McFLURRY
Music for the masses
I’m outclassed here mate
in-between the ’taches
and splash out on shit
I’d better get a penny-farthing
and Marvellous Marvin
Slam-Dunk with a concrete record deal
it’s bound to sink
under the blue rule
where the cuts make people stink
“You smell.”
People look like emails
white smiles
shut down shops
couldn’t walk the paper trails
an’ in-house fightin’
gets the Tom, Dick and Harry smilin’
Boris Johnson and the Cheeky Girls
shut down the Underground
so it’s back to orgies on the buses
“Drop us a fiver mate.”
“No worries.”
One pound twenty-nine on shag-all
McFlurry
McFlurry
McFlurry
McFlurry
I’m gonna wee in a basin
unleash an horrible lookin’ vampire like James Mason
clip the ticket
the clip-it tick-tick
now let me through the fuckin’ gate ya boring tit
what’s wrong with this
it’s all too much
Wobble wobble wobble
I get out of it
Wobble wobble wobble
I get out of it
Wobble wobble wobble
I get out of it
McFlurry
McFlurry
McFlurry
McFlurry
I got a Brit Award
I got a Brit Award
I got a Brit Award
I got a Brit Award
No surrender
No surrender
Animal
five-day bender
Snake It
Everybody knows, Dream, Dream, Dream
You lonely little tit in ya dung the steam
Messes all the words, what d’you say?
I couldn’t give a toss about ya god like mate
The windy little alleys in the London town
The circle that you keep well you can keep em man
Everybody knows, Dream, Dream, Dream
You lonely little tit in ya dung the steam
Everybody knows dream, dream, dream
Coffee after coffee in my shit work team
Giving out a penny I spend a penny man
I hate the cynisim with the back beans and
The way you get a cold response vipers get
Egged up in the nest and no one gives a shit
Everybody knows, Dream, Dream, Dream
You lonely little tit in ya dung the steam
In the canteen when it drips and dross
I got the dr martins and im Matt from Bros
I snake it I snake it I snake it snake it
I couldn’t give a toss about you!
Everybody knows, Dream, Dream, Dream
You lonely little tit in ya dung the steam
I snake it x 16
Fizzy
The cunt with the gut and the Buzz Lightyear haircut
Callin’ all the workers plebs
You better think about the future
You’d better think about ya neck
Y’better think about the shit hairdo ya got mate
I work my dreams off for two bits of ravioli
and a warm bottle of Smirnoff
Under a manager that doesn’t have a fucking clue
Do you want me to tell you what
I think about you cunt?
I don’t think that’s a very good idea, do you?
Y’pot marked four-eyed shit fitted shirt
white Converse and a taste for young girls
Don’t send me home with a glint in my eye
I told my family about the fuckin’ wage rise
and got fucked on
Devoured, puked on and sucked up, ya fuckin’ fly
Y’suction on your fly feet kept me pinned to
the blinds
Whilst y’PA rattled out about emails
Workstation
Forced to engage in flirtatious conversation
Fizzy
Fizzy
Fizzy
Well just to keep the job
Just to keep fuck-all from turning into a
fucking nothing blob
Bang it out
Go on, tell me what you really think
You got no chin – and you got no balls
to chin ’em with
Glass panels separate you
The mid-price hand wash from the bin of used
public toilet paper towels
We’ve run foul of the hidden hatred
that festers in dogs like you
Tripwire
Talk that makes way for the vacuum
y’piece of fuckin’ shit
One on
Fizzy
Fizzy
Fizzy
Use a sheet of promise and the red shoes of Dorothy
blanked out on a bed of thick monotony
With the usual stereotypes
that fall for the lip
I fuckin’ hate rockers
fuck your rocker shit
Fuck your progressive side sleever tattoos
Umpa-Lumpa blow me down with a feather
broken dagger bollick
Fizzy
Fizzy
Fizzy
Fizzy
Fizzy
Fizzy
Rich List
Into the nightmare I walked
street lights they go dim
people don’t seem bothered
patience wearing thin
the rich list gettin’ bigger
they know how to rub it in
the papers they should take the piss
but instead they just join in
Rich List
Rich List
Rich List … just takes the piss
