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worm your way through the tube up the anthill of arseholes gawping at their shoes like you have some kind of divine right to
round in the ant death circle there's some bad lad in front to follow loops-and-traps maze see the end of days in the back of someone's shoulder blades
tearing them a new one every morning
waking up on a hiding to nothing
cannot stop that slop bucket of eyes apouring down upon your face
down blackfriars bridge the thames has swollen to a globus she's not worth her wait in shit she's as small as an acorn
tearing them a new one every morning
waking up is a hiding to nothing
cannot stop the slop bucket uploading up your face

can;t get no satisfaction unless i string you up and do time gut every slum landlord and put an end to your family line

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Sing What Happens London, UK

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