Sketchead

Sketchead is coming to your party
He's walking up your drive and he's swinging all his keys around
Sketchead, he's seen you with your top off
He already knows your boyfriend, retain your introductions
Sketchead, that cumbersome protagonist
The pips in your quince, the eye behind the spy hole
The itch you can't itch in your ear
And the knock that shattered your packet of peppermints

Sketchead, there's poison in his spit
He'll compliment your tits and leave you to your wits
Sketchead, convincingly insisting
The tires were bald when you gave him the car
Sketchead, still coming to your party
Still walking up your drive and still swinging all his keys around
On his finger as a pendulum to unnerve

And then there's you, you've changed
I approached you like you were the same
But soon it was apparent a new name was required
New lips went and fired accomplishments at me
While I'm captivated by your magazine skin
The tint on your lenses obscures to begin
And you know full well
That anyone who says that they don't prefer the sequel
Will still be swinging on themselves tonight