Bar Taboo

I'm aware, on some level, that I justify my tropes
In a vague, infernal attempt to cope
With the fact I'm evidently quite mad
But it beats ripping fuck out and feeling bad
Hence the strange attitude to performance art and drugs
In my daily obsession with out-psychopathing thugs
Being a skinhead therefore obviously in the KKK
I'm reclaiming the 'N-word' for use by our community
So from now on I do intend to say Nutter with impunity
And rather than let over a billion anecdotes go to waste
I've learnt it's quite fun being somewhat bad taste
Hence the usual pretentious title in this cheerful little ditty
If you know me quite well then you'll know just how pretty
And subtle my delicate verses can be
Especially these vaguely sardonic ones about me
Still there's no real point in avoiding the fact
Pleonasm aside I'm slightly lacking in tact
However, as I've never quite explained before
It takes a few years' practice to turn into a whore
And that's what I thought I'd talk about this morn
My somewhat damaged theories on kink and porn
In an inadvertent mission to keep pace with the Devil
Welcome to the sodding neurotic meta-level

And if you're sat in a room chewing down your own meat
To screeching Industrial noise and loud beats
It's harder to mention these little enigmas
Without encountering a bit of stigma
Keeping dark glasses on, stumbling out in a daze
But I've had Photosensitive Insomnia for over 900 days
And I'm a bit short-sighted and Photic sneeze in the light
Oh dear, there goes the local stereotype
Better turn it back on and keep that stiff upper lip
So something about razors in the dark and bad trips
Frustrated from that rather irritating 'smoker's cough' but hoping it would teach
The caring general public not to drink bleach
As it's obvious that's really not normal and common

Um, unlike those expensive London members' clubs where they do practise Domin
Ation and other such charming things
As electro-stim shock knives and deliberate wasp stings
For a businessman crowd of well-dressed, loaded snobs
Who get you to spew on them giving face-jobs
Where in between periods of wanting to die
You find yourself dressed up like a human fly
And chased over a bouncy castle by a popper-laced midget
With a penchant for sodomy and eyeballs that fidget
And miserable, elitist, cliquey turds
Who snort ketamine and forget their safe words
And city job women masturbating with blades
And medical doctors you know all have AIDS
And lapsed Catholic priests and some PhD types
In barbed wire G-Strings and inward pointing spikes
And a constant stream of furtive cross-dressing MPs
With dog collars on getting down on their knees
Who'd sneer you out of the playrooms for still not being cool
I.e. keeping a straight face and obeying more rules
Like not staring too long at the suspiciously cum-soaked bull dykes
With their cut-glass accents and wholesale packs of Alco-wipes
Draining some blood out with hypodermic syringes
To fuel another night of sodding vampire binges
Who complain about the homeless at their village hall meetings
And mow the lawn after Mass and exchange pleasant greetings
And are really quite fond of 'Italian Food'
See, that sounds really nice but it's quite fucking rude
And the 47 year old man in the nappy who cops a feel
And the funny fucker who says his name's Neil
'Cos I've never heard that one before, you slag
You're the one twit who really does need a ball gag
And the innocent joys of a group Roman shower
And Nietzsche fans in gasmasks and positions of power
Who may not even let you into one haughty-cultural event
Without knowing how much bastard money you've spent
On their own brand clothing for the herds of onlookers
Burning 450 quid to dress up like a PVC hooker
Even when you get in beware the suits at the side
Whacking off in the dark with a great sense of pride
And the old fucks who've been in the scene all their life
With a suitcase full of speculums so they can piss in their wife
As she sips her martini and name-drops De Sade
And The Story of O and that time they got laid
With that bloke on the farm they filmed fucking the stallion
And showing off their latest occult medallions
As the Oxbridge girl I kiss vomits into my mouth
And a buggered throat means I just can't spit it out
With three fingers in her anus I get slapped in the face
I'm so sorry for causing you that utter disgrace
It seems I've got it rather wrong
And just because we're on the dance floor and you've got no knickers on
Doesn't mean that you're that sort of girl
I know, instead I'll just swallow some more of your hurl
And I see now how distasteful it was for you to observe
Thinking 'who is this sweaty lobster in fishnets with his nerve?'
So back to The Cotswolds to hold orgies with real style
Putting a whole new meaning to a big country pile
Pumping glycerine enemas into their subs
To a soundtrack of cheesy Electro and Techno and Dub
And pony people in posh hotel rooms with hunting horns
Who get pissed off if you ask for Asche, Coil or Die Form
And an endless tide of maniacs who fantasise about being raped
If you think that's not a mainstream one then you're making a mistake
And if you believe EBM and Goth clubs are the worst thing going
You don't know the sort of people I was knowing
Am I beginning to gently massage the point across
That normality's a big steaming load of toss?

