If ya didn't (edit 2015 08 19)

A tiger called Tony.
Unholy mess,
nuffink less.
Four sweets for a pence.
Coughing up grolly's,
every seven seconds.

A wound that all can not see.
Minging,
stinging.
Too busy pulling on a oily rag,
to cop a butchers.
And if ya didn't grow up where I did, then ya probably won't get this.

Ten no.10's for twenty,
from a vending machine.
Tending no dream of being George or Jack.
Evo-Stik it to the Tories that drive Bentley's, 
in small towns a plenty.
On ya bike son.

Passing an orange around Greenham,
common as muck.
South Africa Road stand,
with a scarf tied round the back of me hand.
Like a Bay City, 
Roller.
Only fools tread,
where angel's choose not to.
And if ya didn't grow up when I did, then ya probably won't get this.

Fried liver.
Five ounces of fear.
Party sevens.
Thick ear,
ringing.
It does a lovely samosa.

Self loathing.
Green Celica,
sunroof decapitation,
might help sort out his face.
Long odds.
Pipe smoker.
Plods, pigs, yid's.
Class war,
on a privet lawn.
Fires rage at Trafalgar square, 
hows my hair looking?


And if ya didn't grow up how I did, then ya probably won't get this.