Gareth Gates v The Chazza Chaps

Gareth Gates v The Chazza Chaps

How a hopeful day ended in bitter disappointment

An Oxfam in the high street and Barnados up the top,

Mencap, Red Cross, Age UK; a plethora of shops.

Let’s go a-hunting records, let’s find some rare CDs,

Beatles, Stones perhaps Led Zep and plenty more like these.

Ah, look, there’s Gareth Gates:

Will Young and Gareth Gates,

All along the CD shelf,

Will Young and Gareth Gates.

Flicking through this carton, a filthy old copy,

of ‘Ommadawn’ by Mike Oldfield is all that I can see.

And underneath this pile of bras, these dirty knicks and socks;

A pile of sweating Humperdinck cassettes inside a box.

And, look, there’s Gareth Gates:

Will Young and Gareth Gates,

All along the CD shelf,

more crap by Gareth Gates.

What’s over there behind a rail of wedding fascinators,

just beside the gaping grin of that stuffed alligator?

A tatty plastic container into which I think they’ve bunged,

Half a dozen copies of ‘No Parlez’ by Paul Young.

Stone me, there’s Gareth Gates:

Will Young and Gareth Gates,

Endless rows of cracked CDs,

by sodding Gareth Gates.

Let’s try that shop up on the hill, The British Heart Foundation.

The one next to the useful place that does cheap pet castrations,

and look through its big window at the beautiful display,

Of shockingly priced Richard Clayderman LPs that sit upon a tray.

What’s that? It’s Gareth Gates.

Bloody Gareth Gates.

Piled up heaps of plastic crap

by bloody Gareth Gates.

I’ve had enough of this lark, what a total waste of time.

Mouldy tat upon the floors, so expensive it’s a crime.

We’ve come away with nothing, we didn’t buy a thing.

Keep your Abba, Carpenters, and your shite by bloody Sting.

Oh, and stuff your Gareth Gates,

Will Young and Gareth Gates,

Stick their crap inside a box

And burn the fucking lot.