Lyrics:

PX CD
SS looks like SS without the line leather
Wallpaper in the lift
I still buy your shirt
Through the eye of a needle
The red blood of history
At your disposal
High heels, Evel Knievel
A picture of Keef lookin' like a twat
Who cares about rock stars anymore?
Big leather chairs and panelled walls in Tudor flats
It gave birth to a million street alcoholics
That you ignore
Ooh, I need a D-string from the guitar store
I'm turnin' over a new leaf
There's no drugs left on this one
Plastic belly, 'Oooh, my gawd, Sharif.'
Opinionated trainees
You've had ya 15 minutes on Facebook
Where the garden of splendour fell all over ya
You loved it
Print the A4 page
Print the A4 page ...
Ah fuck off!
Sir Paul, you can find binspiration in everything
The recyclable black bins
Bags of dog shit
Angels sing

New bragues, do a selfie
Quick, do it in the design office
This place looks sick
Better than your own house
Anything's better than ya own house
The Lamp in Sneino is better than your own house
Get a quick giggle out of the unfortunate drinking
Holes of the lower classes
It's muggins after ten by the angry underclasses
'What y'got?'
'Nothin'.'
'Don't looke like it.'
'Oi, what you got?'
'Nothin'.'
'It don't look like it.'
Stuck on repeat with a broken nose and robbery
Beat Street

Sir Paul, you can find binspiration in everything
The recyclable black bins
Bags of dog shit
Angels sing