The Vile Stuff Lyrics - Nothing Important - Richard Dawson

Year 7's on a school trip to Featherstone Castle and some wee scallywag's brung a Coca-Cola bottle containing a spirit 

Poor Peter Hepplethwaite cracks open his head on a shiny brass bedknob 

And has to be rushed by helicopter ambulance to Haltwhistle Hospital 

Si Shovell fills a Reebok pump with the pulp from his belly then sets off a fire-extinguisher in the girl's dormitory 

And finally clambers into bed with Miss Bartholomew 

Much to the chagrin of the deputy headmaster whose scarlet skull is firmly locked between her thighs 

I only drank a few little droplets 

I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff 

Downing Asda's own-brand stubbies in the lad's bogs 

I listen to the dull reflection of a carillon in the toilet bowl 

My A-Levels drifting away from me 

Matthew Mooney's hockle in my hair smells like menthol tabs 

Outside the chip-shop Thaddeus Wagstaff fractures my cheekbone 

3 empty cans of Castlemaine XXX go rolling down my trouser leg 

Blood, snot and curry coalesce in the corners of my nails 

My friends drifting away from me 

I only drank a few little droplets 

I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff 

Attempting to penetrate a coconut husk with a Philips-head screwdriver 

I pierce a hole straight through my hand into the laminate worktop 

It's a major operation to repair a damaged tendon 

I come around with the tube still down my throat 

The milk of amnesia fills my cup and back into the hole I go 

Snoring like a pan of broth I arouse the ire of my fellow patients wagging their ladles in the dark 

My neighbor Andrew lost two fingers to a Staffy-cross 

Whilst jogging over Cow Hill with a Pepperami in his bum-bag 

He's a junior partner at James & james no-win no-fee solicitor thinking of relocating to a Buddhist monastery in Halifax 

He reckons I should try meditation 

He reckons it would benefit my peace of mind 

My bedroom walls are papered with the stripes of Newcastle United 

Between which I perceive the presence of a horse-headed figure holding aloft a flaming quiver of bramble silhouettes 

He is the King of Children singing like a boiler, "tomorrow is on its way" 

I haven't had a wink of sleep and now the sun is in my porridge 

I'm starting a BTEC in engineering at Tynemouth College 

My thermos flask leaks parsnip soup on the metro clogging up the keys of my MacBook 

Carrot pennies steam amidst a pyre of pencils 

Ruck-sack dripping up the steps of WH Smith to buy a fresh pad of paper 

I only drank a few little droplets 

I only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff