Another masterwork from the band, this one perhaps their most “jangly” and “indie” track of all. Despite the pigeonholing that may connote, the song floats gloriously over tired (even back then) genre conventions to instead create arguably the essence of the Smiths: Johnny unspools yet another lyrical guitar phrase that shifts between cautious strumming and ray-of-sunshine picking, characterising the best of his work in a 2 minute nutshell. Similarly, Moz’s lyrics act as a sort of admission (in song at least) to the band’s repeated accusations (as if it was a bad thing) of nabbing from literary source material: “ere has do done did...words that must surely be your own...”. This is compounded, hilariously, by the mispronunciation of “plagiarise”, tying up a Carry-On worthy tale of graveyard walks (an echo, clearly, of Moz and Linder’s similar jaunts). With a neat Rourke bassline that fills in any gaps the guitar may leave in the low end and some robust drumming from Joyce, it’s all sewn up.