Lyrics Menu - Jam Baxter, Dirty Dike, DJ Sammy B-Side

Menu

Was up late calling people high on drugs, with ideas that only vaguely make
sense
Explained at great length, on the main stage sweatin' out play the game drenched
Out the front shottin' vials of that tailor made stench
Dear mother, I landed that position that I ran for
Screaming at people in small towns from a raised platform
Climbing and diving into 'em, land flat on damn floor, black out
Today’s messiah enters through the back door and
Steps out like «bathe now in the wisdom»
Found face down in a strange town in the midlands
Spinning at 12 hundred, 50 degree drunkard
I’m just tryin' to wash the chemical stain out of my system
I live in a high budget so surrealist film I direct poorly
So out to every creepy underling that checks for me
Scrawny mess slash born again success story
Memories of last night strewn along the M40
On the real, (on the real, on the real.)
You people are very strange, sweaty stained
Vibrating tin men of every age
Shrink-wrapped shipped out and slapped alive ready-made
The messy-range exclusive to the front row of any stage
Ready James?
Run the tune Sammy
Half the wrap and half the rider got the crew scatty
At 9 A.M.
still flogging a dead jam
And that’s about as gang as yelling «gang» when your not gang
Steam rolling in without warning
(I'm only in town for two nights, what’s on the menu?)
About 20 bottles, blotters and this liquid I been hauling
(What's on the menu?)
A sea of drunk devils at the front all brawling
(I'm off the rails)
That’s why they yelling gang
That’s why they yelling gang
That’s why they yelling gang
That’s why they yelling gang
(Verse 2: Dirty Dike)
I hang with you loose groupies
'Cus I ain’t trying to bang we’re just having a few smoothies
Blue cheese crackers a sack of these blue lagoons
And its back to back with jam baccarack and booze boozey
Some shows move me, other shows are stuck in glue
But what the fuck d’you do
You smoke a tonne of marijuana in the bus and move
Discuss the news, and fuck up the club and boot
Climb inside a tin can and boot it into boiled mash
Ten thousand ways to bring a movement in a foil bag
Oiled rags, dads mums, fat cunts, spoiled slags
All come for full scale attack clap your balls and hands
Bitches with their tits out, ink splash and stage dives
On stage we’re best mates the next day you hate Dike
Why?
Because I brainwashed the rave watch
Ain’t stopping shit except to celebrate the take-off
Fuckin' up the pay and you can get the bloody AIDS cloth
Just another day to let the substance in my face rot
Ready Jake?
better give the walrus a shout
'Cus I ain’t seen him since the last shot he poured in his mouth
And there’s a bunch of freaks applauding on the floor in this town
And man its our responsibility to slaughter the house
Storming about the stage gets a slap in the face
And raped from mad-passion, sadgasms and hate
Steam rolling in without warning
(I'm only in town for two nights, what’s on the menu?)
About 20 bottles, blotters and this liquid I been hauling
(What's on the menu?)
A sea of drunk devils at the front all brawling
(I'm off the rails)
That’s why they yelling (gang!)
That’s why they yelling (gang!)
That’s why they yelling (gang!)
That’s why they yelling (gang!)