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[Verse 1: Kate Tempest] You left your face in the crotch of a bad night Your morals are a flea-bitten rug on the floor and these people are lads mags Speaking cliches in their glad rags holding back the flood, sandbags It used to be alright round here, said Grandad But now he’s staggering around and he’s looking for a Poundland And all he found was ‘exposed’ beans and no ketchup Sriracha and eggs for twelve-fifty, etcetera Bargaining with hardening arteries the marketing barks at us It’s hard to trust anything asked of us Gambling with nothing but a handful of temazepam And strangling a mannequin for minutes before managing to extricate yourself And back to business, back to dangling the carrot on the stick Your teeth are rattling like tambourines It’s an intravenous ambushing Adidas with the candlestick Ripped between her fingers for the kiddies that believed it Man, these imbeciles are leaders And they’re quick to spread diseases when they interface and every other Beavis on the internet is eager to be visible Even in the middle of another metaphysical discovery, it’s pitiful performances Slapstick, jack-of-all-trades and opinionated Autobots, an awful lot to say Hmm It’s so real when you skin yourself alive Unsubscribe And all your friends say: “Skin yourself alive!” Unsubscribe [Verse 2: Jam Baxter] The receding hairline left the face tats hanging on his forehead on crags of his skin shrouded in fog Between the red wrinkles read, “LOVE, SEX, DEATH” in a child’s font He stirred and murmured out to my squad… His ghouls found him a job mopping the floors with his enormous absorbent eyes Clogged with Insta models in shorts flogging the corpse of the rave with daddy’s walking stick Stop hogging the aux, man… So here’s to the rabid dog on the porch, drooling at obese little piglets popping their corks That shoot for the city streets where children rob them for sport Shoving in wet cement into every bottomless thought We’ll line our arteries with all of you one day Specks of fat splatter the skinny little alleyways round here No one answers your ringing eardrums Eye sockets set to vibrate… So bell the delivery drug man for the third time and transform from starlet to addict in the swing of a car door Melted skin slop on the passenger seat fizzes and pops We found God on the corner at half-four... I thought you were hardcore in your barbed wire running shoes Now you leave a telltale trail of blood and booze every time your muscles move Skin rifles through a hundred hues and settles on swamp green, eternally fitting… And they became the insects drowning in their craft beers that barely crawled out of the sum of her last year alive Unsubscribe And all your friends say: “Skin yourself alive!” Unsubscribe