Lyrics
The corner wakes everbody up
Especially the me first waitin' to jump
Midnight snipers, prowlin' the shopping centre whilst it's quiet
Whilst the flowerman sets up
Braggin' about the money he's got
The petite bourgeoisie with his new van
And fuckin' plantin' pots, brown plastic
The man always acts fantastic
Tesco extra and a real bad cough
That stinks of microwaved rice with beef stroganoff
The struggle in words, swivel servant
The struggle in words, swivel servant
The war torn lino on the toilet floor
And the way the decorator's mate blens it all in
We are caged, tryin' to pick preferences out the unlucky bin
Strangers grunt and make a mess near the fuckin' sink
Tuck my shirt in, shrunk from too much washin'
20 quid, ya get what you give
And I'm not talkin' 'bout that twat either
The wind blows on the favoured
Who managed to grease the eager machine, eager beaver
The struggle in words, civil servant
The struggle in words, swivel servant
Adjust my tie, I hate this lie
The struggle in words, swivel servant
I can't see it, ranges from pick you nose and do something else
To, I just can't fuckin' believe it
Can't you like it, or can't you like it?
The Club of Rome holds two grapes
And they belong to me, mate
I got the option to cycle and get fit
Get the bus, taxi, walk it
Roundabouts, cogs
Blocked, Audi T4, Some twat on a fix
Everybody looks like they got it
The strugglin' words, swivel servant
The strugglin' words, swivel servant
Adjust my tie, I hate this lie
The strugglin' words, swivel servant
Adjust my tie, I hate this lie
Adjust my tie, I hate this lie
Adjust my tie, I hate this lie
The strugglin' words
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