Into the nightmare we scream
pipes they tighten up
I ain’t got no hot water
I can’t do my washing up
Rich list getting bigger
they know how to rub it in
the papers they should take the piss
but instead they just join in
Rich List
Rich List
Rich List … just takes the piss
Rich List
Rich List
Rich List … just takes the piss
Hell an’ dirty water
I don’t give a fuck about your life
the times to twist an’ bare it
I don’t give a fuck about your life
An’ hell and dirty water
don’t give a fuck about your life
the time to twist and bare it
don’t give a fuck about your life
Rich List
Rich List
Rich List … just takes the piss
Into the nightmare we walked
street lights they go dim
people don’t seem bothered
patience wearing thin
the rich list gettin’ bigger
they know how to rub it in
the papers they should take the piss
but instead they just join in
Rich List
Rich List
Rich List … just takes the piss
Hell and dirty water don’t give a fuck about your life
Hell and dirty water don’t give a fuck about your life
the time to twist and bare it
don’t give a fuck about your life
An’ hell and dirty water
don’t give a fuck about your life
Jobseeker
“So Mr Williamson, what have you done in order to find gainful employment since your last signing on day?”
“Fuck all!”
Nineteen point four – top
Eighteen point six – middle
Nineteen point two – top
Eighteen point four, mate – middle
Jobseeker
can of Strongbow, I’m a mess
Desperately clutching onto a leaflet on depression
supplied to me by the NHS
It’s anyone’s guess how I got here
anyone’s guess how I’ll go
I suck on a roll-up, pull y’jeans up
Fuck off! I’m goin’ home
Jobseeker
Jobseeker
“So Mr Williamson, what have you done in order to find gainful employment since your last signing on day?”
“Fuck all. I sat around the house wanking … and
I wanna know why you don’t serve coffee here. My signin’ on time’s supposed to be ten past eleven – it’s now twelve o’clock – and some of you strange bastards need executin’.”
“Mr Williamson, your employment history looks quite impressive. I’m looking at three managerial positions you’ve previously held with quite reputable companies. Isn’t this something you’d like to go back to?”
“Nah. I’d just end up fuckin’ robbin’ the place. You got a till full of twenties lookin’ at y’all day, well, I’m hardly gonna fuckin’ bank it. I got drugs to take, and a mind to break.”
Jobseeker
can of Strongbow, I’m a mess
Desperately clutching onto a leaflet on depression
supplied to me by the NHS
It’s anyone’s guess how I got here
anyone’s guess how I’ll go
I suck on a roll-up, pull y’jeans up
Fuck off! I’m goin’ home
Jobseeker
Jobseeker
Jobseeker
Jobseeker
Jobseeker
Jolly Fucker
Promote y’self
look like a cunt
Vodka parties
cushioned walls in a shit club
I ain’t bothered where it goes
I got a job
I rot away in the aisles at the Co-op mate
no prob
French Fancies
Mr. Kipling acid dances
let’s laugh at local record plants
elitist hippies
arrogant cunts
Ian Beale tight trunks
tight pants
grammar wanker
walk the plank
pirate manky
sixty kids – where’s mine?
wastin’ money on shit coffee all the time
fish fingers
take the batter off
I can’t believe you had kids
—Fuck off!
Jolly Fucker
Jolly Fucker
Jolly Fucker
Mister Jolly Fucker
Lamplight boogie
re-press re-press
bus cunt
move then mate
move for fuck’s sake
the machine don’t bleep
ticketless
sheep
bah-bah crack sheep
have you any rock
E.D.L. twat
Tommy used to work on the dock
union went all white
– he fuckin’ loved it
take it down there
take it down there
camouflage
Humpty Dumpty
Crusades
blood on the hands of working class rage
Jolly Fucker
Jolly Fucker
Jolly Fucker
Mister Jolly Fucker
Why do I walk on City and Guilded splinters
digital time boards are the new public shitters
soft dips in hard roads
curry night
I’d better watch my words
two-pint buzz
and loads of office turds
push in
don’t push me
I was here first you cunt
can’t you fuckin’ see?
