paroles de chanson Bar Taboo - Vore Complex
I'm
aware,
on
some
level,
that
I
justify
my
tropes
In
a
vague,
infernal
attempt
to
cope
With
the
fact
I'm
evidently
quite
mad
But
it
beats
ripping
fuck
out
and
feeling
bad
Hence
the
strange
attitude
to
performance
art
and
drugs
In
my
daily
obsession
with
out-psychopathing
thugs
Being
a
skinhead
therefore
obviously
in
the
KKK
I'm
reclaiming
the
'N-word'
for
use
by
our
community
So
from
now
on
I
do
intend
to
say
Nutter
with
impunity
And
rather
than
let
over
a
billion
anecdotes
go
to
waste
I've
learnt
it's
quite
fun
being
somewhat
bad
taste
Hence
the
usual
pretentious
title
in
this
cheerful
little
ditty
If
you
know
me
quite
well
then
you'll
know
just
how
pretty
And
subtle
my
delicate
verses
can
be
Especially
these
vaguely
sardonic
ones
about
me
Still
there's
no
real
point
in
avoiding
the
fact
Pleonasm
aside
I'm
slightly
lacking
in
tact
However,
as
I've
never
quite
explained
before
It
takes
a
few
years'
practice
to
turn
into
a
whore
And
that's
what
I
thought
I'd
talk
about
this
morn
My
somewhat
damaged
theories
on
kink
and
porn
In
an
inadvertent
mission
to
keep
pace
with
the
Devil
Welcome
to
the
sodding
neurotic
meta-level
And
if
you're
sat
in
a
room
chewing
down
your
own
meat
To
screeching
Industrial
noise
and
loud
beats
It's
harder
to
mention
these
little
enigmas
Without
encountering
a
bit
of
stigma
Keeping
dark
glasses
on,
stumbling
out
in
a
daze
But
I've
had
Photosensitive
Insomnia
for
over
900
days
And
I'm
a
bit
short-sighted
and
Photic
sneeze
in
the
light
Oh
dear,
there
goes
the
local
stereotype
Better
turn
it
back
on
and
keep
that
stiff
upper
lip
So
something
about
razors
in
the
dark
and
bad
trips
Frustrated
from
that
rather
irritating
'smoker's
cough'
but
hoping
it
would
teach
The
caring
general
public
not
to
drink
bleach
As
it's
obvious
that's
really
not
normal
and
common
Um,
unlike
those
expensive
London
members'
clubs
where
they
do
practise
Domin
Ation
and
other
such
charming
things
As
electro-stim
shock
knives
and
deliberate
wasp
stings
For
a
businessman
crowd
of
well-dressed,
loaded
snobs
Who
get
you
to
spew
on
them
giving
face-jobs
Where
in
between
periods
of
wanting
to
die
You
find
yourself
dressed
up
like
a
human
fly
And
chased
over
a
bouncy
castle
by
a
popper-laced
midget
With
a
penchant
for
sodomy
and
eyeballs
that
fidget
And
miserable,
elitist,
cliquey
turds
Who
snort
ketamine
and
forget
their
safe
words
And
city
job
women
masturbating
with
blades
And
medical
doctors
you
know
all
have
AIDS
And
lapsed
Catholic
priests
and
some
PhD
types
In
barbed
wire
G-Strings
and
inward
pointing
spikes
And
a
constant
stream
of
furtive
cross-dressing
MPs
With
dog
collars
on
getting
down
on
their
knees
Who'd
sneer
you
out
of
the
playrooms
for
still
not
being
cool
I.e.
