Sketchead

Sketchead is coming to your party He's walking up your drive and he's swinging all his keys around Sketchead, he's seen you with your top off He already knows your boyfriend, retain your introductions Sketchead, that cumbersome protagonist The pips in your quince, the eye behind the spy hole 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 tires were bald when you gave him the car Sketchead, still coming to your party Still walking up your drive and still swinging all his keys around On his finger as a pendulum to unnerve And then there's you, you've changed I approached you like you were the same But soon it was apparent a new name was required New lips went and fired accomplishments at me While I'm captivated by your magazine skin The tint on your lenses obscures to begin And you know full well That anyone who says that they don't prefer the sequel Will still be swinging on themselves tonight