I stole the bottle of gin from over the counter and ran, I knew I'd been seen.
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I scarpered stifling giggles down the street and hid round a corner on a side street.
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I heard him huffing and the sound of his big feet against the paving, he was getting close.
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As he rounded the corner
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I sighted him up down the barrel of the gun
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and on seeing his expression change to one of horror + confusion jerked back the trigger.
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His body was jolted back by the force of the bullet + his feet flew foward.
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I saw a bright little rivulet of blood are into the air and I slid the gun into the waistband of my trousers.
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Who the fuck are you looking at?
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Who the fuck are you looking at?
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Who the fuck are you looking at?
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Who the fuck are you looking at?
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Is there really a thing like feeling too much?
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Can you really escape + numb the real?
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There's a way of saying, a way of sayin a shape
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I feel a certain shape and it's complicated it's not like a square or a circle.
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It's like a crystal or a diamond, it's clean, hard, unfathomable and it ends in an augmented kiss
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It ends in an augmented (demented) kiss
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Who the fuck are you looking at?
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Who the fuck are you looking at?
|
Who the fuck are you looking at?
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Who the fuck are you looking at?
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Rock Stars are not cool.
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They're full of his guy they call Satan, kids stuff oozing from their mouths.
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They wear the shoes of dead soldiers shot by soldiers,
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valium horses trotting squeezing through their raspberry blood.
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Sometimes I feel so stoopid I wanna quit
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get out of it cus I hate this world and everyone in it
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The fat Bald men who run it - the fat bald men.
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Who the fuck are you looking at?
|
Who the fuck are you looking at?
|
Who the fuck are you looking at?
|
Who the fuck are you looking at?
|
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-----------------
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Who The Fuck
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Graham Coxon |