Lyrics

Fat tax... fat tax Fat tax... fat tax Where's it going the signs ensnare Stain the road to nowhere, on a fucking shit train Fax tax... on tap They gonna pin you down on the fucking fat map No more Shreddies, speed trap Pulling you over and checking ya fat And shat, strange twat The support had been playing for nearly two hours, they're crap All joke I spent too fucking long around the shit bag of coke And railed up to the fence Rattlin', main the pain, the chest is the shit habits name Autobahn straight up and down lanes Fat tax... fat tax Fat tax... fat tax It's a fucking guide dog mate We crushed the red tomato with that chalkman cake Snore, cat burglar, break into your house Eyes wide shut like maneater But without the blood and daft paintings Weird shit with horns Two days up a tree perfect family Soundtrack ya life, one charger fits the lot The queue for the pastries is always laced with no one If I find out who the fuck you are I'll spread you in terror from my fucking terra jar And I'll rob ya shop like I did in the past I don't fucking care about respect you twat Like some lad twat Like a sad shop cunt lacing up trainers No snorters, no starters, no life for you fat little cunt Blend into the shadows into the bosom of the Broadmarsh Walk away, it's so plain, it's tense The Fresh Prince of Bell End Fat tax... fat tax Fat tax... fat tax Pooh postman, the envelope of zest The beast sleeps but believe me it needs heads Throw it in the microwave, express the mess Signed, sealed and disgusting Rustie Lee, breakfast telly, tutting If I play another venue covered in stickers Where everybody chain smokes... it's so no-no Pixie fans in Frank Black land Who's eaten all the pies you fat punk cunt rocker You alternative white chocolate mocha Expert the pit that is promotion A sea of stickers, I don't care, images Black and white punk stickers Fat tax... fat tax