Imprimer - Paroles Mania

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!

From Paroles Mania