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Kate Rancid
Daft Punk on the stereo
Scrabble on the table
Me on the small chair
Men on the sofa
Jane in the kitchen is making the coffee.
The curtains are hanging
The music is banging
Conversations and smoking
Laughing and joking.
We are the elite
We are the chosen ones.
In the sky we see a craft
Grey and looming
Revving its engines
Lights like lasers
It is the aliens
It is the aliens
They want a coffee.
Jane goes to the door
Her arms open wide
Revealing a glowing disc
That throbs between her breasts
The aliens are thirsty
They welcome the invitation.
But we will not let them in
No they cannot come in
This is a forbidden zone
No access is granted
Entrance to this sector is forbidden
The coffee is strictly prohibited.
The craft still hovers
Jane re-enters the building alone
And searches for a new tape
Outside the aliens retch
Their parched throats grasped
We wave our cups at them
And laugh at their distress.
For we will not let them in
No they cannot come in
They must fly away to someone
Who will let them in.
No, they can't stay here
We don't want them.
Our coffee is not their coffee
Our house is not their house
What's ours is not theirs.
Shine on mighty Jesus
And may God have many pleasures
But we will not accept
The green men
They are not of our ilk
They bring us no entertainment
They have been disallowed
To utilise our amenities.
The conversation turned to ethics
Hole-trousered knees nod
Despite the tongue's disagreement
We are like eggs
In a box
"Contains no preservatives, no added sugar and no animal fats; and
definitely no aliens."
The craft has metamorphosised
Into an ice cream van.
The aliens are so futile,
As if we'd fall for that!
They think we were born yesterday.
Do you think we were born yesterday?
Were you born yesterday?
Are you a baby?
Some babies live by the sea.
Oh I do like to be beside the seaside
Combing the beach
Trying not to trample on the babies.
Sometimes the tide comes in
And we will contemplate this now
Over a coffee,
But we don't want anything to do with tea.
Jane extends her hand.
She yields to temptation
And passes me some inspiration.
Some people beat the aliens indoors
At their own game.
Oh shower me with lavishness,
Make me the king of the moon.
I want no less than the largest prawn.
Oh, the daffodils,
Oh, the crocuses!
Fresh and fish-netted
They flit and frolic
Amidst freshly laundered grass
Untouched by complications
Or joy.
Would you like to see my wares?
