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Future Of The Left
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Anchor
Sobriaty demands,
that my face ignore my hands,
that my sweat destroy my grip,
and leave me at the mercy of crows.
There's money in it,
Baking in the shit of a Saturday night,
At last, a drunken love,
Now geddem boys....
(no-one no-one no-one no-one, noonenoone, no-one no-one no-one no-one, noonenoone, no-one no-one no-one no-one, noonenoone, no-one no-one no-one no-one)
No one will, no one will, no one will know.
No one will tell if you carry it well.
No one will care if you throw the bottles in your neighbours garden twice a week.
No one will, no one will, no one will know.
No one will tell if you carry it well.
No one will care if you throw the bottles in your neighbours garden twice a week.
(Twice a week)
Force my tongue down the back of her throat,
In a silent place.
Camp cams and atlantic winds,
Waiting for a biblical flood.
I've got nothing on it,
An intern has got nothing on me,
I crack the code on the second go,
Dragging my fists on the beggers...
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(boys)
But no one will, no one will ever know
No one will, no one will ever know
no one will, no one will ever know
Drain yourself on Wednesday, prepare your liver for the weekend.
Drain yourself on Wednesday, a midnight weed again.
Drain yourself on Wednesday, prepare your liver for the weekend.
Drain yourself on Wednesday, a midnight weed again.
No one will, no one will, no one will know.
No one will tell if you carry it well.
No one will care if you throw the bottles in your neighbours garden twice a week.
No one will, no one will, no one will know.
No one will tell if you carry it well.
No one will care if you throw the bottles in your neighbours garden twice a week.
twice a week.
twice a week.
twice a week.
twice a week.
twice a week.
twice a week.
twice a week.
twice
twice
twice
twice
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