In the drama studio of my senior school
I was propping up my fake cool
Our first exchange, an argument
Over your dodgy Scottish accent
We hit it off instantly
And got on easily
From register to leaving bell
People’s lives became a living hell
No one was excused from our ‘mick’ taking
Laughing til our bellies aching
We settled in to avoiding lessons
In the girls school delicatessens
We didn’t waste our years of teen
We borrowed the new fog machine
Convinced them we needed it as a prop
But then just turned it on and it didn’t stop
Somehow punishment was escaped
And our future had been shaped
We stop at nothing and no one
To make sure we had some fun
To college we were eventually lured
Thinking that we’d both matured
We collated our writing powers
What's yours was yours what’s mine was ours
We focused slightly on non-conformance
Producing our greatest performance
We has a great time digging our scene
I think about you every Halloween
And forever, at least in my eyes
You’ll be Morecombe, I’ll be Wise
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