Brighton
David Brown / George Smith
Chillin’ out on a seaside prom
In my top brand wrap-around shades
You’re never bored while you’re watching the world
Go by on roller blades
Fish and chips, vinegar fingers
The salty air is peppered with birds
I’m in love and the sun is shining
I’m feeling all superlative words
Heavenly eight-wheeler angel
Haloed by the glistening waves
That’s the shot I’ve got in my head
That gets me through those long grey days
When we’re old and mad as trombones
With skin akin to Brazilian nuts
We’ll be here; saggy ass on canvas
Gin in hand outside our grand beach huts
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