Slow Movin Tights

I'm in me bath here, with a box of red cheer, yeah a box of red cheer, beer's too bloody dear. Me mind's wanderin twixt big **** and riches, bein able to scratch at what itches, without scratchin the bum out your britches. If they think you got what, they'd rather they'd got, mate, hang onto your hat, they'll bloody take that. That girl in black tights, so jam-packed with delights, nights full of delights in them slow movin tights. She's not, like Jacko reckons, a whore. Wouldn't lie on me bare wooden floor. Christ, I did nothin to get to be poor. And you can't pay what's due so your creditors sue? Funny old world, not half. But good for a laugh. I can't help but hear next door's shoutin and tears, all their shoutin and tears, I can hear em from here, through the stem of me glass on the wall. Pray to God he don't hit her at all. I'm half pissed and spliffed and I never could brawl. But I stand in the queue, for a place in the zoo. Heard you shouldn't have pride. They wouldn't have lied. A party's upstairs but I can't breathe their airs. I won't breathe their airs, them there upstairs. So I fill the bathroom with me smoke. All those girls shaggin some other bloke. I just lie here and soak and suck in me toke. What's it like not to do what your needs need you to, to beg borrow or steal, to make stuff come real? I hear downstairs' soul hit his lavatory bowl. That porcelain bowl gets the whole of his soul, as I wring out the bladder of red. All the sweetest of girls, Jacko said, have big whites to their eyes that aint never've bled. There aint nothin so nice as those whitest of whites on rich girls with sweet arses in slow movin tights.