| 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) |