Sleaford Mods Dead Cities Lyrics
Dead Cities by Sleaford Mods
A pound in glass, y'know a pound don't last
Pair of boots and leather uppers
United in the sense that they're both a pair of
Filthy fuckers
Nineteen quid and that bird from Bulgaria wanted it
But I'm in love with you darlin'
It's a bit different
The pole's the one, slide up and down
But it's not connected to the ceiling properly
Makin' an horrible sound - I don't like her tits
I pause, and turn, drop another sambuca, two pints
The bouncer versus the Chelsea fans
Pilled up, playing snooker
The loo's fucked, I need a shit
I don't wanna follow through a
...bollocks to it!
What's up?
Here, just hold that will ya - just off to the loo again
Why, what's up?
WHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!
I've shit myself
...f'fuck's sake!
Dead cities
Dead cities
I'm gonna get filthed up
Dead cities
Dead cities
Ya can earn seventy quid on a Monday night
Sliding round a pole
In front of four or five rotting bits of bacon
Blokes that look like Dickie Davies
Smoking fags like it's the Seventies
Philip Morris' laid claim to every blocked up artery
In this place...
Philip mate, WE ARE YOURS!
We are yours for the taking
Promote yourself darling, put that jar down
Y'fit enough, get a job in town
I'll have another drink, my eyes feel their way around
This place is like the TARDIS
It never settles down
Boarded up, It's blue paint
I bet Stringfellas ain't
Russian birds like that advert on telly
Comin' at you in their hundreds
And I'm the man for the job
Dead cities
Dead cities
I'm gonna get filthed up
Dead cities
Dead cities
I'm a ranting merchant
Slipping from the edge of a pint
While my feet balance on the emergence
Of a new form of music
These songs are shit and I'm gonna lose it
The multi-coloured lights dictate the tower's height
Glass front town houses
Where rich men pull birds from browsers
This is your modern day safari
Apple Mac corpses
Let there be feeders
And catch the carvery
Pick that cinnamon swirl up off the floor
Shrink-wrap, germ-free, let's nick some more
Rubber buses and the bridge works
Strap-on city
I've done too much coke
Fuck!
There is no glory
And there is no hope
I live on Coronation Street
I don't need to watch it
Dead cities
Dead cities
I'm gonna get filthed up
Dead cities
Dead cities
Pair of boots and leather uppers
United in the sense that they're both a pair of
Filthy fuckers
Nineteen quid and that bird from Bulgaria wanted it
But I'm in love with you darlin'
It's a bit different
The pole's the one, slide up and down
But it's not connected to the ceiling properly
Makin' an horrible sound - I don't like her tits
I pause, and turn, drop another sambuca, two pints
The bouncer versus the Chelsea fans
Pilled up, playing snooker
The loo's fucked, I need a shit
I don't wanna follow through a
...bollocks to it!
What's up?
Here, just hold that will ya - just off to the loo again
Why, what's up?
WHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!
I've shit myself
...f'fuck's sake!
Dead cities
Dead cities
I'm gonna get filthed up
Dead cities
Dead cities
Ya can earn seventy quid on a Monday night
Sliding round a pole
In front of four or five rotting bits of bacon
Blokes that look like Dickie Davies
Smoking fags like it's the Seventies
Philip Morris' laid claim to every blocked up artery
In this place...
Philip mate, WE ARE YOURS!
We are yours for the taking
Promote yourself darling, put that jar down
Y'fit enough, get a job in town
I'll have another drink, my eyes feel their way around
This place is like the TARDIS
It never settles down
Boarded up, It's blue paint
I bet Stringfellas ain't
Russian birds like that advert on telly
Comin' at you in their hundreds
And I'm the man for the job
Dead cities
Dead cities
I'm gonna get filthed up
Dead cities
Dead cities
I'm a ranting merchant
Slipping from the edge of a pint
While my feet balance on the emergence
Of a new form of music
These songs are shit and I'm gonna lose it
The multi-coloured lights dictate the tower's height
Glass front town houses
Where rich men pull birds from browsers
This is your modern day safari
Apple Mac corpses
Let there be feeders
And catch the carvery
Pick that cinnamon swirl up off the floor
Shrink-wrap, germ-free, let's nick some more
Rubber buses and the bridge works
Strap-on city
I've done too much coke
Fuck!
There is no glory
And there is no hope
I live on Coronation Street
I don't need to watch it
Dead cities
Dead cities
I'm gonna get filthed up
Dead cities
Dead cities