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LyricsI promise not to rip you off. And I promise not to sell you out. I will never smoke all your stash if I happen to find it whilst tidying up. Which, let's face it, isn't likely. Well, we would always leave you at least a joint's worth, anyway. And I will never eat the last bit of cereal, and then put the empty packet back, hoping you won't notice, or if I do, I'll pay for the next lot, I promise, 'cos I know that really gets on your nerves. And I will never sleep with any of your friends - well, not your best friends. I don't know just what I'm meant to do
And how do we avoid being like all those other cheese-masters? Demonstrating the facilities of their new car and the trouser press. From hunter-gatherer to washer-dryer is a long, strange trip.
I don't know just what I'm meant to do
So this is it: we're walking down the aisle, the dawning of a new era. Is this the start of a new airbrushed Disney-life or some 36-part depressing-as-hell Northern drama to be repeated every night for the rest of our lives?
I don't know just what I'm meant to do
I do Jarvis' sleeve notes
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