Jamie T - Pacemaker текст песни

Juveniles, hide your porno mags
The girl’s got problems at her yard, so she’s packing up her bags full of rags
Her man got done from Po Na Na
While the Madras still in the kitchen smokes a twenty deck of fags
Body bags come back off planes from war-torn Iraq
It’s the stark naked truth, a dark aftermath
With baby T, the juice, and the dog just barks
Remember, man, the bully always had the last laugh
It was a blast last night down the old 12 Bar
White socks, black shoes with the ballads in the car
With a lump in your throat she won’t understand
Two’s on a cigarette and talk, blah blah
Bloody hell, di-ob-li-da, glug down liquor
Life goes on for all the day trippers
Starts off small but it’s gonna get bigger
By the end of this letter, it may all be better
Well, she’s always asking with the who, where and how
The girls say «ooh, la la»
Well if I had another chance I’d do it differently now
And the girls say «ooh, la la la la la la»
From Trafalgar Square where the crack pipe reeking
To in your dark damp flat, the ceiling’s leaking
You fell in love when you first started chatting
But got so bored 'cause she never stopped speaking
Consider this son one of bad behaviour
He’s keeping all the freebies, delivering the papers
You haters shake down fakers
Ah, you’ll never get nowhere, 'cause I’m the pacemaker
Pretty please me, ah she’s easy on the eye
Some say that today only the good young die
Yippee-oh ki-yay, it’s been a right good day
I wanna ask questions but I don’t mean to pry
How did you get to where you’re going to before you came Slowly moseying
through this bar?
You started your race, Johnny cock-a-roo wants his money
Better give up the man, he’s a fruit and nut bar
(I'm serious, he’s a real nutter)
Gotta see the GP, coughing up lungs
And the doc said, «Stop, boy, you’re gonna die young»
Well, I haven’t even started to do what I done
«You, young don’t listen, you just carry on»
Well, we heard it all before when your song got sung
«Get a grip, son» «Why?» «'Cause you always drunken»
We’re not captains, just skivvy sunken
Hum drum drum drum, live fast, die young
Blister skin stumbling, road rocky
And trespassers on the private property
Remember back then it was the rant, the banter
Young songs watch their young pa’s get cancer
Vagabond Sandy crying out for a nista
Missed her so much that he went drank the brewery
Well sing-a-long Sam, this a song about you
We all went out and we got pistola
I don’t wanna fight, he’s a right big cunt
But the fellas say «Go on, my son, my son!»
Well, it’s all a bit of fun 'til someone gets done
But the fellas say «Go on, my son, my son!»
Well, I’m more likely to pick up and run
But the fellas say «Go on, my son, my son!»
Ah, fuck it, well he’s a right big cunt but I’ll knock him one
Fuck that, run, run!