Ant Smith

All poems

Home alone

I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna,
I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna,

I don't want to have to get up off of my settee
But the bastard record finished unexpectedly
Standing up isn't all it's cracked up to be
With my fuzzy head and my crooked knees

I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna,
I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna,

I don't want to have to go out into my garden
But that bloody laundry thief has called around again
Bloody sun bloody shine maybe very nice
But stewing in a stupor is my latest vice

I don't want to call upon them that live next door
But I can hear them rutting through these paper walls
I could be an upright man in this community
If it weren't for the fact I am bloody mean

I don't want to have to walk down to the corner shop
But I need some paper too take a fucking dump
I've even used the pages up in my magazines
They make my arse feel as though it's gonna bloody bleed, 

I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna,
I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna,

I don't want to have to travel far and wide
I would much prefer it if I could stay inside