My stress and anxiety continues.
It’s living in this crap dying town,
that I’m sure of.
I’d rather be in West Berlin writing poetry,
engaged to a Fraulein.
Soaking up European history.
Instead I’m here: Oldham.
Thorn in the side of the North.
You want a cool place,
go to Manny.
Nowhere is like Manchester.
Catch a gig or shag a bird,
the choice is yours.
All you can do in my town is drink.
One guy drank eight cans for a decade.
Where is he now?
I’ll fill his place and fuck his bird.
Reserve the adjacent plot for me!