Sketchead

He's coming to your party

He's walking up your drive

And he's swinging all his keys round

Sketchead

He's seen you with your top off

He already knows your boyfriend retain your introductions

Sketchead

That cumbersome protagonist

The pips in your quince

They are behind the spoil

The itch you can't itch in your ear

And the knock that shattered your packet of peppermints



Sketchead

There's poison in his spit

He'll compliment your tits

And leave you to your wits

Sketchead

Convincingly insisting the tyres were bald when you gave him the car



Sketchead

Still coming to your party

Still walking up your drive

And still swinging all his keys round on his finger

As a pendulum to un nerve



And then there's you

You've changed

I approach you like you were the same

But soon it was apparent a new name was required

New lips went and fired accomplishments at me

While I'm captivated by your magazine skin

The tint on your limbs is obscures to begin

And you know full well

That anyone who says that

They don't prefer the sequel

Will still be swinging on themselves tonight