Lyrics
Next new message, received today at 3:15pm
Fucking dick, it's like I need BPMs for beats
I'm at the studio, sort me out, ring me on this number, bye
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
I've been sniffing drugs and writing raps all on my own again
My nose has bled and everything I know is screaming "go to bed"
A 50/50 balance, ask an audience to phone my friends
I'm talking to an open drawer with drawing pins and frozen pens
Spider grabs are forming in the thoughts within my broken head
Lately I'm a slave to coke or maybe I'm just so depressed
Either way, I'll rearrange the demons in my leaky brain
And try to speak the truth on every beat and never seem insane
But I've been punching double-glazed windows in the street again
As pieces break I see the mirrored images of me in pain
It's getting weird, weirder than the prison is unless she's here
An ever-climbing lesson of respect in what you head or fear
Never beer, cut the middleman and swig a pint of gin
And dribble liquid nitrogen until my little eyeballs spin
I think of this delightful spinning individual life we live
And sink into a minefield of simpletons and silent pricks
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Return of the twat, return of the twat
Yo, you can't say that, I fucking say what I want
You pricks couldn't stop me with a mace in my gob