| Some twunt said I wasn’t punk enough
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| Am I not dirty filthy stinkin fucking drunk enough?
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| I guess I’m gonna have to learn to suck it up
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| All on my Pat Malone
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| I’m more skinhead than you (oi-oi-oi)
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| Me boots were made in Eng-ur-land, I did me own tattoos
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| I’d show 'em to ya here but they would prolly start a blue
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| I’m more skinhead than you
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| My blood’s greener than yours
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| My neighbours sisters boyfriend used to roadie for The Corrs
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| Though it’s been eight generations since we kissed Old Erins shores
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| My bloods greener than yours
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| Some twunt said I wasn’t punk enough
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| Am I not dirty filthy stinkin fucking drunk enough?
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| I swear this shit is real, I couldn’t make it up
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| Some twunt said I wasn’t punk enough
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| Am I not dirty filthy stinkin fucking drunk enough?
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| You tell me there’s no rules and I’ll still fuck it up
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| But how? |
| I’ll never know
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| You new skool punx gimme the shits (1−2-3−4)
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| I was into Green Day when you were only kids
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| And me old man says that song o' theirs was written by the skids
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| You new skool punx gimme the shits
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| I’m a bigger greaser by far
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| Though my psyco/punka/rockabilly girlfriends got the car
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| 'Cause she needs it where she’s working at that topless titty-bar
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| To pay of the photographer who took them pinup snaps of her
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| And cupcakes! |
| what the fucks with cupcakes?
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| I think I made a mistake by lending her my car
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| There’s cupcakes comin' out her arse, they drive me round the bend
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| There’s cupcakes for her ditzy-dozy polka dotted friends
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| There’s cupcakes made of wax, but you can’t eat 'em, they’re for show
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| For show to who? |
| I’ll never ever know, I’ll never ever know… |