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karen's got talent - kunt and the gang lyrics

craig: make us a f**kin brew will you? kettle’s just boiled

karen: aye, i’m gonna sit down with a cuppa and watch jeremy
d’you want a viscount with it?

craig: aye

karen: orange or mint?

craig: (pause) orange…er…no, mint…no, orange…oh f**k it
can i have one of each?

karen: f**kin ‘ell, he’s a man who knows what he wants!

craig: f**k off. and stick an extra spoonful of sugar in me tea, it
always tastes like there’s no f**kin sugar in it after you’ve
had a choccy biccie

karen: owt else me lord? d’you want your tea served up in a
china cup and saucer? or maybe sir wants his biscuits on
a little silver plate with a f**kin doyley on it?

craig: to be honest, in this house i’d be grateful for a cuppa that
doesn’t taste like it’s been sieved through the gusset of
your shreddies
karen: keep that up you fishy f**k and i’ll chuck this tea straight
over your cod and pollocks

craig: ta

karen: look at that for timing

karen: i f**kin love jeremy kyle. (pause)
how good would it be to be on jeremy kyle? (pause)
i should’ve gone on there and done the dna test when i
didn’t know who shannon’s dad were. it would’ve been
brilliant. there’d have been leon and that other bloke
what was his f*ckin name? the one with a hare lip and
b.o. who worked up the chippy. oh, i dunno. they’d
have been sat there sh*tting themselves with jeremy
going, (adopts jeremy’s angry mockney
accent)
“one of you two’s gonna have to step up to the plate and
be a dad to this kid. anyone can be a sperm donor but it
takes a real man to be a dad.”
i’d f**kin love to be on there. i’d get mich*lle to give us a
makeover and do me hair. i’d look f**kin lush, don’t you
reckon?

craig: …mmm
karen: i’d get a new pair of reeboks and everything. i can just
see me, with tears running down me cheeks going
“jeremy, they took advantage of me when i were drunk. i
feel so used. they just f**ked me and f**ked off.” then
i’d tell him i were bipolar or something so he didn’t have a
go at me. he’d turn round and go to them, (adopts
jeremy’s angry mockney accent again)
“you should’ve kept it in your trousers mate. either that or
put something on the end of it”
i can imagine it now, everyone on the estate going
‘karen, i saw you on jeremy kyle, you looked lush.’
9
i’d probably have to sign autographs in the post office
queue while i were picking up the benefits, wouldn’t i?

craig: …mmm

karen: i’d f**kin love to be famous. can you imagine? going on
gmtv and meeting ben shephard. on this morning with
eamon holmes asking us questions about stuff. it’d be
f**kin brilliant. when that c*nt from social services
comes round to check we’re not stubbing out tabs on the
kids i’d just open the letter box and go, “f**k off mate, i
can’t have you in today, i’m too f*ckin famous.” and you’d
get loads of free stuff, you know clothes and stuff, cos
you’re famous and everyone wants to have their stuff
associated with you. i’d have me own perfume…
craig: yeah… karen matthews’ ‘sn*tch’

karen: and you’d go down the pub and everyone would want to
buy you a drink. it be f**kin great. you could get
leathered every night and it wouldn’t cost you a f**kin
bean cos everyone would just want you sat there, telling
anecdotes about all the celebrities you’ve met. jordan
peter andre. chantelle. davina. john leslie. it’d be
f**kin fantastic

craig: give it a f**kin rest will yer. no*one round here’s gonna
be famous, karen, least of all you

karen: what do you f**kin know? i might be

craig: no you f**kin won’t! what are you gonna be famous for?
you can’t f**kin do anything

karen: (pause) yes i f**kin can

craig: well you can f*nny fart but i don’t think that’s gonna win
you britain’s got talent, do you?
h*llo, my name’s karen. (makes big raspberry
sound)
cut to amanda holden crying while piers morgan tries to
pick little croutons of f*nnybatter out her hair

karen: you can’t stand me having a dream can you?

craig: i don’t f**kin care, you can dream all you like. all’s i’m
saying is you’re f**kin wasting your time with all this
celebrity b*ll*cks. it’s not real life. real life’s not a f**kin
tv studio with everyone sat round pretending to laugh at
penny smith’s sh*tty jokes. real life is that, outside the
window. that f**kin rusty pram frame in the garden
that’s real life. the exercise bike sticking out of that skip
that’s real life. that f**kin dog t*rd with a f*g b*tt
stubbed out in it. that’s real life. real life’s not a bunch of
f**kin washed up ex*celebrities in the middle of nowhere
eating kangaroo c*cks and being commentated on by ant
and dec

karen: well i had that reading at the fair that said i were gonna
be famous. so don’t come crying to me when i make it
and i’m drinking down the groucho club with alison
moyet and michael barrymore and you’re still stuck here
with all the other c*nts on the estate

craig: f**kin bound to happen…

- kunt and the gang lyrics

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