Below the crisp suit there’s cash
The iron sears and flattens fivers
in the pinstripe vanity of Saville row
Becloaked, you’re called to the bar
Order-papers clutched in a non-masonic shake
The ball’s in your court
There’s squash in the glass
The bird of paradise comes to pass
The flat leather wallet contains plastic loot
The ice cube crackles in the champagne flute
A card slides out and you’re ready to deal
As the steak knife hovers over velvety veal
Your phone glides across the table like a chess piece
A Sicilian opening
For frames the size of walls
Lying empty in anticipation
The card’s behind the bar and you’re looking for more
Whilst subtitles narrate on News 24
And off for the weekend to the cottage in Devon
In tailored top that screams Lucky Seven
You redefine the D of Q’s
For two thousand and eleven
Ballpark! Timeframe! Drawing board! Game plan!
The ceiling’s made of glass and you are my main man
Blue-chip! Stagflate! Shoe-horn! Tea-break!
Let’s get some proper ice cream. I’ll have three flakes.
And it’s “Thatcher invented Mr Whippy, you know”
And all this talk of S & M the conversation goes south
“Would have thought it was that chap who died with an orange in his mouth”
And Stuart Lubbock found dead in Barrymore’s pool
And how it was the Kurds who killed Jill Dando
And how Prince Philip can travel through time…
… and suddenly he’s here! Prince Philip! The husband of the Queen!
… but he’s wearing a balaclava and he’s looking pretty mean …
… and he’s holding … some kind of shotgun … and through the mask …
… he tells you to get in the car … and it’s some kind of chauffeur driven limousine …
… and you turn and there’s all these bags of salt in the boot and under the salt there’s this guy and he introduces himself as Jason and whilst you’re looking at Jason … Philip, Prince Philip (and you still can’t really believe this) blindfolds you and then you small the sickly scent of chloroform and it reminds you of almonds, no, not almonds, pear drops, which reminds you of your childhood and you try to struggle but it’s too late.
Listen to Lucky Seven