Blackbeard Was

[Intro] No... no... No... no... Oi, gunslinger Sling some of them guns over here Oi, gunslinger Lob some of them guns over here [Verse 1] I got no balls Evidently The cars miss each other On a roundabout that I can see The summer's on its arse I bang the word up to number ten If you think you're a dangerous villain, mate Well then, I'd actually think again, you're not Blackbeard was 'Cause everybody's writing tunes these days What ya doing tonight? Just mixing that tune over in, alright What ya doing tonight? Yeah, I'm just mixing that tune over in, alright Clueless bastards with wеll paid jobs Will not turn into Sly and Robbie Just because thеy've installed Ableton On their Mac's Yeah, ta da [Chorus] Herr Flick With a wooden arm Captain Pegleg With a bit of lip balm on Herr Flick With a wooden arm Captain Pegleg With a bit of lip balm on [Verse 2] I don't get by no more I just cause a sea of shit The eye of the tiger got slapped to fuck By the eye of the conniver's kick I'm Herr Flick with a wooden arm Captain Pegleg with a bit of lip balm on I'm about to fart, the waves part Plastic, fantastic A Colt 45, low alcohol, no stock Lawrie McMenemy turning in his grave He's still alive, is he? I'm a bag head, Dave Shut the fuck up, Dave The loneliness of the long distance runner I don't give a fuck what you think about me I'll make friends anywhere, I'm a stunner I got marching powder, it's a grey sheet And raindrops that lace houses of [?] To rock bottom obscurity on the bleak streets of Lenton It's bleak Yeah, ta da Fuck off back to your Wendy house Yeah, ta da [Chorus] Herr Flick With a wooden arm Captain Pegleg With a bit of lip balm on Herr Flick With a wooden arm Captain Pegleg With a bit of lip balm on [Verse 3] I got annoyed with it Here, gimme your tits out for twenty quid Admit it, signs of times, and I can't be arsed Bipolar depression, please You had too many sessions, ain't ya? On any type of drug 'Cause Radio 2 is gonna shake Russell Brand by the hand I'm sick of these fucking free spirits, you're not I met one once It was in a small glass at a party Where you didn't have to pay for anything And God, I wished I spent my time a little bit wiser I got no one now, man Just a few more holes in a belt It's gettin' a bit tighter Pain in my left lung, a dull ache The party's over for me The rebirth of cool was a miscarriage The journey home, the God's honest truth A passport, birth certificate Sixteen other forms of ID for further proof You wanna shoot me down? Well, fuckin' do it then This is the return of Skint Eastwood With a wrecked head Fuck off back to your Wendy house [Chorus] Herr Flick With a wooden arm Captain Pegleg With a bit of lip balm on Herr Flick With a wooden arm Captain Pegleg With a bit of lip balm on Yeah, ta da