Jolly Fucker
Jolly Fucker
Jolly Fucker
Mister Jolly Fucker
Routine Dean
Westgate
I waited until he walked out and double-turned
near the bank to walk back round
sending me on a wild goose chase
fillin’ in forms
upstairs downstairs
little details
nobody gives a fuck
who cares
left with a cola-cube full of boundless rage
slip and limp into the next but the feeling still remains
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
Barriers that need your ticket number
the queue gathers length
I used it as a fucking toothpick
waitin’ on the chair near ward eight
I’m a swivel servant
years of service mate
I’ll piss in a cup and throw at y’boss
golden handshake
profile people
living as profile page pixels
match the info section to match your broad range
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
Routine Dean so do I
it’s like biting bricks and a dead eye
struggle of work
day is dressed down naïvety
and deep frowns and long days
I go crazed
no life gives
no like makes
cocooning
mobility’s gonna move me
I pick up the phone
I’m already there
but I didn’t even fuckin’ feel the journey
the private bubble
no you and me
just that electracide electricity
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
I hate what you do and I don’t like you
Tied Up in Nottz
The smell of piss is so strong
it smells like decent bacon
Kevin’s gettin’ footloose on the overspill
under the piss station
two pints destroyer
on the cobbled floors
no amount of whatever is gunna chirp the chip up
it’s the Final Countdown by fucking Journey
I woke up with shit in my sock
outside the Polish off licence
“They don’t mind,” said the arsehole to the legs
you gotta be cruel to be kind
shit bank save it up like Norbert Colon
release the stench of shit grub
like a giant toilet kraken
the lonely life that is touring
I got an armful of decent tunes mate
but it’s all so fucking boring
Tied up in Nottz
With a Z you cunt
Black t-shirts and State toss
Nobby’s Nuts the rule of Rough Cutz
A to Z of nothing gets all the shiz
We are real
we are lookin’ 20p and the 10p mix
crab eyes another lonely little DJ with no fuckin’ life Weetabix England fuckin’ Shredded Wheat
Kellogg’s cunts on bleak shiz art cock
the green light don’t stop the shit
homegrown dealers of Berlin beggin’ for lolly and
it’s beautiful how the privileged still let ’em in
Tied up in Nottz
Shit, and the dealers tipped up
Tied up in Nottz
Shit, and the dealers tipped up
A Big Dream
A big dream x2
I seen a big dream I dreamt it lot
I dreamt that I laughed and I clocked off
I let the door slide I glided out
I got a boss belt and a bag of deece snout
Its all about the treasure-sinking ship
Spanish deblumes I’m gonna splash out quick
The seas are high
You lot are fucking dry
Swash buckle loop tang bang it
A big dream x 2
Make it dap make it high noon
3 blokes walk into a club mate
And so what? Eat it slop
The beer tray has it on a non stop
The big doors smell of bleach
The crap that you find when you
Clean up round the sits
And we laughed, oh how we laughed
The liver of the dead is gunna take us all out
A big dream x 7
Blog Maggot
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Celebrities are flocking
my real mates are dropping
the English way:
if you look like y’winnin’ then fuck ya mate!
Winnin’ what?
