For the musical backdrop version, click here.

The vocals are a bit sh… quiet, so you’ll probably need to crank it up, fuckers!.
Cos the D-Man and recording equipment don’t get along so well.
Cos it said I suck, so I said “hey, your shoe lace is untied” and then while it was distracted, I kicked it in the nuts and then beat it over the head with a Fender guitar…

Then I woke up, surrounded by mushrooms.

That was inspired by the time I was living overseas, above a cockroach pub.
The song. Not the mushrooms.
The D-Man talks in the third person. He does not need hard drugs.
Psychiatrists might disagree. But I’ll eat their livers with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Anyway.

Overhearing a climatic cacophony.

It was a great place to live.
Except for the cockroaches,
And the domestics.
The flipside of paper thin walls…

One night, a doped-up dickhead kicked down the front door, then shoulder-barged his way into his girlfriend’s room. I went to investigate and managed to get in between them, and then told the guy to fuck off. He didn’t want to, so I got the girl into our room while D-Missus called the cops.

I thought it was just a verbal domestic, with a bit of door smashing thrown in for good measure. Then I discovered he’d actually smacked her around a bit, so I went back out to bottle his ass, Jack Daniel’s styles, and throw his bleeding body out onto the street.

But he’d already fled.

The cops caught up with him later. Gave him a warning.
She got back together with him. As you do.

Anyway, it was all useful material in the end.

The landlord was Irish. He ran the Irish pub downstairs. St Patrick’s Day was always great. He’d get so drunk, you’d end up getting 10 pints of Guinness for the price of one. Yay!

The barmaid was Fucking Noisy.

And so were those blasted doves she attracted…