Yellow, Over You

My parents’ are in Lanzarote,

‘prolly sunbathing by the pool.

While I’m minding their Salford garden,

and sweating through my underwear.

I’m already drunk; just gone midday,

there’s no way else to write ‘bout you.

I’m fucking boiling, this heat’s pressing

down on me like a high-heeled fucking shoe.

And where the fuck’s the sun, anyway?

‘Prolly fucking the moon, like you.

And still, I was happy to be seen with you,

in galleries and swimming pools.

Now you’re feeling green and white,

and I’m in Britain feeling blue.

Now you ruined the colour orange,

and got me yellow, over you.