I got a fruit machine wi chewy on the slot
I’m knocking back nicotine beans
my fingertips tingle – official … or non-official
I just wanna send the fucking email
Blog maggot, YouTube twat
if I ever meet the cunt I’ll bite his fucking head flat
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–moo
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot
This is why the force is strong with a Tory
no blonde moments, no one’s shite
we are just tricked into dislike
headcase men – dead men – war
Ed Sheeran sellin’ fast – best album marketing farce
on you
we are John Rocha – we are all John Rocha
used to be Fendi trendy – faintly trendy
now nobody gives a … tosser
all of this death – everyone’s deaf – all of the death
William S Burroughs can tell him Seth
it’s all this death, who ever
on your Facebook feed poster
philosophical wanker
all this death
we are all half-cut – half-dead – hard to swallow
night trainers on me
I can’t sing about anarchy
in all this death
you, multiple images, magazine men
I’m buff like a tent, smoking a peg men
guts like a stink pipe sink pipe
bits of bean juice washing-up sleep then death
all this death
all this death
all this death
all this fucking death
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot
Promenade voting jacket
silver bullet polo hacket
golden stitch don’t ya skinnage
no I’m minted, mate
Geronimo, tally-ho, bombs away Derek
don’t sound quite the same
they’re all got shit Eighties mahogany wood names
like fat cigars in sunburnt boxes
Lord Loxley Cobhead in Union Jack wasits
Robin Thicke, thick as fuck
the trendy sex heads are all thick as fuck
that cunt with the big hat
he’s as thick as fuck
that cunt who gave drugs up
but still writes tunes that celebrate ’em
he’s as thick as fuck
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
People can do what they want
– no they can’t
y’can’t keep kissing that cunt behind reception
– it’s work you twat
and not a flashy love bite convention
moaning like a poor cunt
like a shrivelled bitter wanker
a stomach full of Gold Blend trousers
like Jo fucking Fox’s
new 30 mile speed limit enforce new
speed camera pensioners on Harley’s, yeah, course
y’reap the Tudor piglets of picturesque hamlets
park outside some cunt’s house
Toggy pocket
he’s the gaffer
Selwyn Froggitt
I flog parrots to them Grantham lads
do a little Leonard one-skinners
it’s not that y’can handle it
it’s just that you don’t want to fucking talk about it
pepper on chips
I can yam five fillet of fish easy
the idea is you gotta go round the bend
and not into it
Key Markets, Fine Fare, Fine Trade
Chris Martin nightmare
nightmare n–n–n–nn–nn
nightmare n–n–n–nn–nn
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot m–m–m–mm–mm
Blog maggot
Tweet Tweet Tweet
I get a shaky start to Tuesday
sweat stains on bus windows
I don’t wanna ruin my coat but
that’s just the way it goes
“Cheer up you fuckin’ bastard.”
that’s all I heard him say
St. George’s flag on white van
this is the human race
This is the human race
UKIP and your disgrace
chopped heads on London streets
all you zombies tweet tweet tweet
this is the human race
UKIP and your disgrace
chopped heads on London streets
all you zombies tweet tweet tweet
These wheels are turning tricks
this bus is full of pricks
eight hours of Gedling council
fuck your life it’s spare room hassle
dead weight is living flesh
we are no longer spesh
these grips that pull my hair
a life not lived cos I don’t care
This is the human race
UKIP and your disgrace
job tits on London streets
all you zombies tweet tweet tweet
this is the human race
UKIP and your disgrace
job tits on London streets
all you zombies tweet tweet tweet
Well I just bit half of mine
throw myself on the Metroline
when I walk back from the train
with a Stella kicking in my brain
well I just bit half of mine
throw myself on the Metroline
when I walk back from the train
with a Stella kicking in my brain
Tarantula Deadly Cargo
Alien mum
dropping lethal cargo
on the ship
Tarantula deadly cargo
it’s bent it
Alien dad
dropping lethal cargo
on the ship
Tarantula deadly cargo
it’s bent it
Alien mum
it’s hammered me
it’s bleak
self-destruct the motor, mate
it’s burnt my beak, beak!
pathway up to medieval churches and night-time runs
soundchecks, leave the bar alone, it’s ruined everyone!
