Return Of The Sharp Heads

You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers Who rate yourselves You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers In beige lapels I'll sit back and admire how much you hate yourself You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers You total cunts Childlike in every fucking way Shit me up anyway A sad lunch face, the pasteurised Unusual-looking models Nihilism toffs, your face is curdled And all these roads that lead to Allbarone And the fashion firing squad The moon-kissers, the party-starters The succession people, the absolute Return of the sharp heads and dainty-fingered cunts Hey, where are you? Where is this? Who are you? Is this the wrong floor? Is this the wrong floor? Ah! You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers Who rate yourselves You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers In beige lapels I'll sit back and admire how much you hate yourself You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers You total cunts Pleated, unwashed, stubbly communists Signet ring, boiler suits Vintage cashmere, inappropriate love-maker I'll sit and commit to write down and fight and bathe And what was never said, but I'll say it anyway S.S. Trousers and charity-shop haircuts Big fat lovers, big fat Olympic, Ozempic hips Your slippy knees, offensive neck Crew me up, tie me down, love me forever Love me (love me), love me (love me), love me (love me) Hey, where are you? Where is this? Who are you? Is this the wrong floor? Is this the wrong floor? Ah This world might mean something to you If you make an effort with these soul-fuckers Gold lapels Stop that laughing This world might mean something to you If you make an effort with these soul-fuckers Gold lapels Stop that laughing