Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Carlton Touts, artist - Sleaford Mods. Album song English Tapas, in the genre ПанкDate of issue: 02.03.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Rough Trade
Song language: English
Carlton Touts |
| Why they got tellies in pubs? |
| Keep us munched on second-hand grub |
| Second-hand tales, I’m fired up |
| Two pints for a fiver, crook |
| What’s me: am I a tortoise or a cuddly bear? |
| When life isn’t anything 'til you start drinkin' there |
| No truths, just a selection of memories in bars you knew |
| I’m glad I was born when I was |
| I get to see the right once again look like knobs |
| Like what? |
| It’s not hard is it, you token chop |
| Freeze-wrapped, nine for a quid in Bejams, the lot |
| Royal Dutch lines |
| You fat bastard |
| You English crimes |
| You fat bastards |
| You fat bastards |
| You fat bastards |
| You fat bastards |
| 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 |
| I stroke a roll-up outside |
| Tryin' to put a memory to the face that has just said «hi» |
| Clouds are low, like the general mood |
| Tempers cookin' up from the inside |
| We are the microwaved food |
| And I’m not in the mood |
| The Labour Party is a three-quid tube of vending machine smarties |
| At the airport, where check-in could be check-out |
| What the fuck is happ’nin'? |
| Bring back the neolibs, I’m sorry |
| I didn’t fuckin' mean to pray for anarchy |
| They’re all gaggin' for a bit o' fame |
| So of course they’re fuckin' off |
| You don’t become a toff by going against the toff |
| Where’s the anti-toff? |
| We ain’t got none |
| Have you recognised the needle in your own arm, cunt? |
| I have, but so what? |
| You can’t beam me up, I’m not Captain Spock |
| You can’t sell me stuff on the rotten rock |
| I’ve got a store-card, bastard |
| I’m this months Top Shop |
| 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 |