|
Raise a glass now |
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To the person |
|
Who invented the word called scum |
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He was clever |
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Never foolish |
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And he knew where you came from |
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You're a bumbag |
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And a vexer |
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And you never let your standards slip |
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Cause your standards |
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Are so low-down |
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Like the pavement you find when you trip |
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But I won't trip over |
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Look over my shoulder |
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You won't get the better of me |
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The credit you owe me |
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Respect you don't show me |
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All makes the better for me |
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You look so good from afar |
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But you're just a bumbag |
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Yes, you are |
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You're a parasite |
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You're a virus |
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You only ever make mistakes |
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Like a leper |
|
Or a tapeworm |
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You only ever seem to take |
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Now you're livin' |
|
With your language |
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And everyone's avoiding you |
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Ask for money |
|
Ask for cigarettes |
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But it's all you ever seem to do |
|
But I won't trip over |
|
Look over my shoulder |
|
You won't get the better of me |
|
The credit you owe me |
|
Respect you don't show me |
|
All makes the better for me |
|
You look so good from afar |
|
But you're just a bumbag |
|
Yes, you are |
|
All my friend's heads |
|
Seem to go down |
|
Whenever you decide to turn up |
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Feel so sorry |
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For your parents |
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When they see your face, they must spew up |
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You're the black sheep |
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You're the distance |
|
You should keep your wits about you in town |
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Because one day |
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It could kill you |
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And your body never will be found |
