Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Under the Plastic and N.C.T., artist - Sleaford Mods. Date of issue: 23.11.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Under the Plastic and N.C.T. |
| Ryvita |
| Ryvita |
| Crack black pepper |
| Comrades pick up your arms |
| The long arm of the lawn is indeed in charge |
| I won’t talk to nice people if they look rich |
| I know it’s not on mate, I’m such a fuckin' bitch |
| Surfing comments |
| Lookin' at the likes |
| Whilst the coppers chase bandits through the top valley skies |
| To disagree on social networking sites |
| Is to kill the counter-culture |
| The overturn has died |
| We pander to the camera |
| And we want to be observed |
| We dont get what we ask for |
| We get what we deserve |
| Stale fags hang on my clothes like indie band badges |
| As I remember last night ignoring people I don’t like |
| Trying to buy a pint |
| And what does it matter |
| What if I rot inside a care home |
| With eight of the bastards |
| Immobile with crap banter |
| Oh look there’s Angry J — wah heeeey! |
| Give us a tinkle on the rattling joanna, mate |
| Under the plastic and NCT |
| Of grained handmarks devour me |
| Under the general weight of it all |
| Exist impossible visions of you |
| It’s one of them ennit |
| The violent exit |
| Let’s fuckin' bin it |
| Ryvita existence |
| A pointless opposition to the fat |
| Of pointless State resistance |
| And the State is no longer your voice |
| The mechanics hijacked by the lies |
| In false choice of a false fuckin' choice |
| Tied up in death |
| I hate the terror |
| The horrible fear |
| Whilst life knifes you as it screams: |
| «You got fuck all left!» |
| Under the plastic and NCT |
| Of grained handmarks devour me |
| Under the general weight of it all |
| Exist impossible visions of you |
| People might be in groups willingly |
| Let 'em get on with it |
| You can’t expect people to listen to your fucking |
| Mouth just because you don’t believe in it |
| Thousands of Saturday lager bellies punching the air |
| Denouncing the value of somebody else’s flag |
| Whilst viciously believing in theirs |
| Fucking useless this well-trodden street |
| Vague notions about the so-called elite |
| And that moulds spit Trent Bridge chaos |
| It’s not really is it? |
| Cardboard heavies |
| Drones to the delusions of a never-never land |
| Where the cross rings out the orders |
| Don’t let the mechanics of beer |
| Trick you into thinking you are some kind of warrior |
| Eating barbwire on the wave of violent disorder |
| Three words: |
| Cage, Wheel, Hamster |
| 'ere, here’s a bit of cheese |
| — nibble the bastard! |
| Under the plastic and NCT |
| Of grained handmarks devour me |
| Under the general weight of it all |
| Exist impossible visions of love |