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Weeknight Nightbus

from Workers States & Heartbreaks by Pavlov's House

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lyrics

Riding the weeknight nightbus
Finding it be quite nice, just
Lie in a seat, my eyes shut
Try not to sleep, I might just
Miss my stop
Streetlights off, which one's what
Road so silent, random goths
Market streets look abandoned plots
Copping an ounce on the edge of the city
Somehow it's already twenty to middy
Crisp in the air and a little bit chilly
Ooo, that's not a strong enough jiffy
Don't wanna draw the attention of piggy
Draw in my bag is a little too piffy
Guy on the right keeps on eyeing me shitty
Wanting a fight or he's finding me pretty



You're never finding the pulse of society unless you're regularly riding the bus
First on the Badgerline, Stagecoach to Hammerstein, let's get re-nationalising the bus
Labouring days that we're working right thru
Alienated from work that we do
Finish your nightshift there's rush hour too
How come the next day there's more work to do?
The weeknight nightbus, weeknight nightbus
We don't mind when the week fly by us
Seek that weekend high, no pile-ups
Whole week comedown, now rack lines up
Weeknight nightbus, weeknight nightbus
Foxes ripped that binbag right up
We see blue lights right behind us
Weeknight nightbus



Sit in the station at Lawrence Hill, listening
Miseducation of Lauryn Hill
It's "babyfaces" and "foreign-heels"
Bus companies the proverbial three dollar bill
Upper deck littered with meal-deals and orange peel
Some bore ill-will to the morning chill
Snoring still holding their four inch heels
Dreaming of work, that's a horror film
Some pull out knives and they threaten with glee
Some pull out books they're pretending to read
Some should have got off at least fifteen stops off decided to nod off and they're still asleep
Sirens erupting the desolate streets
Cops seeing red like the decibel peaked
Pedestrians beat and soon resting in peace
The tag on the window says "F The Police!"

credits

from Workers States & Heartbreaks, released February 10, 2023

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Pavlov's House UK

Hip-hop & grime bangers for your squat party & picket line, outta that revolutionary hotbed of Bristol. Nonstop bops for the comrades. Antifascist Luchador bars.
Bobbi QELD: bars, Charlie el Poeta: beats.

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