They say, yeah, that you should write what you know.
Know? No,
No, I don't think so.
See, I don't know nothing, me,
With my carefully-cultivated slack-jawed gape
Like a Big Brother contestant,
Or a vandal caught on tape,
Or someone on one of those shows hosted by
The ubiquitous Simon Cowell.
(Ubiquitous? Now that's a ten-dollar word
Not something you've probably heard
On Location Location with Kirsty and Phil,
Or that Channel 5 documentary about 'Doctors Who Kill',
Or Hollyoaks.)

So maybe I know more than I'm letting on,
I' playing my ignorance for jokes
Because when I was at school,
It wasn't, like,
Cool to know the answer.
And if you put your hand up, well,
It was social suicide.
Know what I mean?

So yeah, I don't know nothing
Like the witness to a mugging who
'never saw who done it', or
Paris Hilton acting proud of being dumb,
It just seems easier to lurk in the shadows
Of your own 'dunnos',
Your wilful lack of intellectual curiosity -
Hell, you ain't no monstrosity
For being thick.

Go ahead and stick two fingers up at
Reading books,
Glut yourself on a quick fix, no-effort life of
Ready meals and ready fucks.
Write what you don't know,
Don't care, not my problem -
And when it all falls to pieces and it
Just ain't fair,
You can wash your hands of it.
Not my fault.

And don't come running to me,
Because I don't know nothing, me.
I don't want to know, yeah?