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sleaford mods - under the plastic and nct lyrics

ryvita
ryvita
crack black pepper

comrades pick up your arms
the long arm of the lawn is indeed in charge
i won’t talk to nice people if they look rich
i know it’s not on mate, i’m such a f-ckin’ b-tch
surfing comments
lookin’ at the likes
whilst the coppers chase bandits through the top valley skies
to disagree on social networking sites
is to k!ll the counter-culture
the overturn has died
we pander to the camera
and we want to be observed
we dont get what we ask for
we get what we deserve
stale f-gs hang on my clothes like indie band badges
as i remember last night ignoring people i don’t like
trying to buy a pint
and what does it matter
what if i rot inside a care home
with eight of the b-st-rds
immobile with cr-p banter
oh look there’s angry j – wah heeeey!
give us a tinkle on the rattling joanna, mate

under the plastic and nct
of grained handmarks devour me
under the general weight of it all
exist impossible visions of you

it’s one of them ennit
the violent exit
let’s f-ckin’ bin it
ryvita existence
a pointless opposition to the fat
of pointless state resistance
and the state is no longer your voice
the mechanics hijacked by the lies
in false choice of a false f-ckin’ choice
tied up in death
i hate the terror
the horrible fear
whilst life knifes you as it screams:
“you got f-ck all left!”

under the plastic and nct
of grained handmarks devour me
under the general weight of it all
exist impossible visions of you

people might be in groups willingly
let ’em get on with it
you can’t expect people to listen to your f-cking
mouth just because you don’t believe in it
thousands of sat-rday lager bellies punching the air
denouncing the value of somebody else’s flag
whilst viciously believing in theirs
f-cking useless this well-trodden street
vague notions about the so-called elite
and that moulds spit trent bridge chaos
it’s not really is it?
cardboard heavies
drones to the delusions of a never-never land
where the cross rings out the orders
don’t let the mechanics of beer
trick you into thinking you are some kind of warrior
eating barbwire on the wave of violent disorder

three words:
cage, wheel, hamster

‘ere, here’s a bit of cheese
– nibble the b-st-rd!

under the plastic and nct
of grained handmarks devour me
under the general weight of it all
exist impossible visions of love

- sleaford mods lyrics

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