| We’re gonna get on down now
|
| We’re gonna get on down
|
| We’re gonna get on down now
|
| We’re gonna get on down
|
| Pass me the laser beam
|
| And let me wipe the wretched out clean
|
| Pass me the laser beam
|
| And let me wipe the devil men clean
|
| Broad Street’s a racket, got no time for the piper’s role
|
| Second round the corner, I let the Jackie Graham go
|
| The windows open onto Soho Road
|
| People by the Pakis punctuated by the brown atoll
|
| Broader than Bombay, they’re clogging up the slow lane
|
| I meet Rajesh, Roshan, and KPC
|
| His eligible sons he calls the three degrees
|
| On his bike he shouts request to me
|
| Ten of them, sixty of these
|
| Bested by no word, his shout is my guarantee
|
| Pass me the laser beam
|
| And let me wipe the wretched out clean
|
| Pass me the laser beam
|
| And let me wipe the devil men clean
|
| It’s a world wide web, wog’s world war
|
| Rockford rock against the clean four-by-fours
|
| To get a little, wog’s got to give a lot
|
| Wogs will walk and the wait is hard
|
| Well this one’s going out to the u-federation
|
| N-O-G, Wigan’s ovation
|
| The wog of the zero invention
|
| Bit between the GW intervention
|
| Passing the catch, I do kick the gear stack
|
| Pass me the laser beam
|
| And let me wipe the devil men clean
|
| Born in the year of the marketing manager
|
| The record stack I sweep up for the janitor
|
| A hip-hop brick to the overseas dick
|
| I understand guns in the A&R office
|
| Wogs will walk the Mowgli walk
|
| Salt marches and the wait is hard
|
| Wearing out the top soil, passing the parked cars
|
| Packed lunched, the wog is non-stop
|
| I hail a cab for the Pan Am to Dehli
|
| Greeted by Bubbley Kaur, the walk-in jewellery store
|
| Head for, get onto the GT road
|
| Now a driver like Barry G should be driving earth
|
| The last leg of Little Riding Hood
|
| I exchange with pictures of Sam Fox
|
| L.E.D. |
| quartz (bionic) you fathered like a pocket watch
|
| One ton of tinsel, a chauffeur and a Parker pen
|
| To this reactor light, I throw in a Jackie Graham
|
| Pull in the mud path at Terminal One
|
| London customs on the lookout for a wog on the run
|
| They ratchet my case open as if it was a Fanta can
|
| All they see is authentic pirate cassette tapes
|
| German elastic produced on Tokyo dub plate
|
| Keep
|
| Japan on the map-an
|
| Rolex rollicks, attention, attention
|
| Wogs will walk
|
| And this time the wait is about twelve pounds |