An Air Hostess In Lidl


An Air Hostess in Lidl Audio Version –

When Osborne speaks I always get a burn in my oesophagus
In fact he needs no words, that face alone makes me feel vomitous
And what I saw the other day belies his economic promises
I saw an Air Hostess in Lidl
Now that is bloody ominous

Up the business end of Broken Britain, where the bargain hunt’s a daily practise
I was browsing discount biscuits, wondering do they still make Taxis?
There were racks and stacks of multi-packs, buy one and get one gratis
Then I saw her standing there
And the world rocked on it’s axis

The cute cocked cap, the shiny badge
The immaculate uniform
A subtle waft of perfume, red lippy did her face adorn
Like visiting a knackers yard and there’s a unicorn
An Air Hostess in Lidl
It is simply not the norm

Petite, with striking features, origins in Asia
Maybe she’s just lost, I thought (No offence, Malaysia)
I gazed out through the the smashed front window, past a pissed off looking glazier
An Air Hostess in Lidl!
The idea could not be crazier

It’s not for everyone you see, with it’s brand names unfamiliar
Hard faced store-guard, no reward card, it could not be more unfrillier
For some, to be seen dead here, would be a fate worse
Than necrophilia
An Air Hostess in Lidl?
Surely, not her usual milieu

I myself, do not indulge in consumer petty snobbery
I’m as much at home in Poundland
As with Waitrose aisle hob-nobbery
But why is it, all corner shops are daylight bleedin’ robbery?
And this Air Hostess in Lidl
Feels like some looming, gloomy prophecy

I’ll bet she thought, get set for jet-set life, with this career
Though how much flight attendants make, I confess i’ve no idea
But there’s a Sainsburys round the corner love, why the fuck come here?
There’s an Air Hostesses in Lidl
The end is nigh, I fear

Standing in the motley queue between a reeky alcoholic
Who’s clutching German gin, (and he can’t be arsed with tonic)
And a mother whose two toddler’s screams are ultra-fucking-sonic
Oh, Air Hostess in Lidl
For this place, you’re too exotic

One thing I won’t be buying on Budget Day, is that shiksa, Osborne’s story
For that you’d need a memory as bad as Pixar’s Dory
His spiel is hackneyed, oily, trite, his vapid lies are hoary
There’s An Air Hostess in Lidl now
What next, a fucking tory?

So where ‘ere thy shopping will be done
Be it for luxuries or bargains
Just remember, anyone can end up on the margins
So if the trappings of poverty leave you snarling, full of chagrin
Then vote them out, but please, I beg, don’t let that twat Farage in!

Yes, nowadays anyone can end up on the margins
There’s people using food banks now, who once drove Aston Martins!
Up the business end of Broken Britain
Where life can feel so unrewarding
Farewell Lidl Air Hostess
My bus
The 207’s boarding..

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