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lirik lagu out there – sleaford mods

[chorus]
out there
i run my fingers through my hair
i wanna tell the bloke that’s drinking near the shop
that it ain’t the foreigners and it ain’t the f*ckin cov
but he don’t care

[verse 1]
i take up the right, left view and the road in front too
and make up my mind, slide past you
there’s always animals singing on everyday
no cars to drown the noise of this, yea
just queues for the clinic and 6ft conversation
i don’t wanna talk, innit
i don’t wanna talk to you, you c*nt
you boring f*cking c*nt
looked grim
then all of a sudden i didn’t give a sh*t about it and just became in
got in with it, didn’t touch anything
just stared into a cold month with no people near it
i got stunnеd but the ivy grew back nice on my back wall undеr that sun like, who was it?
necking soft drinks in a sydney bar was just really good, won’t it?
planes flying dead low
so warm and people taking sh*t on mandy
not me though
[chorus]
out there
i run my fingers through my hair
i wanna tell the bloke that’s drinking near the shop
that it ain’t the foreigners and it ain’t the f*ckin cov
but he don’t care

[verse 2]
why’s this c*nt got police protection?
he wasn’t even running in the last election
i bet his partner at night sez things like
“it’s all for the good of your ideas”
putting milk in the bowls of his children’s inevitable tears every morning
insane
watch ’em get depressed under the lockdown stress
little slap headed c*nt, get brexit punched
let’s get brexit f*cked by an horse’s p*n*s until its misery splits
ugly rich white men get sh*gged by it
squeak
north london suburbs carry the pain in the bricks, religion and wheat
mp’s popping up like newly planted council trees
squeak squeak

[chorus]
out there
i run my fingers through my hair
i wanna tell the bloke that’s drinking near the shop
that it ain’t the foreigners and it ain’t the f*ckin cov
but he don’t care
[verse 3]
benches with rip badges under swaying trees that kiss the energy damaged
people underneath, same old same old, dug outs and old walks, footings
oh f*ck, story’s about the origins of buildings, slight hills, panic behind the tills
rumble rumble, get the hot weather and some f*cker got a beer or two
old firm hands unemployed, loitering
you just get f*cking annoyed like, what?
drop kick ya silly b*st*rds in my dreams that’s about ya lot
mumble mumble, dragging out slight hills, more panic behind the tills

[chorus]
out there
i run my fingers through my hair
i wanna tell the bloke that’s drinking near the shop
that it ain’t the foreigners and it ain’t the f*ckin cov
but he don’t care

[outro]
panic behind the tills
panic behind the tills
panic behind the tills
panic behind the tills

- sleaford mods

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