Snagging List

[Verse 1]
The Jordan Fishwick folder's leaving a sweat-print on the leather.
Got the Yale key, cold in my palm, tryna hold it all together.
It’s not Moss Side redbrick, it’s some Cheshire imitation.
But the roof is sound, passed the survey, no structural degradation.
Mum’s just staring at the facia board, I can feel her start to tremble.
I’m running diagnostics on my face so the feelings don’t assemble.
Trying to tell you this is progress, that the blueprint’s looking better.
But my throat feels like it’s full of wet cement, writing you this letter.

[Chorus]
One for the patronising nod.
Two for the credit check from God.
Three for the postcode look-down.
This is the snagging list for the whole damn town.

[Verse 2]
Mr. Davies in his Reiss suit, checks the postcode on his slate.
Says my income source is 'novel', calls my guarantor 'a mate'.
He’s got the patter down, the casual torsion in the phrase.
That implies the whole damn thing's a charitable phase.
I just smile and tick the boxes, keep the fury under wraps.
Let him think he's building something, while I’m mapping all the traps.
It’s the quiet calculation, the load-bearing of a look.
He sees a girl from a terrace, not the foundations that I shook.

[Chorus]
One for the patronising nod.
Two for the credit check from God.
Three for the postcode look-down.
This is the snagging list for the whole damn town.

[Bridge]
She turns to me, her voice is thin, the hiss of a new boiler.
Says, "Are you sure, love? All of this?" like I'm some kind of spoiler.
I just nod, can't find the words, the schematics feel too raw.
Just the click of the lock turning. The silence after the door.

[Outro]
The scaffolding's down now, see?
It's holding its own weight, finally.