| Why they got tellies in pubs?
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| Keep us munched on second-hand grub
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| Second-hand tales, I’m fired up
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| Two pints for a fiver, crook
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| What’s me: am I a tortoise or a cuddly bear?
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| When life isn’t anything 'til you start drinkin' there
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| No truths, just a selection of memories in bars you knew
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| I’m glad I was born when I was
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| I get to see the right once again look like knobs
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| Like what? |
| It’s not hard is it, you token chop
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| Freeze-wrapped, nine for a quid in Bejams, the lot
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| Royal Dutch lines
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| You fat bastard
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| You English crimes
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| You fat bastards
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| You fat bastards
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| You fat bastards
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| You fat bastards
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| Carlton touts
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| The angel of the midlands has flown away
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| Probably south
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| You can’t blame her
|
| When the future is a flag pissed on
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| And a king-sized bag of quavers
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| Carlton touts
|
| The angel of the midlands has flown away
|
| Probably south
|
| You can’t blame her
|
| When the future is a flag pissed on
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| And a king-sized bag of quavers
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| I stroke a roll-up outside
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| Tryin' to put a memory to the face that has just said «hi»
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| Clouds are low, like the general mood
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| Tempers cookin' up from the inside
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| We are the microwaved food
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| And I’m not in the mood
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| The Labour Party is a three-quid tube of vending machine smarties
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| At the airport, where check-in could be check-out
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| What the fuck is happ’nin'?
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| Bring back the neolibs, I’m sorry
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| I didn’t fuckin' mean to pray for anarchy
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| They’re all gaggin' for a bit o' fame
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| So of course they’re fuckin' off
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| You don’t become a toff by going against the toff
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| Where’s the anti-toff?
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| We ain’t got none
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| Have you recognised the needle in your own arm, cunt?
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| I have, but so what?
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| You can’t beam me up, I’m not Captain Spock
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| You can’t sell me stuff on the rotten rock
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| I’ve got a store-card, bastard
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| I’m this months Top Shop
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| Carlton touts
|
| The angel of the midlands has flown away
|
| Probably south
|
| You can’t blame her
|
| When the future is a flag pissed on
|
| And a king-sized bag of quavers
|
| Carlton touts
|
| The angel of the midlands has flown away
|
| Probably south
|
| You can’t blame her
|
| When the future is a flag pissed on
|
| And a king-sized bag of quavers
|
| Carlton touts
|
| Carlton touts
|
| Carlton touts
|
| Carlton touts |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Carlton Touts , by - Sleaford Mods. Song from the album English Tapas, in the genre Панк