Awaydays

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Are you ready, Dad?

Yeah.

- I'll catch you up.

- OK.

Sorry, Mum.

# The Jekyll-Hyde of you

I can't survive the tide of you

# The vicious style of love, the whining

Pits and pendulums of lying

# Sneaky features, facing, waiting

City sex is so frustrating

# Young savage, young savage

# She's like a steel wall

Speaks like a dance hall

# Young savage, young savage

# Anything goes

Where no one knows your name

# The mirror love of vixens

Gets over the mask of victims

# Money rents you insulation

Tenderness, asphyxiation

# Someone else's flesh to borrow

Sling it from your bed tomorrow

# Live too fast for love or sorrow

Look behind the face, it's hollow

# Young savage, young savage

# She's like a steel wall

Speaks like a dance hall

# Young savage, young savage

# Anything goes

Where no one knows your name

# Oh, young savage, young savage

# She's like a steel wall

Speaks like a dance hall

# Young savage, young savage

# Anything goes

Where no one knows you

# Young savage, young savage

# She's like a steel wall

Speaks like a dance hall

# Young savage, young savage

# Anything goes

Where no one knows your name #

I can't wait

to get into these today, boys.

F*** off. Don't be tight.

- Yeah, eh, boys?

- Get some gear in there, will you?

- Got my f***ing kung fu kit.

- Marty!

F***'s that, you beaut?

Do one, you.

Prescription only, this gear.

Sent me granddad to his box.

F***ing good swill. Get you right

out of your tree, that will, lad.

- Baby.

- What you playing at, Marty?

- Are you going soft, Baby lad?

- We want to be able to drink it.

- Tastes like f***ing granny minge.

- You'd f***ing know, you sick c*nt.

'How long had I

been waiting for this day?

'How long had I wanted this? '

You can sack that. Need to keep

your wits about you, where we're going.

You know the score, John.

Pack punch, it puts a tiger in our tank.

What for? We're not f***ing Geordies.

Need to keep your wits about you,

Billy la, stay sharp.

Sit down.

Who's that c*nt?

Carty. My name's Carty.

Tell you what, Carty,

you best f***ing stand.

Got no room for runners

in this firm, son.

Know where you are. Now f*** off.

Think he's with Elvis.

- Where is Elvis?

- F*** knows.

Owlroodi-doodi, Cartykins!

How's the old arse bearing up?

Dear me, Cartypants! Where

will it end, eh? Where will it end?

'Where did it start? '

Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!

All right, coming through.

- F*** are you staring at?

- Nothing.

That's right, knobhead, nothing.

You never seen f*** all, get me?

Ponce.

- Who's that young buck?

- No one.

- Here.

- Cheers.

So?

- What do you reckon?

- You look like Dad.

This is what they wear.

Who do? The local anglers' club?

The Pack.

- F*** you staring at, you prick?

- Nothing.

- What the f*** are you looking at?

- Come 'ead, Baby, leave him.

This c*nt f***ing wants it.

Look at the twat.

What the f***

you wearing that jacket for, lad?

- Everybody wears 'em.

- You don't, you tit.

- Give us your jacket.

- No.

I'm not messing, lad.

Give us your f***ing jacket now.

Your mates are gone.

Next time, lad.

Oi! Wait up!

- Hi, Dora. Busy night?

- No, it's still early.

# No matter how I shake my fist

I know I can't resist it

# No matter how you shake your fist

You know you can't resist it

# See you at the barricades, babe

# See you when the lights go low, Joe

# Hear you

when the wheels turn round

# Some day when the sky turns black #

- What d'you reckon to that, then?

- Sound, that.

- You all right?

- All right, mate.

Know your face, like.

You go the game, don't you?

- That was sound, mate. Nice one.

- Oh, yeah?

So can I get you boys a bevvy, then?

Listen, I'm gonna have to get off,

help the lads with the gear.

- How come you know him, like?

- I don't really. Bit of a tit.

Joking, aren't you?

F***ing cool dude, him, la.

Used to go to college with him.

Not college. Art school, like.

You went to art school? Jammy twat.

They turned me down, like.

But don't get me wrong, they loved

me work. The quallies f***ed it up.

Mate, you didn't miss much.

Just a bunch of divvies in raincoats.

That's what I wanted to be,

a divvy in a raincoat.

Anyway. Elvis.

Carty. I'm Carty.

So what you drinking, Carty la?

Right, sound, mate.

I'll have a rum and black, thanks.

Rum and black, eh?

Think I'll have one of them.

Wrong trainies, like.

Excuse me...

Ta.

So, I mean,

how come you was on the gezzy, like?

They're my mates from art school,

aren't they?

The lads I knock around with...

The Pack?

- You what?

- The Pack. I seen you, remember?

That weren't me, mate.

But that fight at the footy...

That weren't me.

Look, Carty.

They're baddies, that lot.

Yeah? Take it from me.

Nice lad like you doesn't want to be

playing out with naughty boys like that.

Trust me.

Come 'ead.

F***ing lemon.

# Listening to the music

The machines make

# I let my heart break

# Just for a moment

# Listening to the music

The machines make

# I felt the floor change...

- Here you are, lad!

- F***ing hell, lad!

# We'll never leave here, never

# Let's stay in here forever

# And when the streets are quiet

We'll walk out in the silence...

What the f*** are you doing?

It's f***ing gorgeous, that.

- What?

- The sea, you div.

I'd love to get off, I would.

Where?

Anywheres. Berlin.

- Berlin?

- Just... just anywhere.

Out of here.

Out of this.

Wouldn't you?

Big sky, man.

I'm serious. 'New Dawn Fades' on low.

Noose around the neck.

Off we jolly well pop.

- Well, this is me, mate.

- All right.

- Have you got far to go?

- Nah, just down the road.

Big sky, man.

'I was in with Elvis.

Elvis and the Pack.

Fags, man. F***ing sound, get me?

F*** off, you.

Oi!

You d*ckhead!

Sh*t.

- Arlrood.

- All right. All the lads here.

- Any Huddersfield?

- Not yet, like, no.

Be a scrap later, though, yeah?

Look, mate,

I've grown out of all that sh*t.

Yeah, looks like it and all. Have you

told the Pack you've jibbed 'em?

- It's different for me.

- I know it is.

Look, I mean it, kidda.

They're a gang of pricks.

Just look at Godden. Do you know

how old that c*nt is? He's f***in' 30.

The c*nt's got about six kids,

and he's organising the Pack

like he's still in the f***ing army.

- Just let me stand with you.

- No, mate, I can't. I'm sorry.

- Why not?

- Because, my friend, they won't let you.

- How come, like?

- Because they don't f***ing know you.

That's how come.

Tell you what, though.

You doing anything tomorrow?

Do you want to go to Probe?

- You want to go to Probe?

- Deffo.

Mooch around town, just you and me.

Be a laugh.

- OK.

- Sound.

I'll meet you outside at 2:00.

- Owlroodi-doodi, Cartykins.

- I was about to do one then.

The road to hell is paved

with good intentions, Carty.

Come 'ead.

- This can't be genuine.

- What is it, like?

Bowie live in Santa Monica. It's the only

recording of him doing 'My Death'.

Bootleg, like,

but it's usually 25 rips. 5.50.

- What?

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