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• Artiste: Shriekback
• Titre: Troublemeat
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It's a wild thing, a brittle thing Some know it as the instrument of yearning It knows you will capitulate You're beeswax and the forest fires are burning You can have a lot mates Break a lot of plates Make it to the end in one piece but it's still a mystery It's not some mighty vision It's more a dirty polaroid of history This thing has claws and poison spores This is a dirty bomb that blows off all the doors It's what they call the troublemeat The troublemeat It's a no-large-potato-thing But all your good sense cannot hold a candle It's another pissing contest 'Tween the Devil and the nice guy in the sandals You wanna say it's on the blink, put it in the sink Take it to the landfill then go home and take a shower It leaves its greasy tidemark In a place your cleaning products cannot scour This bitch got wheels It mass appeals And you will surely not remember how it feels That's why they it's called the troublemeat The troublemeat It's an unprepossessive thing A livid boil upon the arse of reason It fucks with me perpetually The filthy little monkey in its season You can file away your teeth Get up on the heath Howling in the pouring rain and find out who will listen I don't like to admit it I sometimes think I live just for this frission It licks its lips, swivels its hips You think it's elegant but it's as cheap as chips This lousy thing called troublemeat The troublemeat