Right in the centre of Hove, Next to an escalator, Someone has hidden a bomb Underneath a plastic chair But he can't put his finger on it: He'll never be that kind of man. He'll die in his bed on a summer's night With his hand on his favourite thing. Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes. Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes. Maybe it's a natural phase, Comedy has taken its toll. No-one is totally lost, Nobody is out of control. There are words he could use to describe it, Metaphors he should have applied. He'll die in his bed on a summer's night
With his hands on his adequate bride. Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes. Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes. Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala. Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala. Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala. Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala. Smile! Smile! Smile, we're waiting for it. Smile, we're waiting for Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes. Those kids, I swear, drink Nike, yes. Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala. Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala. Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala. Smile-alalalalalalalalalalala.