I said well, alien mum
dropping lethal cargo
on the ship
Tarantula deadly cargo
it’s bent it
Alien dad
dropping lethal cargo
on the ship
Tarantula deadly cargo
it’s bent it
it’s bent it
Pebbles steep streets
romance on the high weed
European poos are deadlier
than the alien mums, it’s true
V for Walls Vendetta
freeze it, you can still eat it, later
straightaway, just one Cornetto mate
I said well, alien mum
dropping lethal cargo
on the ship
Tarantula deadly cargo
it’s bent it
alien dad
dropping lethal cargo
on the ship
Tarantula deadly cargo
it’s bent it
Fat Tax
Fax Tax … Fat Tax
Fax Tax … Fat Tax
Where’s it going?
The signs ensnare
stain the road to nowhere
on a fucking shit train
Fat Tax … on tap
they gonna pin ya down on the fucking fat map
no more Shreddies
speed trap
pulling you over and checkin’ ya fat
and shat, strange twat
the support had been playin’ for nearly two hours they’re crap – all joke
I spent two fucking long around the shit bag of coke and railed up to the fence
rattlin’, main the pain
the chest is the shit habit’s name
autobahn straight up and down lanes
Fat Tax … Fat Tax
Fat Tax … Fat Tax
It’s a fucking guide dog mate
we crushed the red tomato with that chalkman cake
snore, cat burgular, break into your house
eyes wide shut like maneater
but without the blood and daft paintings
weird shit with horns
two days up a tree, perfect family
soundtrack ya life, one charger fits the lot
the queue for the pastries is always laced with no one
if I find out who the fuck you are
I’ll spread you in terror from my fucking terra jar
and I’ll rob ya shop like I did in the past
I don’t fucking care about respect you twat
like some lad twat
like a sad shop cunt lacing up trainers
no snorters, no starters, no life for you fat little cunt
blend into the shadows
into the bosom of the Broadmarsh
walk way, it’s so plain, it’s tense
the Fresh Prince of Bell End
Fat Tax … Fat Tax
Fat Tax … Fat Tax
Pooh postman, the envelope of zest
the beast sleeps but believe me it needs heads
throw it in the microwave, express the mess
signed, sealed and disgusting
Rustie Lee, breakfast telly, tutting
if I play another venue covered in stickers
where everybody chain smokes … it’s so No-No
Pixie fans in Frank Black land
who’s eaten all the pies you fat punk cunt rocker
you alternative white chocolate mocha
expert the pit that is promotion
a sea of stickers
I don’t care, images
black and white punk stickers
Fat Tax … Fat Tax
Rochester
Rochester town and down
Rochester town and down
That other place too
Where ya MP took the painting of beauty
And told you ‘look at this”
Separtist, pub racist, pub mavis
Ya cold beach is colder now
A banker has a pint in town
The emporer of fuck all man
Of matthew’s turkey roast, of history that scary ghost
Of meat and all of englands voting whites are beat
And fed, battery hens and ashtrays near the bed men
And Class, the opium of pride and fucking waz
Wee, messy underwear, society
Like cunts
Rochester
Rochester
Rochester
Town and down x2
Din din, time steals pockets of the public battle cry
Crusades, twitter serves up your lie
Of segregation and fuck off back to your own lands
These bodies are nothing but flesh and work hands
And the new army is you
The infantry is new and its you
It’s front liners have no minds and are legalized
Prix fix with a pret coffee and a marching stick till the end
Foot flow, drives my mind round the fucking bend
Din dins get ya din dins, custard and chocolate sponge
Din dins get ya din dins, custard and chocolate sponge
Rochester
Rochester
Rochester
Town and down x2
T.C.R.
Total Control Racing
I was supposed to be going out, that took ages
Kids are hardcore, aren’t they?
They don’t mess about
Madhouse, chit-chat, duties, more nappies
Then I manage to get out
The sharp night whistled around my coat,
as I motioned up to the main road
The wails of your offspring behind ya,
cracking window
It’s hard, innit, when you plan to do something
but at that moment you realise it’s not quite right
not really something you should be doing tonight
Well before me a few hellos,
expectant mums with blokes that I know
The bus whirred, £3.50 all-day ticket
but I knew deep down I wasn’t going to use it … later
T.C.R.
