Epoc, Bluetooth,
IrDA is out.
I tell thee; to me, it all means nowt.The Sound of Salford
Is a ringing tone
Now everyone's got a mobile phone. Big blokes, small blokes,
Even garden gnomes.
Our chip shop gives them out on loan. It's a nightmare, disaster
On the late bus home,
Hearing cheaply manufactured mobile phones. Are they schitzoid nutters or hands-free pricks ?
Brain rot, from radiation,
Perhaps that's it ? Loud mouthed yuppies
And children of three
Talk on mobile phones like drunks on speed. With snap-on covers
Sporting catchy names;
They even work on the bloody trains. In central Manchester,
On gay, one-night stands;
Mobile phones have been introduced to hamster land.
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