New York Ivy

He had a massive gong by the side of his bed Most folk just had a lamp And the tattoos where family names usually read He had 'Legend' and 'I Am The Champ' And in this dark age of plasticity His beard, it felt somehow so real Something he could touch right next to his skin Whilst attempting all along to conceal Conceal his hidden intent He ain't after women and he certainly ain't bent He's a new man, not the old, old, type He don't drink pints or carry the wife Every time he opens his mouth, it's like New York ivy Clinging to the conversation like the densest of fogs And the words that he chooses to use are simply New York ivy Twirling round and snapping your ankles like the neighbour's dogs And it was kinda instead of sort of 'Bunch' instead of 'group', and every second word was 'guys' You grab a shower, grab a coffee Jump into a cab, and then they do some steak and fries And the beard grows down his face like New York ivy And the beard grows down his face like New York ivy She liked her rap like she liked her coffee Tepid and most definitely white And her football team, like her taste in fellas Was entertaining, but incredibly shite And in this easier age of domesticity Something made her cling to the cloth Long for the day when he came home from work And demanded that she got her kit off And it was retro kit, sign of the day Another one claiming Macclesfield away A season ticket holder since '72 A Stone Roses hat and a bee tattoo And every time he opens his mouth, it's like New York ivy Clinging to the conversation like the densest of fogs And the words that he chooses to use are simply New York ivy Twirling round and snapping your ankles like the neighbour's dogs And it was 'kinda' instead of 'sort of 'Bunch' instead of 'group', and every second word was 'guys' They grab a shower, grab a coffee Jump into a cab, and then they do some steak and fries And the beard grows down his face like New York ivy And the beard grows down his face like New York ivy In survival of the hippest, the hippest survive You can't shake hands, you can only high-five It's a fist bump after every joke Banal conversation that'll cause you to choke On a posh pork pie, pretentious beer Spit and sawdust got expensive round here It's a new 'joint', the latest place Where they wouldn't know style if it smacked them in the face A slap round the chops is what the world needs A bath full of water and a couple of leads Couple of leads, couple of leads Couple of leads