Turn off boy

I canna wait mama
For the tap to turn off
Before I grab me tooth tube and squeeze
The paste from tha’hole like them
Words you yell –
Come on ol’dirty boy!
When you spend all tha’time scrubbing and them blue walls shine
Like a sky you never see in this London town
Reminds you of some other place, with waterfalls down
Green foliage is what’s missing – instead a tree o’tubes
And that pink cup you bought for the baby
That never came, even though promised,
Even though promised for being good, said the pastor, and be baptised with that
As if this was Jordan.
Wha’s this about? This word song, tap running, and straight down that plug
The thirsty throat, the slim neck, to the belly of the earth and out
to them drains and from them to the sea?
Do you even know, do you have a clue, did you leave the door open, you bad boy, you?
Me?
Turn off, boy. Grab that brush and turn out. Your devil needs grooming is all.