[intro]
No, I won't take in a bloody parcel, this is the third time this morning!
Oh you're not here for that are you?

[Verse 1] [Slightly Annoyed, Deadpan]
Mr TV Licence Man, knocking at my door
High-viz jacket, clipboard—boots on my floor
“Are you properly licensed?” he intones with pride
He’s got a badge like a bouncer, and shifty eyes wide
He flashes a photo, I try not to laugh—
Did he get that haircut on behalf of the staff?

[Pre-Chorus] [Building Frustration]
He asks if I watch any programs on my screen
Like I’m running a black-market Netflix canteen
He pokes and he prods, sniffing round my flat
As if I’m hiding Antiques Roadshow under my hat

[Chorus] [Sarcastic, Defensive]
Oh, Mr TV Licence Man, do you really care?
About my late-night cookery shows, or Bargain Hunt despair?
I’m just minding my business, in this soap opera street
Is tracking my telly habit really such a feat?

[Verse 2] [Muttering, More Unhinged]
I told him, “Look mate, I pay my dues—when I remember,
Except for that time last year, and maybe last December”
He rifled his clipboard, with a bureaucratic frown
Like he’s Scotland Yard, and I’m most wanted in town
A crime, apparently, to own a remote
They’ll have me in cuffs for watching Emmerdale’s goat

[Chorus] [Even More Sarcastic]
Oh, Mr TV Licence Man, do you really care?
About my reruns of Morse or the Strictly glare?
I’m just trying to live, with my tea and my tray
Must you make a scene and ruin my day?

[Bridge] [Observational, Cheeky]
He eyed my aerial—rusty, askew
Probably gets more channels than Sky ever knew
Maybe he’s seen it all, the drama, the dread
The Only Fools marathons, the newsreader’s head
And all from the window, with his notepad and pen
Judging my taste in sitcoms, again and again

[Outro] [Fade Out, Sigh and Wink]
So he left with a nod, and a leaflet or two
“See you next time, when I’ll have my eye on you!”
Mr TV Licence Man, the telly’s still on
If you’re knocking tomorrow, I’ll pretend I’ve gone!