Outside goldsmiths’ coughing up blood, Turner prize judge gasps “christ that’s good – Leave it as it is, it’ll get first place We’ll call it a full shift at the coal face” Oh well you’re neither a stuckist or a yba And you’re no longer a miner as of today Praise for the wardens ready to fine Anyone caught saying “graphic design” Rag-mag seller said I’d be in pleats Only when he’d been cleaned from the streets Oh I could squeeze my lemon ’til my blues went away If I had possession over pancake day Give a philosophy student a glass of limeade And he will say: “is this a glass of limeade?” And “if so, why is it a glass of limeade?” And, after a while, he’ll die of thirst
