| Skint in a material world
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| I did a warehouse stint for southsea girl
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| It was Hong Kong clothes for cash
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| Everybody got treated worse than trash
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| Punch the card in the company clock
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| Load the trolleys and the company trucks
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| And around and around the whole day through
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| And you couldn’t sit down when there was nothing to do
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| Well they had beaten up people from every land
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| Fools like me trying to be in bands
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| A little French girl so good to me
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| But I couldn’t love her back so lonely
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| A backpacker travelling through
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| A lumberjack with the travelling blues
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| We had worn out shoes and worn out cuffs
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| And big ideas that were never big enough
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| He said the man wants you go wash his car
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| Hey you I’m talking to you
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| I said me, not me uh uh
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| No can do
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| No can can do no can
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| No can can do no can
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| Now some were grown up unlike me
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| And were dealing with reality
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| I was spittin' sulkin' smokin' shirkin'
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| While a lady from Jamaica was singing and working
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| I had everyone but me to blame
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| And every day was just the same
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| Well nobody ever said it was a righteous world
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| But if they did they never said it at southsea girl
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| Well I’ve made my bed on peoples floors
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| Opened up and closed some doors
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| Dreamed that if my dreams came true
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| Then I wouldn’t do what I didn’t want to
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| Walking through the gates to the outside
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| To dream some dreams that never died
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| And I walked the streets of London town
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| Looking for a place to put my head down |