My Music

Yah

I couldn't give a toss about your shit tunes

You fat bastard

Fuck you

Game show host

Thinks he's Quincy Jones

In reissued ?

Close linked with the sheep

They're everywhere

Selling you expensive clothes

Serving you drinks

Or giving a consultation

Over your flaky fashion hair

You are not obsessed with music

You are obsessed with the idea

Of being obsessed with music

I think you're starting to lose it

Why don't you get on a Wham! angle

Choose life

Don't choose music

My music

Don't choose music

My music

Don't choosе music

My music

Countless promises

Donkey's carrot

Your victoriеs are few

This ain't Rome

You accuse people

Of trying to be mysterious

Well look at you

The monopoly isn't yours

It's a game anyone can play

I'll be throwing pint glasses

At your bedroom window

When I'm doing lager shits

On your pretty park lane

Comic plaster two black eyes

What's happened to you?

The casino, Kato

I don't need to be running around

Looking like Inspector Clouseau

But I will

Any kind of trust, friendship

It will be walked over

I am a sex addict

It's a modern phenemenon

I'm a wanker

I'm shagging your missus

In a dirty flat

You hold the camera

Cause this is Ben Dover

You are not obsessed with music

You are obsessed with the idea

Of being obsessed with music

I think you're starting to lose it

Why don't you get on a Wham! angle

Choose life

Don't choose music

My music

Don't choose music

My music

Don't choose music

My music

There's no glory in beating down the door

Of repetition

Don't dress it up

Buy a map embrace your soul

For the awful unfolding scene

Of the future

Bona fide recognition

I'm getting hot wires crossed

Sheer frustration

Why doesn't my key

Fit in the fucking ignition?

Unemployment, stress

Binges in dingy rooms

In an unforgiving city

Redeployment

Only to find I much preferred

Unemployment

And the feeling of you never know

What's going to happen next

It's 34 degrees

I'm wearing a pair of crap shorts

And a seven year old vest

The exam went well but

I failed the pissing test

What a mess

What a fucking mess

More is less

Because we are the flatland mods

In 1962 we kicked it off

And the West End jazz cafes

Get all the recognition

Phil Daniels didn't help matters

He should have had an accent

From the East Midlands

The King's Road always gets the perqs

But it don't work

Like riding a PX from Stamford

All the way to Lisbon

I love you ?

Come out of that dark patch

Now lets rule Nottingham

They never even saw us coming

Cause I sing loud and proud for Black Gibson