There's twenty five tunes on the visitors bell   From Granny Farming In The UK   To Heartbreak Hotel   And there's eight million stories of cruelty to tell   As the medicine goes down      There's one currant bun in the baker's shop   Who's beaten like an egg till he bruises like an apricot   Squeezed between the legs and strangled    with a football sock   And the medicine goes down      And it's as clear as a bell and the colour of your cheeks   And the piss awful smell of the blankets and the sheets   This ain't no charabanc, no Derby and Joan   And this place is no place like home      And the nurses will hold you and ask you how you feel   But it's back to the dole queue for any of them who squeal   From Granny Farming In The UK to Heartbreak Hotel   There's twenty five tunes on the visitors bell      No letters, no postcards, no whisky, no pets   No Derby and Joan club and no cigarettes   No day trips to the seaside, no nights on the town   No boiled beef and carrots and the medicine goes down   No handles on the windows, no lights on the stairs   It's way past your bedtime and nobody cares   From Granny Farming In The UK to Heartbreak Hotel   There's twenty five tunes on the visitors bell      And the post man rings twice    With a telegram from the Queen   Your legs turn to red to amber and green   Your heart jumps the lights and you fall to the ground   And your death is the talk of the town