THIS GROOVE:

The driver arrived complaining,
Like drivers often do,
About how hard it was to find,
And the lack of a sign,
How his sat-nav went down,
And the phones don’t work out here,
And blah, blah, blah,
I switched off at the lack of a sign,

He told me he had a lot’ve land,
A garage for nine cars that he bought from a bloke off the tele,
An orchard,
I asked him what fruit it bore,
“Apples, Pears, Peaches, Plums”
He told me he was down-sizing,
And about the high power careers of his children,
I switched off at Plums,
And was climbing my granddad’s apple trees
by the time we reached the M25

(K)