Boy

I stand here all virtuous, volatile
Self-reflective, bespeckled and broken
'Twas the dawn of a new millennium and I'm somehow nostalgic
For a time before I was alive
Wipe that out
We pecked on the weak in packs like horny pigeons in unbalanced ties
Hanging up there under the bridge by the bus stop covered in shit
Pecking at the dead
Breathing the fumes
All neck and sideburns

Roll up, roll up
Two's on a roll-up, boy

Says for a spin around the block

Now the revolution has been assimilated
By the all-consuming neon fog and the grinning pigs up front

Bad suit, stuffed pockets
Bad suit, stuffed pockets
Bad suit, stuffed pockets
Cashier number nine, please
I stand here all shiny with my new spliffy jeans on well retro
Covered in followers desperate for a shag
Nine months sober, hung the fuck over
Saving the planet one oat latte at a time
Cashier number two, please

Roll up, roll up
Two's on a roll-up, boy
Says for a spin around the block

Roll up, roll up
Two's on a roll-up, boy
Says for a spin around the block