Local

I don't wanna be local
I don't wanna be on show
I don't wanna be a big fish
Swimming around in a goldfish bowl
I don't wanna be like her
I don't wanna be like them
I don't wanna be part of anything
I don't even want to see them all again
No, I don't wanna be local
I don't wanna be from here
Like a chair pushed under a table
Like a beer mat sitting underneath
A bottle of beer
Brewed around here
I could tell you about here

They throw Christians to the lions
They suck like Electrolux
Marry each other's sisters
And get together for Sunday lunch
Climb up the property ladder
The wives all run to fat
So they aspire to superior positions
With other men's wives in buy-to-let flats

How many times do I have to crawl back here in a Transit van in the wee small hours while the department that hangs the shopping trolleys in trees, puts gloves on top of railings, shoes on top of bus stops and bicycle frames around lamp posts is out and about and milkmen are making their way from the depot in cumbersome milk floats like electronic slugs that crawl into your lives while you're sleeping, snugly, and smug,

And local

I don't wanna be like her
I don't wanna be like them
I don't wanna be part of anything
I don't even want to see you all again
No, I don't wanna be local
I don't wanna be from here
Like a chair pushed under a table
Like a beer mat sitting underneath
A bottle of beer
Brewed around here
I've had it up to here
With here

words and music Eric Goulden / Wreckless Eric (Fire Publishing)