Sleaford Mods - Out There lyrics

Out there I run my fingers through my hair I wanna tell the bloke that's drinking near the shop That it ain't the foreigners and it ain't the fu*kin Cov But he don't care I take up the right, left view and the road in front too And make up my mind, slide past you There's always animals singing on everyday No cars to drown the noise of this, yea Just queues for the clinic and 6ft conversation I don't wanna talk, innit I don't wanna talk to you, you c*nt You boring fu*king c*nt Looked grim Then all of a sudden I didn't give a sh*t about it and just became in Got in with it, didn't touch anything Just stared into a cold month with no people near it I got stunned but the ivy grew back nice on my back wall under that sun like, who was it? Necking soft drinks in a Sydney bar was just really good, won't it? Planes flying dead low So warm and people taking sh*t on Mandy Not me though Out there I run my fingers through my hair I wanna tell the bloke that's drinking near the shop That it ain't the foreigners and it ain't the fu*kin Cov But he don't care Why's this c*nt got police protection? He wasn't even running in the last election I bet his partner at night sez things like "It's all for the good of your ideas" Putting milk in the bowls of his children's inevitable tears every morning Insane Watch 'em get depressed under the lockdown stress Little slap headed c*nt, get Brexit punched Let's get Brexit fu*ked by an horse's penis until its misery splits Ugly rich white men get shagged by it Squeak North London suburbs carry the pain in the bricks, religion and wheat MP's popping up like newly planted council trees Squeak squeak Out there I run my fingers through my hair I wanna tell the bloke that's drinking near the shop That it ain't the foreigners and it ain't the fu*kin Cov But he don't care Benches with RIP badges under swaying trees that kiss the energy damaged People underneath, same old same old, dug outs and old walks, footings Oh fu*k, story's about the origins of buildings, slight hills, panic behind the tills Rumble rumble, get the hot weather and some fu*ker got a beer or two Old firm hands unemployed, loitering You just get fu*king annoyed like, what? Drop kick ya silly ba*tards in my dreams that's about ya lot Mumble mumble, dragging out slight hills, more panic behind the tills Out there I run my fingers through my hair I wanna tell the bloke that's drinking near the shop That it ain't the foreigners and it ain't the fu*kin Cov But he don't care (Panic behind the tills) (Panic behind the tills) (Panic behind the tills) (Panic behind the tills)