Total Control Racing
T.C.R.
Total Control Racing
I arrange my coat on the front seat and
blend it in with the low lighting
People on the way out too, talking
Everyone still looks like Ena Sharples and Ray Reardon
people need to move on, that ’50s look can do one
Elvis has definitely left the fucking building
I got a wine, large, shoved it down me, awful
I hate the 5.8
I thought about it,
I thought about his face when I asked
if he had any Rioja
He didn’t like it
Don’t look at me like that,
like you think I’m some wine twat
… I like it
I sit in me house a lot,
eventually you get an idea, little shit,
go and listen to some fucking garage punk,
you pointy little tit
T.C.R.
Total Control Racing
T.C.R.
Total Control Racing
The sofa sank, I couldn’t relax, I felt cramped
but luckily the table next to me got up and left
and apart from the eight empty pint glasses
they left on the table
I thought it was the better bet, more upright
I ain’t slouching, I’m not a beatnik
although, this pub did call for that kind of angle
I hate going out, going out is for young people
I can’t sit and enjoy a drink, I want the lot
Have you got any numbers?
And how much has he got?
The trappings of luxury can’t save you from the
nail-biting boredom of repetitive brain injury
The injury of your useless mind, stuck to the track
clinging onto years of, “That’s not yours that’s mine, give me it.”
Total Control Racing T.C.R. T.C.R.
Going round and round, under the bridges
slowing down, it’s all about technique
hand shandy chic, under five-seconds flat
the tragedy of the male-less fucking man
T.C.R.
Total Control Racing
T.C.R.
Total Control Racing
T.C.R.
Total Control Racing
T.C.R.
Total Control Racing
Total Control Racing
Total Control Racing
Reef of Grief
The old wall
The old wall
The old walls
The old walls and the silence in me
The way you scream and you ball at whatever you did
It’s never pleasant to show
But always pleasant in the chapters you flick through
And get through theres one and theres two
The orange fences blind me
The whirr of the cars and the rhtym of the street
The rain is always on show
Its ever present as the skyline wants to choke
All this hope, its lost let’s not joke
Wants to soak, all this hope, its lost lets not joke
I bought some flowers ya see
I placed em on the table and got down on one knee
But what you want you don’t get
Its probably better if we never hold this reef of much grief
And lead the street march from deceit
Hold this reef of our grief and lead the street march from belief
The reef of grief
The reef of grief
The reef of grief
Street march deceit
The reef of grief
The reef of grief
The reef of grief
Street march deceit
Deceit …
I got it canned near the ibis hotel
Up the road from the ruins of the roman cartel
Sun beat down I tried to match it
Ya match don’t light then try n scratch it
Sun beat down I tried to match it
Ya match don’t light then try n scratch it
Scratch it up left, mess it up right
Do the fucking fox trot anything ya like
Anything ya like
Anything ya like
Anything ya like
Anything ya like
The reef of grief
The reef of grief
The reef of grief
Street march deceit
The reef of grief
The reef of grief
The reef of grief
Street march deceit
Deceit
Deceit
Deceit
Robbin bastard
B.H.S.
