Vincent’s Retro Radio Rumble

Lyrics

(Verse 1) We flew to Tunisia for sunshine and beers, All-inclusive dreams and zero bloody cares, Poolside cocktails, life feeling sweet, Then Vincent appeared… and parked in our seat. He started chatting ‘bout back in his day, Same tired stories in the same boring way, Nods like Churchill, won’t take a breath, Listening to Vincent is a slow, painful death. (Pre-Chorus) We fake phone calls, pretend we’re asleep, Hide behind palm trees, duck and creep, But like a heat-seeking missile with sandals and tan, Here comes Vincent… the world’s dullest man. (Chorus) Oh Vincent, mate, give it a rest, Your stories are shite and we’ve heard all the best, You said you were a fighter back in your prime, But you’re fighting for airtime… all of the time. Julie just sits there nodding along, Smiling politely like she’s trapped in a song, Cringing so hard you can hear it from space, While Vincent just waffles right into your face. ⸻ (Verse 2) We sneak through the lobby, sunglasses on tight, Trying to vanish like thieves in the night, But he spots us instantly, waves with delight, “Got another story!” — ah here we go, shite. It starts with a bar fight in nineteen-oh-two, Then somehow involves karate and stew, By minute fourteen we’ve mentally died, Even the hotel cat’s buggered off outside. (Pre-Chorus) Julie looks sorry, we see it’s true, Like she’s heard every version since 2002, She sips her drink and stares in despair, While Vincent’s still talking to absolutely air. ⸻ (Chorus) Oh Vincent, mate, give it a rest, Your stories are shite and we’ve heard all the best, You said you were a fighter back in your prime, Now you’re wrestling silence and losing every time. Julie just listens, poor soul, what a trooper, Married to the king of the non-stop super-yapper, We love a good chat but here’s the scoop… Not every sentence needs a bloody sequel group. ⸻ (Bridge) If talking was cardio, you’d be Olympic gold, If boredom was currency, mate you’d own the whole world, We smile, we nod, we slowly decay, Praying housekeeping drags you away. ⸻ (Final Chorus) Oh Vincent, pal, take the hint please, We’re diving headfirst into decorative trees, You were a fighter? That might be true… But you’ve knocked us out just talking shite through and through. Julie, we salute you, your patience is mad, You deserve a medal… or at least a new lad, So here’s to holidays, sunshine and booze… And mastering professional Vincent-avoidance moves.