Cold Win

So a crunching bird flu signals another day Boss thinks I'm stubborn eh, but I wish she would button it New kicks, loving it, took me like two months But big things from cold feet, one squashed like butternut Outside the double dutch kiddies wait for chicken fix And I hate the lunch run, six months I'm out of here Saving up the pennies cos the city's too gritty And cooking french fries ain't pretty Can someone show me the way? I don't know this place I rose awake in a dream I need to go back before the sun goes down on my heart Before the sun goes down on my heart All my clothes smell of grease A night on holiday Break my back all week for Crumbs and abuse And I swear what's the use? Quick sip of Lucozade to pep up the bones And amp up Ramones And volume maximum I'm feeling like Maximus You know in that film? Film4 Tuesdays And highlight of the wicked week Complain til [?] bleak or some navy blue I don't know you [ - Ghostpoet] x 2