We don't make too much waste Me and my ma can say So we don't put the bins out 'Til every other Wednesday Even though my bro and Rach And a 6-month-old baby Throw their rubbish in with ours Take-aways and nappies Sorry I could not call you back You have slipped from my mind again Don't take it personally, little one I'll call you back again When I can I rip up anything with an address For ma's fear of identity theft She knows it's practically superstitious But what reasoning do we have left? And I don't throw out his post anymore Language is getting more severe Fearing that knock upon the door 'Cause his name is on the deeds for here Sorry I could not call you back You have slipped from my mind again Don't take it personally, little one I'll call you back again When I can All the times I tried to reach out to you But you decided to throw it all away