| No Christmas for John Quays
|
| Come on get a bit of fucking guts into it
|
| What what
|
| Well the powders reach you
|
| And the powders teach you
|
| But when you find they can’t reach you
|
| There is no Christmas for junky
|
| He thinks he is
|
| More interesting
|
| Than the world
|
| Ah but buying cigs
|
| Puts him in a whirl
|
| I’ll have a packet of three-five fives
|
| Will you fucking put the monitors on for Christ’s sake?
|
| I’ll have a packet of three-five fives
|
| I’ll have 20 of those over there
|
| I’ll have 20 No.6 for a headache
|
| And I’ve had enough right there, stop
|
| (Why is this)
|
| He spits in the sky
|
| It falls in his eye
|
| And then he gets to sitting
|
| Talking to his kitten
|
| Talking about Frankie Lymon
|
| Tell me why is it so?
|
| Tell me why is it so?
|
| Why did the sky break today?
|
| Why did this happen today?
|
| He goes out of his face with the Idle Race
|
| He goes out of the room with this tune
|
| Although the skins are thin
|
| He knows its up to him
|
| To go out or stay in
|
| I’ll stay in
|
| I’ll stay in
|
| Have a break
|
| You, me
|
| X-Mas
|
| X-Mas
|
| Well the powders reach you
|
| And the powders teach you
|
| But when you find they can’t reach you
|
| There is no Christmas for junky
|
| There is no girls
|
| There is no curls
|
| Just the traffic passing by
|
| Bye bye bye bye bye bye bye bye
|
| Open the room, there’s a cloud of smoke
|
| Will you fucking get it together instead of showing off?
|
| Give me one
|
| Give me B
|
| Give me three
|
| Give me D
|
| No X-mas for John Quays |