200 Kebab Shops Lyrics

200 Kebab Shops lyrics

Scarred elbows and a brain

A lot less pungent but eventually it smells the same

Of out-of-date normality

A best before performance which I needed

It’s a drug technically

Get in, load in, load out

We argue, we shout

Some lyrics, attention that we should pay



We don’t speak enough

I struggle to say



Ten hours sitting in a van

Would probably even turn

Noam Chomsky’s brain to spam

(Deterring Democracy)



Two hundred pubs

Two hundred kebab shops

(It’s doing my fucking head in)

Two hundred pubs

Two hundred kebab shops

(I’m a gold bullion with lead in)

Bring me Ben Lee, a bit of dry ground

Three sixty flips which I lost then found

Bring me some strings and maybe two tins

A cheap talkplan but not too many rings

Not too many rings

Not too many rings

Not too many rings

Not too many rings



I realise I’ve 

Been priveleged

To lead this life

Although I need new shoes

So sometimes my feet itch and my

Council of Elrond tells me to try something new

Terribly Sorry Bob you can’t take Bad Karma

My Self Abused 

Or my Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain

I’m afraid you won’t leave with

Something to Remember Me By



Two hundred pubs

Two hundred kebab shops

(It’s doing my fucking head in)

Two hundred pubs

Two hundred kebab shops

(I’m a gold bullion with lead in)

Bring me Ben Lee, a bit of dry ground

Three sixty flips which I lost then found

Bring me some strings and maybe two tins

A cheap talkplan but not too many rings

Not too many rings

Not too many rings

Not too many rings

(Not too many rings)



“Well yeah, I find this really hard to do. I love being in a band,
there’s 

nothing like performing and playing live, and meeting people; but 

sometimes it all gets a bit too much. There are a few months where 

you’re surviving on three pounds a day, which is three portions of 

chips and whatever we can steal off the big headline band. I’m 

spending that much time in a van with other people, it’s a bit of a 

headfuck to say the least. The point of this song was to say that as 

well as seeing hundreds of venues last year, we also saw hundreds of 

kebab shops; and that touring can be very mentally and physically 

tiring. It’s weird - normally on tour after a few weeks I’m so
tired I 

become a zombie, get loose in the village and talk to anyone. I 

consider myself to love communicating with people, but I hate the way

that I develop this psychosis. I try, but shit just comes out which has

absolutely no conviction whatsoever. I think that people think we’re


making loads of money because we’re in a band, and I know I might 

sound like a cunt but don’t ask me to buy you a beer ‘cause
I’m “in 

the band�, ‘cause I’m skint; but I’ll happily steal
one from OPM if you 

want. This is a complete ramble by the way, and I think that when 

Household Name hear this, they’ll be like “What the fuck is Chas


doing?� but I would like to say thank you for coming to all our shows;


I really just don’t understand how the band got from playing in
Jim’s 

garage while I was singing down a headphone on a bamboo pole in

front of two viewers, Jim’s dog and his sisters, to playing to the 

thousands of people... I’m writing this five minutes before we do the


recording. I’m so sad.