Manic Street Preachers - Yes lyrics

You can buy her, you can buy her This one's here, this one's here This one's here, and this one's here Everything's for sale For sale? Dumb c*nt's same dumb questions Virgins? Listen, all virgins are liars honey And I don't know what I'm scared of or what I even enjoy Dulling, get money, but nothing turns out like you want it to And in these plagued streets of pity you can buy anything For £200 anyone can conceive a God on video He's a boy, you want a girl so chop off his co*k Tie his hair in bunches, f** him, call him Rita if you want I eat and I dress and I wash and I still can say thank you Puking, shaking, sinking I still stand for old ladies Can't shout, can't scream, hurt myself to get pain out I 'T' them, 24/7, all year long Purgatory's circle, drowning here, someone will always say yes Funny place for the social, for the insects to start caring Just an ambulance at the bottom of a cliff In these plagued streets of pity you can buy anything For 200 pounds anyone can conceive a God on video He's a boy, you want a girl so chop off his co*k Tie his hair in bunches, f** him, call him Rita if you want, if you want I eat and I dress and I wash and I can still say thank you Puking, shaking, sinking I still stand for old ladies Can't shout, can't scream, I hurt myself to get pain out Power produces desire, the weak have none There's no lust in this coma even for a fifty Solitude, solitude, the 11th commandment The only certain thing that is left about me There's no part of my body that has not been used Pity or pain, to show displeasure's shame Everyone I've loved or hated always seems to leave And in these plagued streets of pity you can buy anything For 200 pounds anyone can conceive a God on video He's a boy, you want a girl so chop off his co*k Tie his hair in bunches, f** him, call him Rita if you want, if you want Power produces desire, the weak have none There's no lust in this coma even for a fifty Solitude, solitude, the 11th commandment Don't hurt, just obey, lie down, do as they say May as well be heaven this hell, smells the same These sunless afternoons I can't find myself