TCR

Total Control Racing

I was supposed to be going out, that took ages

Kids are hardcore, aren't they?

They don't mess about

Madhouse, chit-chat, duties, more nappies

Then I manage to get out

The sharp night whistled around my coat

as I motioned up to the main road

The wails of your offspring behind ya, cracking window

It's hard, innit, when you plan to do something

but at that moment you realise it's not quite right

not really something you should be doing tonight

Well before me a few hellos

expectant mums with blokes that I know

The bus whirred, £3.50 all-day ticket

but I knew deep down I wasn't going to use it... later

T.C.R.

Total Control Racing

T.C.R.

Total Control Racing

I arrange my coat on the front seat and blend it in with the low lighting

People on the way out too, talking

Everyone still looks like Ena Sharples and Ray Reardon

people need to move on, that '50s look can do one

Elvis has definitely left the fucking building

I got a wine, large, shoved it down me, awful

I hate the 5.8

I thought about it

I thought about his face when I asked if he had any Rioja

He didn't like it

Don't look at me like that

like you think I'm some wine twat

...I like it

I sit in me house a lot

eventually you get an idea, little shit

go and listen to some fucking garage punk, you pointy little tit

T.C.R.

Total Control Racing

T.C.R.

Total Control Racing

The sofa sank, I couldn't relax, I felt cramped

but luckily the table next to me got up and left

and apart from the eight empty pint glasses they left on the table

I thought it was the better bet, more upright

I ain't slouching, I'm not a beatnik

although, this pub did call for that kind of angle

I hate going out, going out is for young people

I can't sit and enjoy a drink, I want the lot

Have you got any numbers?

And how much has he got?

The trappings of luxury can't save you from the nail-biting boredom of repetitive brain injury

The injury of your useless mind, stuck to the track

clinging onto years of, "That's not yours that's mine, give me it."

Total Control Racing, T.C.R.

Going round and round, under the bridges

slowing down, it's all about technique

hand shandy chic, under five-seconds flat

the tragedy of the male-less fucking man

T.C.R.

Total Control Racing

T.C.R.

Total Control Racing

T.C.R.

Total Control racing

T.C.R.

Total Control Racing

Total Control Racing

Total Control Racing