It's at night when they come
When I'm alone
And not with anyone
Through the shouts and music
Of the crowd down the road boozin
Near the free car park, the bins
And the alley way of the Chinese restaurant
No 3 for 2
And No 4 for 1
'We're goin down like BHS while the able bodied vultures monitor and pick at us
We're going down and it's no stress i lay in hope for the knuckle draggin exodus
We're goin down like BHS while the able bodied vultures monitor and pick at us
We're going down and it's no stress
We're going down like BHS
I think about the heat as it lowers itself on me
past the closing hour when the light in my Phone starts to lose power
Through the karaoke it screams it's name you can't blame the betrayed, in the snakes and ladders, we are the baldrick’s son, and black adders
'We're goin down like BHS while the able bodied vultures monitor and pick at us
We're going down and it's no stress i lay in hope for the knuckle draggin exodus
We're goin down like BHS while the able bodied vultures monitor and pick at us
We're going down and it's no stress
We're going down like BHS
But oh oh oh oh oh
laying on a boat well what do you do
But oh oh oh oh oh
Laying on a boat mate look at you
Look at you
'We're goin down like BHS while the able bodied vultures monitor and pick at us
We're going down and it's no stress i lay in hope for the knuckle draggin exodus
We're goin down like BHS while the able bodied vultures monitor and pick at us
We're going down and it's no stress
We're going down like BHS
Second
Second x4
Why am I second to the boots I wear
Why am I second to my coat and hair
Why am I second to the car I got
My watch and my jeans and my polo top
Second x4
Why am I second to the holiday I booked
The colour of my skin when I get there drunk
Why am I second to the bread I buy
The coffee beans roasted at a heat I like
Second x4
I Said
Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten.
2nd, 3RD, 4TH, 5TH, 6Th,7th, 8th, 9TH, 10TH
Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten.
2nd, 3RD, 4TH, 5TH, 6Th,7th, 8th, 9TH, 10TH
Second x4
Why am I second to the guilt in me
Why am I second to it’s big Genie
Why am I second the mess out there
Of a landscape stared of a real care
Second x4
I said…
Second just below first in a landscape gunning for obedience
Second just below first in a landscape gunning for obedience
Im in no state, just a state-full ranking, full ranking!
I said
Second just below first in a landscape gunning for obedience
Second just below first in a landscape gunning for obedience
Im in no state, just a state-full ranking, full ranking!
Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten.
2nd, 3RD, 4TH, 5TH, 6Th,7th, 8th, 9TH, 10TH
Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten.
2nd, 3RD, 4TH, 5TH, 6Th,7th, 8th, 9TH, 10TH
I said
Second!
OBCT
You know the fakes will always bite
Whenever you go throw the line, fishing
gudeons and perch
All draped in sponsorships and huggin self
worth, like me.
You know the fakes who hide behind
The little myth’s that like to chime for em
All grit and dirt
Until the mask falls off and what you got
is, sesame street, big bird.
you cant be splashing
you got no fins
youre getting salty
you aint a fish
You know now I just fantasize
In an house three times the size of my old
one
And I pretend that it don’t matter
Past Oliver Bonas in my Chelsea tractor
you cant be splashing
you got no fins
youre getting salty
you aint a fish
Your getting shirty
Ya cheeky cuff
Is getting dragged Round by its sleeves.
Break
you cant be splashing
you got no fins
youre getting salty
you aint a fish
Your getting shirty
Ya cheeky cuff
Is getting dragged Round by its sleeves.
Break.
When You Come Up To Me
If ya don’t want to stay and
If ya don’t want them to question you
Lay him on his side don’t freak while
the eyes roll back into bone n the mouth is blue
Maybe it’s the way we feel and
I wanna love the sky and the universe
But that don’t get the door round here
It don’t even come close too.
If ya don’t want nobody
If ya don’t want anyone to come through
I can understand it would be
Something you don’t like when I brush up to you
If ya don’t want that feature
If it’s not right you can skip any beat
And you’d understand it would be
Something I don’t like when you come up to me.
What is in the fold of pleasure ?
Making it the point cos you never let go
The sun is nailed hard to the weather
It rips up the cars and the homes and the roads
No triple just in board Red yea
And people don’t know what it is to be
Living off the dins and stink yea
Living off the puke in the rolled Dead Sea
If ya don’t want nobody
If ya don’t want nobody with you
I can’t understand that fully
I get like it to when I brush up to you
If ya don’t want no feature
If ya don’t want no cover, no cool
I can understand it kills ya
I get like it to when I brush up to you.