At words outrageous, I'm so courageous
As long as I have the time,
To conjure a cutting line,
To sharpen a razor rhyme.
It's terrifying
When just replying,
With words off the top of my head,
So here's my reply
I wish you would die,
For all of those things
That you said.

You're the pits
You're a ten year coma.
You're the top
You're melanoma.
You're too posh to push,you're Gary Bushell's date,
You're a cocaine habit,
You're a testing rabbit,
You're a sink estate.
You're William Hague,
You're own brand cola,
You're a growing plague
Of deadly Ebola
I'm the mean machine, of the Lit Pop scene, a hit,
But if, baby, I'm the fast lane
You're the pits

You're the pits
You're a smoking beagle.
You're the pits
You're a junkies needle.
You're Marilyn Manson but not quite as handsome as
him,
You're green grass bowling,
You're deep pot holing,
You're gym.
You're an off key singer,
You're a cover version,
You're Jerry Springer's
Guests' worst perversions.
I'm the running pun, that's just begun, to fit,
But if, baby, I'm the fast lane
You're the pits

You're the pits
You're sex tourism.
You're the pits
You're a crowded prison.
You're the grinning smile of a paedophile
You're scum,
You're Myra Hindley,
You're Auschwitz chimney,
Norman Bates' mum.
You're deepest fear,
You're Dennis Neilson,
You're the lost career
Of Brian Wilson.
I'm the fatal aim, in this deadly game, of wit
But if, baby, I'm the fast lane
You're the pits.

You're the pits
You're GM crops.
You're the pits
You're alcopops.
You're dance on ice, you¹re Ginger Spice's
dress,
In the tragic quota,
Of Tory voters,
You're yes.
You're Dawn Of The Dead,
You're Jeffrey Dhama,
You're Rosemary and Fred,
On Panorama.
I'm main-lining meter, a metaphor eater, cant quit,
But if, baby, I'm the fast lane
You¹re the pits.

You're the pits
You're a Ratner's earing.
You're the pits
You're a drunkard's steering
You're a river of Benzine, You¹re ethnic cleansing
and worse,
You're the rubber neck,
At the burning wreck,
Of a hearse
You're a true oddball,
You're Paul Mc Kenna
You're the wall
That killed off Ayrton Senna.
I'm machine gun delivery, king of soliloquy, submit
Cause, if baby, I'm the fast lane
You're the pits.

 

Copyright © Geoff Allnutt (The Speech Painter) 1999

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