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My Music Lyrics - Artist : Sleaford Mods
Yah
I couldn't give a toss about your shit tunes You fat bastard Fuck you Game show host Thinks he's Quincy Jones In reissued [?] Close linked with the sheep They're everywhere Selling you expensive clothes Serving you drinks Or giving a consultation Over your flaky fashion hair You are not obsessed with music You are obsessed with the idea Of being obsessed with music I think you're starting to lose it Why don't you get on a Wham! angle Choose life Don't choose music My music Don't choose music My music Don't choose music My music Countless promises Donkey's carrot Your victories are few This ain't Rome You accuse people Of trying to be mysterious Well look at you The monopoly isn't yours It's a game anyone can play I'll be throwing pint glasses At your bedroom window When I'm doing lager shits On your pretty park lane Comic plaster two black eyes What's happened to you? The casino, Kato I don't need to be running around Looking like Inspector Clouseau But I will Any kind of trust, friendship It will be walked over I am a sex addict It's a modern phenemenon I'm a wanker I'm shagging your missus In a dirty flat You hold the camera Cause this is Ben Dover You are not obsessed with music You are obsessed with the idea Of being obsessed with music I think you're starting to lose it Why don't you get on a Wham! angle Choose life Don't choose music My music Don't choose music My music Don't choose music My music There's no glory in beating down the door Of repetition Don't dress it up Buy a map embrace your soul For the awful unfolding scene Of the future Bona fide recognition I'm getting hot wires crossed Sheer frustration Why doesn't my key Fit in the fucking ignition? Unemployment, stress Binges in dingy rooms In an unforgiving city Redeployment Only to find I much preferred Unemployment And the feeling of you never know What's going to happen next It's 34 degrees I'm wearing a pair of crap shorts And a seven year old vest The exam went well but I failed the pissing test What a mess What a fucking mess More is less Because we are the flatland mods In 1962 we kicked it off And the West End jazz cafes Get all the recognition Phil Daniels didn't help matters He should have had an accent From the East Midlands The King's Road always gets the perqs But it don't work Like riding a PX from Stamford All the way to Lisbon I love you [?] Come out of that dark patch Now lets rule Nottingham They never even saw us coming Cause I sing loud and proud for Black Gibson |
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