razors in the dark and bad trips

Frustrated from that rather irritating ′smoker's cough′ but hoping it would teach

The caring general public not to drink bleach

As it's obvious that′s really not normal and common

Um, unlike those expensive London members' clubs where they do practise Domin

Ation and other such charming things

As electro-stim shock knives and deliberate wasp stings

For a businessman crowd of well-dressed, loaded snobs

Who get you to spew on them giving face-jobs

Where in between periods of wanting to die

You find yourself dressed up like a human fly

And chased over a bouncy castle by a popper-laced midget

With a penchant for sodomy and eyeballs that fidget

And miserable, elitist, cliquey turds

Who snort ketamine and forget their safe words

And city job women masturbating with blades

And medical doctors you know all have AIDS

And lapsed Catholic priests and some PhD types

In barbed wire G-Strings and inward pointing spikes

And a constant stream of furtive cross-dressing MPs

With dog collars on getting down on their knees

Who'd sneer you out of the playrooms for still not being cool

I.e. keeping a straight face and obeying more rules

Like not staring too long at the suspiciously cum-soaked bull dykes

With their cut-glass accents and wholesale packs of Alco-wipes

Draining some blood out with hypodermic syringes

To fuel another night of sodding vampire binges

Who complain about the homeless at their village hall meetings

And mow the lawn after Mass and exchange pleasant greetings

And are really quite fond of ′Italian Food′

See, that sounds really nice but it's quite fucking rude

And the 47 year old man in the nappy who cops a feel

And the funny fucker who says his name′s Neil

'Cos I′ve never heard that one before, you slag

You're the one twit who really does need a ball gag

And the innocent joys of a group Roman shower

And Nietzsche fans in gasmasks and positions of power

Who may not even let you into one haughty-cultural event

Without knowing how much bastard money you′ve spent

On their own brand clothing for the herds of onlookers

Burning 450 quid to dress up like a PVC hooker

Even when you get in beware the suits at the side

Whacking off in the dark with a great sense of pride

And the old fucks who've been in the scene all their life

With a suitcase full of speculums so they can piss in their wife

As she sips her martini and name-drops De Sade

And The Story of O and that time they got laid

With that bloke on the farm they filmed fucking the stallion

And showing off their latest occult medallions

As the Oxbridge girl I kiss vomits into my mouth

And a buggered throat means I just can't spit it out

With three fingers in her anus I get slapped in the face

I′m so sorry for causing you that utter disgrace

It seems I′ve got it rather wrong

And just because we're on the dance floor and you′ve got no knickers on

Doesn't mean that you′re that sort of girl

I know, instead I'll just swallow some more of your hurl

And I see now how distasteful it was for you to observe

Thinking ′who is this sweaty lobster in fishnets with his nerve?'

So back to The Cotswolds to hold orgies with real style

Putting a whole new meaning to a big country pile

Pumping glycerine enemas into their subs

To a soundtrack of cheesy Electro and Techno and Dub

And pony people in posh hotel rooms with hunting horns

Who get pissed off if you ask for Asche, Coil or Die Form

And an endless tide of maniacs who fantasise about being raped

If you think that's not a mainstream one then you′re making a mistake

And if you believe EBM and Goth clubs are the worst thing going

You don′t know the sort of people I was knowing

Am I beginning to gently massage the point across

That normality's a big steaming load of toss?

The reason behind this ′academic exercise'

Is the fact that I′m back from the thing I despise

Yes, once again I'm violated and it′s 9 fucking AM

Welcome to the giggling elf, cracked sunshine world of Ben

A trip to Galleywood surgery and the familiar mission

To rest on a bed and adopt the position

In a nutshell, when I go for a tinker's kiss

It's readily apparent that there′s blood in my piss

And as for developing that trademark heart of coal

For the past 16 years I′ve bled out of my hole

Hmm, now there's quite a few explanations why this might be

And for some silly reason I got out of my tree

For about a decade since removing all sobriety

Sortof helps out with stopping you pondering society

Like the sweet, quiet love of a nice sociopath

Who beat me up once, it′s a bit of a laugh

Like the times in public by Tesco's where she′d shit by the bins

And again on our living room floor with an orgasmic grin

A keen interest in knitting, and infidelity

That crapped me straight back to more wretched therapy

After 2 years being sober the day she left I gave in

And totalled myself in the park on some gin

A habit that continued for quite a while after

My God, isn't it nice to focus on laughter?

She gets by quite well now since she likes 80s Pop

And helps out by working in charity shops

And has settled down with a more every-day man

Who went out with a Stanley to fight for West Ham

With their innocent natures and plenty of friends

Like that warm bigot fuckwit on which I depend

Who earns a fine salary, badly drives a good car

And laughs when the bouncers deny me the bar

Of account of my DMs looking dangerous and queer

Forcing me to wait outside as he goosesteps in for a beer

Side-stepping the riot of racists in jackets

With their smart, shiny shoes and enormous pay-packets

Till he comes back out scowling and moans that all ladies

Are sluts and he′d just love to sterilise babies

And repeatedly tells me like some fucking Papist

How much he can sympathise with rapists

And exactly where he wants to stick it

And then he heads off to play more damned cricket

And the McDonalds git who kicked his fuck-buddy's gut

Till she had a miscarriage but she saw that as luck

As she didn't really want her darling son

And she stayed with the bloke, ah well, least he′s well-hung

And he didn′t stop her getting too drunk

And vomiting in gutters after too much skunk

And the teenage junkie fuckwits camped by Sky Blue canal

To bother to chat with without legal highs

And think you're an axe murderer ′cos they can't see your eyes

Like the time the other week on that bench near the trees

When they keep on hitting as one poor sod OD′s

Now guys, your radical, daring minds may not know this so here's a favour

That′s kinda like Holloway crack-house behaviour

But it's okay though since you're on more socially acceptable stuff than that

And only having a little laugh, you steaming mound of twats

So yeah, observe the middle of the road behaviour and deeply hilarious jokes

Of an area chock full of regular, non-mental folk

And as for those CMHT psychiatrists well aren′t they gloriously sincere?

An altruistic desire to remove my fear

With a 8 year gift of anti-psychotic pills

Then refusing all service when, for some reason, I got rather ill

And promises of a counselling waiting list that, ho hum, didn′t exist

Oh, joy to the world that at least I'm not pissed

And I know all the rest so there′s no point repeating

The last couple of months save I haven't been sleeping

And if I ever see another smiling person in a suit and tie

I′m quite tempted, somewhat like Job might feel, to stick drawing pins in their eyes

But then again, that might just give them a kick

'Cos it′s pretty damn apparent that the whole world's fucking sick

Sat on a cushion with this bastard wound in my butt

I offer heartfelt apologies for being such a pecan

And to follow your wonderful example so far healing problems so twisted

I should help myself out and get anally fisted