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• Artiste: Sleaford Mods
• Titre: Double Diamond
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Trends You know they come, you know they come and then they go You know they come, you know they come and then they go Trends You know they come, you know they come and then they go You know they come, you know they come and then they go Trends, trends You know they come, you know they come and then they go You know they come, you know they come and then they go You know they come and go These early mornings just fuck me up The smell of pale ale makes a man pale, duck I can't stand this fucking line anymore It's shit galore, workhouse And a knicker blocker glory, bocker I don't like puddings Dodging diamonds at sixteen revs per minute Here sits a big cock-faced bastard and he's over the fucking limit Tomato sauce it's a mushroom Looks really dirty on my fucking plate I got a fish bone hanging from my gob like a matchstick, mate The yellow streetlight, unleaded, diesel I start it up, ooh Pop goes the Pop goes the fucking weasel The A52, Saturday Nights Fever And why the fuck have you got a personal page on Wikipedia? You've done fuck all It's called the blag, Jason Oh, fuck the blag Yes, the blag Spinning dog shit, still smells really bad I don't like puddings I want big bum hole to suck me up Who goes there! It's Captain Cook from the planet I still don't know what the fuck I'm on about, duck Minimum cage Maximum cage For me and you Minimum cage Maximum cage Eat it These fucking drug dealers After about a year, they start to lose weight Sit down It's not my fucking problem, mate You see 'em out an' about, you can't have a laugh with these twats Just look at you like you're going on about something you shouldn't be going on about What are you gonna do? Why don't you get your main supplier over here, then? It won't take him five minutes Fucking wanker only lives in St Ann's Why don't you tell him I'm a sex worker He'll come over then In fact, why don't you tell him I'm a sex worker on crack, and I'm willing In fact, more than willing to be his slave To wither and worm, through the rotten soil of Nowhere Land To live on scraps fed from the palm of his hand Go and get your fucking man, chicken!