Arctic Monkeys

He's coming to your party
He's walking up your drive
And he's swinging all his keys round
Sketchead
He's seen you with your top off
He already knows your boyfriend
retain your introductions
Sketchead
That cunts a protagonist
The pips in your quince
They are behind the spoil
The itch you can't itch in your ear
And the knock that shattered your packet of peppermints
Sketchead
There's poison in his spit
He'll compliment your tits
And leave you to your wits
Sketchead
Convincingly insisting the tyres were bald