| Laugh out loud as I spit in your face
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| Show no respect for the consumer day knave
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| Little man I’ve had a busy day
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| Stand out from the crowd with your motions of grace
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| Contort your face till you look out of place
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| Contort your race till you’re blue in the face
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| Heads turn around, Anatolia kiss the ground
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| Money, fortune and fame, throw grenades
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| Well I spit in your face
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| Well throw a grenade
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| I’m losing fast, hey-ho!
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| down we go, hey-ho!
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| Shake to the rhythm of a gnomic quatrain
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| Till your body is bleeding all over again
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| Raise your glass to the virgin and the whore
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| Spreading your body all over the floor
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| I’m leading the life I’ve never lived before
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| And don’t walk around with mud on your face
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| Look at you now you’re a total disgrace
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| You’re telling me, you look out of place
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| Heads turn around, Anatolia kiss the ground
|
| Money, fortune and fame, throw a grenade
|
| Well I spit in your face
|
| Well throw a grenade
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| Smashing the store, killing the can
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| Scheming for the mother re-union plan
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| Oh I talked and I talked of things that didn’t matter
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| like a fish in batter, and mad as a hatter
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| So they say you reap as you sow
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| Moving with grace, live in disgrace
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| You’re telling me, you look out of place
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| And your name sounds almost religious
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| Like a book for those who are serious
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| Like a tranquiliser for those delirious
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| Heads turn around, Anatolia kiss the ground
|
| Money, fortune and fame, throw a grenade
|
| Well I spit in your face
|
| Well throw a grenade
|
| Well I spit in your face
|
| Well throw a grenade |