Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Cuddly , by - Sleaford Mods. Song from the album English Tapas, in the genre ПанкRelease date: 02.03.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Rough Trade
Song language: English
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Cuddly , by - Sleaford Mods. Song from the album English Tapas, in the genre ПанкCuddly |
| I had an organic chicken it was shit |
| As the day played out in the evenings pit |
| Homeowner man, I’m a family guy |
| Brex-City roller we do and still die |
| Less than zero, flat in the head |
| Lobbing up drugs to get out of us heads |
| Every fucking week there’s another Black Death |
| Another old man in a robe and that, yeah bleak |
| Dale Winton, Supermarket Sweep |
| Feudals got a game too. |
| it ain’t as bad |
| There’s a bigger prize and it’s called land grab |
| Have that, oh ta, I think I’ll call myself |
| Lord Bastard of Sir Bast dar dar |
| Throw a load round, let it rot, on the ground |
| Throw a load round, let it rot, on the ground |
| Ain’t cuddly what you doing, sod your teddy bear |
| Sod your little promises nobody fucking cares |
| Hanging out the back, of the monied few |
| Lifeless tears for the attentive few |
| And all at once we will realise |
| It will happen suddenly |
| You ain’t fucking cuddly |
| A life sentence down, LOL, what next? |
| Exorcist puke on my chatty vest |
| The score of the street past the shops rotting meat |
| The death of the customer, no meet, no greet |
| No half time, a full 90 minutes |
| Screaming shit all the time, shit players |
| Hair transplants, Leo Sayers |
| What does million quid a week bring |
| When your brain can’t tell your legs to kick the fucking thing? |
| Throw a load round, let it rot, on the ground |
| Throw a load round, let it rot, on the ground |
| Ain’t cuddly what you doing, sod your teddy bear |
| Sod your little promises nobody fucking cares |
| Hanging out the back, of the monied few |
| Lifeless tears for the attentive few |
| And all at once we will realise |
| It will happen suddenly |
| You ain’t fucking cuddly |
| Reduced timetable as the stairs get blocked |
| At iPhone level, no joke |
| I draw a tenner out and my fingers get sniffed |
| On the used 10 pound note’s Coke, no joke |
| Overground and the sites don’t encourage good learning |
| My fingers drop shit |
| Finger nails are curling |
| They’re fucking gurning |
| Lob gob, this is our tree but there’s no chance |
| Of reaching the tree top or what |
| Probably not, as the case may be |
| Luck is charm, a bracelets arm |
| Snatching itself back from the wrong palm |
| Luck is charm, a bracelets arm |
| Snatching itself back from the wrong palm |
| Throw a load round, let it rot, on the ground |
| Throw a load round, let it rot, on the ground |
| Ain’t cuddly what you doing, sod your teddy bear |
| Sod your little promises nobody fucking cares |
| Hanging out the back, of the monied few |
| Lifeless tears for the attentive few |
| And all at once we will realise |
| It will happen suddenly |
| You ain’t that fucking cuddly |
| (It will happen suddenly |
| You ain’t that fucking cuddly |
| It will happen suddenly |
| You ain’t that fucking cuddly) |
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