Sleaford Mods I Don T Wanna Disco Or Two Lyrics
I Don't Wanna Disco Or Two by Sleaford Mods
[Sample]
From a very large number of computer rounds
Making various assumptions
A-Adopting various maxima and minima
There is in fact a terrible forecast
Of a breakdown of world society
In the first decades of the next century
[Intro]
Buh
The entertainment for the night
Watching a toilet swimming in piss
Who's gonna tip it over the edge?
You get a prize for it
People ripped to shreds by the whip of exploitation
Are deadened, bleeding
You failed in expectation
I walk around looking at all the toerags with no money
Which one's gonna pop me?
Break into the house
Nick the microwave
Stab me in the throat
Use my aftershave
Old Spice fucker
Mediocre
Mediocre
Mediocre, yeah, mate
I'm gonna blade you
Fuck the Maze
First blood
I put a bit of wet dog shit in your Un-
Drugged tits
Scaly faced boozed pricks
No experience equals no deliverance
I'm gonna tip yer canoe
Copious bollocks
We wanna get high
And we wanna get loaded
And then we're gonna cry
And moan about the fucker
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
World interiors
And balti restaurants
Five [?] food and wine
Eight pound on two pints
I got a fag off the barman
Moody Friday
Stop trying to show off
It doesn't matter where I got my coat from mate
You what?
Look...
Just fuck off!
Rain stain callous
I want a pint and fight
I don't want to improve my fucking life for you
You make more money out of my existence than I do
I dodge the small towners
The music scene 'Think they are's'
Shit bands
You're all wankers
Grinderman bores
White funk snores (*snore*)
Good relationships with the industry donkeys and live down south
Talent forecasts
Shut yer mouth!
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
Pukka pies
Meal deal with a drink
Five Ninety-Nine
Pot-bellied promoters
Cheap coasters
I can't get the fucking stain off
You know the song's shit
I like it
So what?
That's why I fucking wrote it
Blasé
Make yer cleg nuts fight the loo roll, mate
'Hey hey hey' fever
Pete Wiley dog shit
Singer turner DJs
Fucking nonsense
Just a quick quid
Useless like Rick Pete
Slow death in stone island
Alcohol
Down the fucking orange tree
Strawberry fields forever
Fucking, what dog shit
Christmas log
Jog on
Mystical face twat headlines
Look at the wisemen sing
I'm flash
Here's the ball
I beat your fucking soldiers up ming
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
[Outro]
From a very large number of computer rounds
Making various assumptions
A-Adopting various maxima and minima
There is in fact a terrible forecast
Of a breakdown of world society
In the first decades of the next century
[Intro]
Buh
The entertainment for the night
Watching a toilet swimming in piss
Who's gonna tip it over the edge?
You get a prize for it
People ripped to shreds by the whip of exploitation
Are deadened, bleeding
You failed in expectation
I walk around looking at all the toerags with no money
Which one's gonna pop me?
Break into the house
Nick the microwave
Stab me in the throat
Use my aftershave
Old Spice fucker
Mediocre
Mediocre
Mediocre, yeah, mate
I'm gonna blade you
Fuck the Maze
First blood
I put a bit of wet dog shit in your Un-
Drugged tits
Scaly faced boozed pricks
No experience equals no deliverance
I'm gonna tip yer canoe
Copious bollocks
We wanna get high
And we wanna get loaded
And then we're gonna cry
And moan about the fucker
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
World interiors
And balti restaurants
Five [?] food and wine
Eight pound on two pints
I got a fag off the barman
Moody Friday
Stop trying to show off
It doesn't matter where I got my coat from mate
You what?
Look...
Just fuck off!
Rain stain callous
I want a pint and fight
I don't want to improve my fucking life for you
You make more money out of my existence than I do
I dodge the small towners
The music scene 'Think they are's'
Shit bands
You're all wankers
Grinderman bores
White funk snores (*snore*)
Good relationships with the industry donkeys and live down south
Talent forecasts
Shut yer mouth!
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
Pukka pies
Meal deal with a drink
Five Ninety-Nine
Pot-bellied promoters
Cheap coasters
I can't get the fucking stain off
You know the song's shit
I like it
So what?
That's why I fucking wrote it
Blasé
Make yer cleg nuts fight the loo roll, mate
'Hey hey hey' fever
Pete Wiley dog shit
Singer turner DJs
Fucking nonsense
Just a quick quid
Useless like Rick Pete
Slow death in stone island
Alcohol
Down the fucking orange tree
Strawberry fields forever
Fucking, what dog shit
Christmas log
Jog on
Mystical face twat headlines
Look at the wisemen sing
I'm flash
Here's the ball
I beat your fucking soldiers up ming
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
[Outro]