There's twenty five tunes on the visitors bell\\
From Granny Farming In The UK\\
To Heartbreak Hotel\\
And there's eight million stories of cruelty to tell\\
As the medicine goes down\\
\\
There's one currant bun in the baker's shop\\
Who's beaten like an egg till he bruises like an apricot\\
Squeezed between the legs and strangled with a football sock\\
And the medicine goes down\\
\\
And it's as clear as a bell and the colour of your cheeks\\
And the piss awful smell of the blankets and the sheets\\
This ain't no charabanc, no Derby and Joan\\
And this place is no place like home\\
\\
And the nurses will hold you and ask you how you feel\\
But it's back to the dole queue for any of them who squeal\\
From Granny Farming In The UK to Heartbreak Hotel\\
There's twenty five tunes on the visitors bell\\
\\
No letters, no postcards, no whisky, no pets\\
No Derby and Joan club and no cigarettes\\
No day trips to the seaside, no nights on the town\\
No boiled beef and carrots and the medicine goes down\\
No handles on the windows, no lights on the stairs\\
It's way past your bedtime and nobody cares\\
From Granny Farming In The UK to Heartbreak Hotel\\
There's twenty five tunes on the visitors bell\\
\\
And the post man rings twice with a telegram from the Queen\\
Your legs turn to red to amber and green\\
Your heart jumps the lights and you fall to the ground\\
And your death is the talk of the town \\