| Black rings round your eyes
|
| And you’re spewing your lies
|
| That you know is your old routine
|
| Spilling your drink
|
| With a nudge and wink
|
| As you boast about people you’ve been
|
| Smoking your cigarette
|
| Down to the butt
|
| And your teeth are as black as the tar
|
| You tell them at sex
|
| You’re a stud in the bed
|
| As you hang for your life on the bar
|
| And you see your own peak
|
| On the top of the mountain
|
| Of bodies you trod on to get there
|
| Shit on me, shit on her
|
| Shit on you in the end
|
| And they won’t even lend you the bus fare
|
| Now you’re boring the pants off
|
| The tart on the dance-floor
|
| As you tell her the person you once were
|
| She just sees you as trash
|
| But she creams at the cash
|
| That you might pay just to grope her
|
| And this town is a potpourri of disease
|
| Can you smell the herpes from the scum-sucking fucks
|
| That hang around the same suckers each mid-night
|
| You were being your photo
|
| And spouting your promo
|
| Flicking back your limp quiff
|
| That’s as limp as your dick
|
| Irritating your greedy cross-eyed sight
|
| Oh Christ and you’re greasing up now
|
| To the creepy old cow
|
| That would sell out your mother and besides
|
| Your sell-out assured
|
| You were always a whore
|
| And you’ve always been taken for long rides
|
| At the smell of the bribe
|
| You go jelly inside
|
| As you step up the gold ladder to big time
|
| Kick them on the way up, kick you on the way down
|
| And you’ll need them all again in good time
|
| Your friend is the «yes» man
|
| Who sits by your side
|
| With his hand in your pocket all the time
|
| And he’s messing your head
|
| Tries to get you in bed
|
| Well it’s all masturbation of a kind
|
| What you earn, heaven knows
|
| It goes straight up your nose
|
| And you strangle your health in the end
|
| And you’re blinded by bull
|
| And you’ve really been full
|
| And it’s driving you straight round the bend
|
| And you’re told that a smile is so worth your while
|
| Its what «yes» men call diplomacy
|
| It’ll get you the goal
|
| But while losing the soul
|
| You’re forgetting the quality
|
| And you heave on your drink
|
| As you’re starting to think
|
| That all that shines may not be lam
|
| But a cheap substitute
|
| That’ll give you the boot
|
| You’re just a stiff at a funeral party
|
| Where you slouch on the bar
|
| With your arm in the beer
|
| Wearing yesterday’s mascara today
|
| And it runs when you cry about living a lie
|
| And the lie’s starting to fade away
|
| Fade away
|
| Fade away |