didn't give you something to be proud about
if you come up the hard way they remind you every day:
'you're nothing'
my words in your moth are mumbled all about
you're like a tabloid journalist
the way you cut and paste and twist: you're awful
go and tell it to your king, tell him everything
tell him you know how I feel tell him you know how I feel
at the palace gates when I'm all levered off my face
and I can work out what it's not about
and see snakes in eyes and a million danger signs
if you come late you shouldn't dare complain
and you won't like this at all
there's nothing to break your fall
and you know how I feel out of place
until I'm levered off my face....
