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  • 專輯:English Tapas
  • 歌手: Sleaford Mods
  • 發行時間:2017.03
  • 作詞:Jason Williamson
  • 作曲:Andrew Fearn
  • 編曲:
  • 分類:西洋

歌詞

錯誤回報

Why they got tellies
in pubs?
Keep us munched on second-hand grub
Second-hand tales, I'm fired up
Two pints for a fiver, crook
What's me: am I a tortoise or a cuddly bear?
When life isn't anything 'til you start drinkin' there
No truths, just a selection of memories in bars you knew
I'm glad I was born when I was
I get to see the right once again look like knobs
Like what? It's not hard is it, you token chop
Freeze-wrapped, nine for a quid in Bejams
, the lot
Royal Dutch lines
You fat bastard
You English crimes

You fat bastards
You fat bastards
You fat bastards
You fat bastards

Carlton touts

The angel of the midlands has flown away
Probably south
You can't blame her
When the future is a flag pissed on
And a king-sized bag of quavers


Carlton touts
The angel of the midlands has flown away
Probably south
You can't blame her
When the future is a flag pissed on
And a king-sized bag of quavers

I stroke a roll-up outside
Tryin' to put a memory to the face that has just said "hi"
Clouds are low, like the general mood
Tempers cookin' up from the inside
We are the microwaved food
And I'm not in the mood
The Labour Party is a three-quid tube of vending machine smarties
At the airport, where check-in could be check-out
What the fuck is happ'nin'?
Bring back the neolibs, I'm sorry
I didn't fuckin' mean to pray for anarchy
They're all gaggin' for a bit o' fame
So of course they're fuckin' off
You don't become a toff
by going against the toff
Where's the anti-toff?
We ain't got none
Have you recognised the needle in your own arm, cunt?
I have, but so what?
You can't beam me up, I'm not Captain Spock

You can't sell me stuff on the rotten rock
I've got a store-card, bastard
I'm this months Top Shop


Carlton touts
The angel of the midlands has flown away
Probably south
You can't blame her
When the future is a flag pissed on
And a king-sized bag of quavers

Carlton touts
The angel of the midlands has flown away
Probably south
You can't blame her
When the future is a flag pissed on
And a king-sized bag of quavers

Carlton touts
Carlton touts
Carlton touts
Carlton touts