The reason behind this 'academic exercise'
Is the fact that I'm back from the thing I despise
Yes, once again I'm violated and it's 9 fucking AM
Welcome to the giggling elf, cracked sunshine world of Ben
A trip to Galleywood surgery and the familiar mission
To rest on a bed and adopt the position
In a nutshell, when I go for a tinker's kiss
It's readily apparent that there's blood in my piss
And as for developing that trademark heart of coal
For the past 16 years I've bled out of my hole
Hmm, now there's quite a few explanations why this might be
And for some silly reason I got out of my tree
For about a decade since removing all sobriety
Sortof helps out with stopping you pondering society

Like the sweet, quiet love of a nice sociopath
Who beat me up once, it's a bit of a laugh
Like the times in public by Tesco's where she'd shit by the bins
And again on our living room floor with an orgasmic grin
A keen interest in knitting, and infidelity
That crapped me straight back to more wretched therapy
After 2 years being sober the day she left I gave in
And totalled myself in the park on some gin
A habit that continued for quite a while after
My God, isn't it nice to focus on laughter?

She gets by quite well now since she likes 80s Pop
And helps out by working in charity shops
And has settled down with a more every-day man
Who went out with a Stanley to fight for West Ham
With their innocent natures and plenty of friends
Like that warm bigot fuckwit on which I depend
Who earns a fine salary, badly drives a good car
And laughs when the bouncers deny me the bar
Of account of my DMs looking dangerous and queer
Forcing me to wait outside as he goosesteps in for a beer
Side-stepping the riot of racists in jackets
With their smart, shiny shoes and enormous pay-packets
Till he comes back out scowling and moans that all ladies
Are sluts and he'd just love to sterilise babies
And repeatedly tells me like some fucking Papist
How much he can sympathise with rapists
And exactly where he wants to stick it
And then he heads off to play more damned cricket
And the McDonalds git who kicked his fuck-buddy's gut
Till she had a miscarriage but she saw that as luck
As she didn't really want her darling son
And she stayed with the bloke, ah well, least he's well-hung
And he didn't stop her getting too drunk
And vomiting in gutters after too much skunk
And the teenage junkie fuckwits camped by Sky Blue canal
To bother to chat with without legal highs
And think you're an axe murderer 'cos they can't see your eyes
Like the time the other week on that bench near the trees
When they keep on hitting as one poor sod OD's
Now guys, your radical, daring minds may not know this so here's a favour
That's kinda like Holloway crack-house behaviour
But it's okay though since you're on more socially acceptable stuff than that
And only having a little laugh, you steaming mound of twats
So yeah, observe the middle of the road behaviour and deeply hilarious jokes
Of an area chock full of regular, non-mental folk

And as for those CMHT psychiatrists well aren't they gloriously sincere?
An altruistic desire to remove my fear
With a 8 year gift of anti-psychotic pills
Then refusing all service when, for some reason, I got rather ill
And promises of a counselling waiting list that, ho hum, didn't exist
Oh, joy to the world that at least I'm not pissed

And I know all the rest so there's no point repeating
The last couple of months save I haven't been sleeping
And if I ever see another smiling person in a suit and tie
I'm quite tempted, somewhat like Job might feel, to stick drawing pins in their eyes
But then again, that might just give them a kick
'Cos it's pretty damn apparent that the whole world's fucking sick

Sat on a cushion with this bastard wound in my butt
I offer heartfelt apologies for being such a pecan
And to follow your wonderful example so far healing problems so twisted
I should help myself out and get anally fisted