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Nine times fined |
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Never mind |
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Things can only improve |
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We are just stood here |
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Waiting for the next great wound |
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And we just can't wait to make more mistakes |
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And to fluff our breaks, and to stuff our faces with cake |
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All in all, imagine this : |
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Nobody loves us |
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Dab-hands at trouble |
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With four days of stubble, we are |
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Never loosen the grip on our hand |
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Call us home |
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Kiss our cheeks |
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Nobody loves us |
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So we ... oh ... we tend to please ourselves |
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People think all we do |
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Is lie around and think of how |
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Rich we'd be if we didn't think |
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Life could improve |
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And we just can't wait to make more mistakes |
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And we just can't wait till the whole thing blows up in our face |
|
Call us home |
|
Kiss our cheeks |
|
Nobody loves us |
|
Dab-hands at trouble |
|
With four days of stubble, we are |
|
So, never loosen the grip on our hand |
|
Call us home |
|
Make our tea |
|
Nobody loves us |
|
So we ... oh ... we tend to please ourselves |
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Call us home |
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Tuck us in |
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Nobody wants us |
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Dreamers and schemers |
|
All pie-eyed, and bog-eyed, and cross-eyed |
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Oh, never loosen the grip on our hand |
|
Whack us, then |
|
Hug us hard |
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Nobody loves us |
|
So we ... oh ... we tend to please ourselves |
|
And we just can't stress, oh, how more the mess |
|
And complete distress won't make much difference to us |
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Sing us our |
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Favourite song |
|
Nobody loves us |
|
Born-again athiests |
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Practising troublemakers |
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Make us our |
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Favourite jam |
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Nobody loves us |
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Useless and shiftless |
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And jobless |
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But we're all yours |