Drink Nike

Right in the centre of Hove
Next to an escalator
Someone has hidden a bomb
Underneath a plastic chair
But he can’t put his finger on it:
He’ll never be that kind of man
He’ll die in his bed on a summer’s night
With his hand on his favourite thing
Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes
Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes
Maybe it’s a natural phase
Comedy has taken its toll
No-one is totally lost
Nobody is out of control
There are words he could use to describe it
Metaphors he should have applied
He’ll die in his bed on a summer’s night
With his hands on his adequate bride
Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes
Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes
Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala
Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala
Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala
Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala
Smile!
Smile!
Smile, we’re waiting for it
Smile, we’re waiting for
Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes
Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes
Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala
Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala
Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala
Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala