Far flung crazy pavements crack
The sound of empty rooms
A clinical arrangement
A dirty afternoon
Where the fecal germs of Mr Freud
Are rendered obsolete
The legal term is null and void
In the case of Beezley Street

In the cheap seats where murder breeds
Somebody is out of breath
Sleep is a luxury they don’t need
A sneak preview of death
Deadly nightshade is your flower
Manslaughter your meat
Spend a year in a couple of hours
On the edge of Beezley Street

Where the action isn’t
That’s where it is
State your position
Vacancies exist
In an X-certificate exercise
Ex-servicemen excrete
Keith Joseph smiles and a baby dies
In a box on Beezley Street
From the boarding houses and the bedsits
Full of accidents and fleas
Somebody gets it
Where the missing persons freeze
Wearing dead men’s overcoats
You can’t see their feet
A riff joint shuts and opens up
Right down on Beezley Street

Cars collide, colours clash
Disaster movie stuff
For a man with a Fu Manchu moustache
Revenge is not enough
There’s a dead canary on a swivel seat
There’s a rainbow in the road
Meanwhile on Beezley Street
Silence is the mode

It's hot beneath the collar
It's cold beneath the balls
Where the perishing stink of squalor
Impregnates the walls
The rats have all got rickets
They spit through broken teeth
A blood stain is your ticket
One way down Beezley Street
The gangster and his hired hat
Drive a borrowed car
He looks like the Duke of Edinburgh
But no so lah-di-dah
OAP mother to be
Watch that three-piece suite
When shitstopper drains
And crocodile skis
Are seen on Beezley Street

The kingdom of the blind
Where the one-eyed man is king
Beauty problems are redefined
The doorbells do not ring
Light bulbs pop like blisters
The only form of heat
Were a fellow sells his sister
Down the river on Beezley Street

The boys are on the wagon
The girls are on the shelf
Their common problem
Is that they’re not someone else
The dirt blows out
The dust blows in
You can’t keep it neat
It’s a fully furnished dustbin,
16 Beezley Street
Vince the ageing savage
Betrays no kind of life
But the smell of yesterday’s cabbage
And the ghost of last year’s wife
Through a constant haze
Of deodorant sprays
He says retreat
Alsations dog the dirty days
Down the middle of Beezley Street

Eyes dead as vicious fish
Look around for laughs
If I could have just one wish
I would be a photograph
On this permanent Monday morning
Get lost or fall asleep
When the yellow cats are yawning
Around the back of Beezley Street

People turn to poison quick
As lager turns to piss
Sweethearts are physically sick
Every time they kiss
It’s a sociologist’s paradise
Each day repeats
On uneasy cheesy greasy queasy beastly Beezley Street