I was haunted by an image,
I envisioned in a dream,
A modern shining citadel,
Where glass and steel did gleam,
A place where all are welcome,
Through the ever-open door,
As long as they are young
and earning 50 grand or more.
And their perfect teeth are glinting,
As they laugh and smile and laugh,
One is laughing in the shower,
Another's laughing in the bath.
And then I woke and rose and squinted through my bedroom windows slats,
And I saw this was no dream,
It was a billboard selling flats.
And I wanted one,
More than anything else in the world.
So come on build me a flat that i can call my own,
With a shiny tumble dryer and a video entry phone,
No more lonely hours down the laundromat,
No, no, no,
Come on Mr Builder,
Won't you build me a flat?
I said get up off your arse and just go build me a flat.
Give me a kitchen,
Where cappuccino flows free,
And I can share a plate of sushi with some people just like me,
Give me suede upon my sofa,
And cotton on my bed,
On my feet are Gucci loafers,
Gucci thoughts are in my head.
So, convert me a flat that was a church or pub,
A warehouse or a windmill or a burned out nazi sub,
There's a brewery next door that's selling? 1 bed VATs,
So, come on, get those plans drawn up and convertme a flat,
I find a tiny little shed,
And please convert me a flat,
We could have our? friends 'round,
Share a bottle of Chiraz,
We could turn up our surround sound and enjoy some acid jazz,
The brand new heavies sound just as good today as they did in 1992, actually,
We could read the sunday papers wearing leisure pants from Next,
We could make our real wood flooring squeak by having routine sex,
In front of our stainless steel, minimalist, designer gas fire.
So, come on, build me a flat where I can lounge about,
With a great big iron railing to keep chavs and homeless out,
And a tiny little bathroom where I could not swing a cat,
Yeah, come on Mr Builder,
Won't you build me a flat?
Put your tiny mobile phone down and just build me a flat.
Build me a flat that costs 500K,
Where I'll have to get a mortgage that takes 50 years to pay,
By the time the place is mine I'll be old and grey and fat (or dead),
So, come on Mr Builder,
Won't you build me a flat?
Oh, won't you drain your pint of tea and just go build me a flat,
Build me a flat where I can live my life,
A shag pad that will help me find a girl to be my wife,
And in a year you'll hear small yuppy feet go 'Pitta pitta pat',
So, come on Mr Builder,
Won't you build me a flat?
So I can populate West London with a horde of yuppy brats,
And eventually they'll need someone to build them some more flats,
Because what Britain really needs is lots more high rise stack of prats,
So, come on Mr Irish Builder won't you build me a flat?
For Christ's sake, put the bicuits down and just go build me a flat.