Chaw, chaw, hmm

Weaning it on my angle, you fucking satanistIts not a Pentangle, Arthur

No druids, out of date barrel fluids

I go large for a pound and regret it

Greasy, a sharp contrast from my newly adopted organic nice mate

Easy variety is the lie of life, no lonely hearts club

Just a lonely collection of moose-face bastards

Miliband got hit with the ugly stick, not that it matters

The chirping cunt obviously wants the country in tatters

They all do, two arms, two legs, fuck you

Fuck you all, we don′t want radio play

We're not fucking Cannon and Ball

Smashed houses, super farts

Ta, ra, ta, ra, la, la, la, shit trousers

That′s the angle

That's the angle

Wobbly chops, wobble at you

Firm men snot the chop, I'll dob ya

Arthur, side car mayhem

Cold streets, the hum of the traffic lights

Peddle bikes, do what you want, ya what nat?

Have it dom, I can′t eat any more bought in cakes

That taste like koala waste

Eucalyptus, you can fuck off

I pick blackberries near the old contact centre

The smell of late summer in spring, we step, they stop

Advancement is only regarded as a good day in the money shop

Cheques got cashed, nowhere money in nowhere land

That′s the angle

That's the angle

That′s the angle

Donors appear as hate

But in the old days you had to lead a group of men up a hill

And got 'em shot by the locals mate

Not now, now money murders

We put our souls in nursery for the day

Pick ′em up after work, take 'em home

Try ′n get 'em in bed tucked up before 10 o'clock

Good drones, organic, the new church donation .org

The virtual soap box in the park

You got a mouthful, justify the nouce, spit ya venom

The rulers don′t care it′s still the 70's

And they laugh at our ugly double denim

We are the wooden horses on wooden race courses at fairs

The top prize is damaged organs and nobody cares

Death before your contact extension, puke on you

They will assist in matters that don′t fucking interest you

Keep it going

Mumbling procedure over the phone into ears that are having a seizure

The seizure isn't actually a physical crack

It′s your body trying to take itself back

From rules, rules on mules in backpacks

Over mountains that only exist in your mind trap

Crevice, green bins terrace, steak club Tuesday

Gets Ales called Mother of Ruby, five point eight

I ruined my first pint of Abbott getting two of those fucking things in mate

Battered in a blanket of cheap meat, tweet

I been on line since 2006

My login is Jason-wants-to-know-why-he-can't-fuckin′-log-in-Keith

Back office it, pass it on

Fuck 'em, they can sort the problem (problem)

The angles right, it's ′ere tonight

Basement revs my dreams

Of bitter minds on seats with pints

In quiet streets

The angles right, it′s 'ere tonight

Basement revs my dreams

Of bitter minds on seats with pints

In quiet streets

In quiet streets

In quiet streets

Asacha, hmm!

In quiet