|
White trim, big bling, bass bin |
|
pounding thru suburban hell |
|
All the curtains twitch |
|
(Nothing ever seems to change round here) |
|
Pub shut, half cut, kebab hut |
|
heaving with a clientele of legless wit |
|
(Everything is still the same round here) |
|
And it's always good seeing old friends, |
|
but I don't miss this place one bit |
|
Chorus (oohs) |
|
There's nothing to do |
|
You either get pissed up or you move |
|
It's hard to believe |
|
but you don't see it till you leave |
|
Until you leave |
|
V2 |
|
Same slang, kid gangs still hang out |
|
around the late night Spar, like we used to do |
|
(Nothing ever seems to change round here) |
|
School night, fistfight, Diamond White trying out the fake ID, sweating in the queue |
|
(Everyone wants to escape round here) |
|
And everything runs like clockwork and all hangs out when you stop work. |
|
Chorus (oohs) |
|
There's nothing to do, |
|
you either get pissed up or you move |
|
It's hard to believe |
|
but you don't see it till you leave |
|
Until you leave, |
|
Until you leave, |
|
Until you leave |