keeping
a
straight
face
and
obeying
more
rules
Like
not
staring
too
long
at
the
suspiciously
cum-soaked
bull
dykes
With
their
cut-glass
accents
and
wholesale
packs
of
Alco-wipes
Draining
some
blood
out
with
hypodermic
syringes
To
fuel
another
night
of
sodding
vampire
binges
Who
complain
about
the
homeless
at
their
village
hall
meetings
And
mow
the
lawn
after
Mass
and
exchange
pleasant
greetings
And
are
really
quite
fond
of
'Italian
Food'
See,
that
sounds
really
nice
but
it's
quite
fucking
rude
And
the
47
year
old
man
in
the
nappy
who
cops
a
feel
And
the
funny
fucker
who
says
his
name's
Neil
'Cos
I've
never
heard
that
one
before,
you
slag
You're
the
one
twit
who
really
does
need
a
ball
gag
And
the
innocent
joys
of
a
group
Roman
shower
And
Nietzsche
fans
in
gasmasks
and
positions
of
power
Who
may
not
even
let
you
into
one
haughty-cultural
event
Without
knowing
how
much
bastard
money
you've
spent
On
their
own
brand
clothing
for
the
herds
of
onlookers
Burning
450
quid
to
dress
up
like
a
PVC
hooker
Even
when
you
get
in
beware
the
suits
at
the
side
Whacking
off
in
the
dark
with
a
great
sense
of
pride
And
the
old
fucks
who've
been
in
the
scene
all
their
life
With
a
suitcase
full
of
speculums
so
they
can
piss
in
their
wife
As
she
sips
her
martini
and
name-drops
De
Sade
And
The
Story
of
O
and
that
time
they
got
laid
With
that
bloke
on
the
farm
they
filmed
fucking
the
stallion
And
showing
off
their
latest
occult
medallions
As
the
Oxbridge
girl
I
kiss
vomits
into
my
mouth
And
a
buggered
throat
means
I
just
can't
spit
it
out
With
three
fingers
in
her
anus
I
get
slapped
in
the
face
I'm
so
sorry
for
causing
you
that
utter
disgrace
It
seems
I've
got
it
rather
wrong
And
just
because
we're
on
the
dance
floor
and
you've
got
no
knickers
on
Doesn't
mean
that
you're
that
sort
of
girl
I
know,
instead
I'll
just
swallow
some
more
of
your
hurl
And
I
see
now
how
distasteful
it
was
for
you
to
observe
Thinking
'who
is
this
sweaty
lobster
in
fishnets
with
his
nerve?'
So
back
to
The
Cotswolds
to
hold
orgies
with
real
style
Putting
a
whole
new
meaning
to
a
big
country
pile
Pumping
glycerine
enemas
into
their
subs
To
a
soundtrack
of
cheesy
Electro
and
Techno
and
Dub
And
pony
people
in
posh
hotel
rooms
with
hunting
horns
Who
get
pissed
off
if
you
ask
for
Asche,
Coil
or
Die
Form
And
an
endless
tide
of
maniacs
who
fantasise
about
being
raped
If
you
think
that's
not
a
mainstream
one
then
you're
making
a
mistake
And
if
you
believe
EBM
and
Goth
clubs
are
the
worst
thing
going
You
don't
know
the
sort
of
people
I
was
knowing
Am
I
beginning
to
gently
massage
the
point
across
That
normality's
a
big
steaming
load
of
toss?
The
reason
behind
this
'academic
exercise'
Is
the
fact
that
I'm
back
from
the
thing
I
despise
Yes,
once
again
I'm
violated
and
it's
9 fucking
AM
Welcome
to
the
giggling
elf,
cracked
sunshine
world
of
Ben
A
trip
to
Galleywood
surgery
and
the
familiar
mission
To
rest
on
a
bed
and
adopt
the
position
In
a
nutshell,
when
I
go
for
a
tinker's
kiss
It's
readily
apparent
that
there's
blood
in
my
piss
And
as
for
developing
that
trademark
heart
of
coal
For
the
past
16
years
I've
bled
out
of
my
hole
Hmm,
now
there's
quite
a
few
explanations
why
this
might
be
And
for
some
silly
reason
I
got
out
of
my
tree
For
about
a
decade
since
removing
all
sobriety
Sortof
helps
out
with
stopping
you
pondering
society
Like
the
sweet,
quiet
love
of
a
nice
sociopath
Who
beat
me
up
once,
it's
a
bit
of
a
laugh
Like
the
times
in
public
by
Tesco's
where
she'd
shit
by
the
bins
And
again
on
our
living
room
floor
with
an
orgasmic
grin
A
keen
interest
in
knitting,
and
infidelity
That
crapped
me
straight
back
to
more
wretched
therapy
After
2 years
being
sober
the
day
she
left
I
gave
in
And
totalled
myself
in
the
park
on
some
gin
A
habit
that
continued
for
quite
a
while
after
My
God,
isn't
it
nice
to
focus
on
laughter?
She
gets
by
quite
well
now
since
she
likes
80s
Pop
And
helps
out
by
working
in
charity
shops
And
has
settled
down
with
a
more
every-day
man
Who
went
out
with
a
Stanley
to
fight
for
West
Ham
With
their
innocent
natures
and
plenty
of
friends
Like
that
warm
bigot
fuckwit
on
which
I
depend
Who
earns
a
fine
salary,
badly
drives
a
good
car
And
laughs
when
the
bouncers
deny
me
the
bar
Of
account
of
my
DMs
looking
dangerous
and
queer
Forcing
me
to
wait
outside
as
he
goosesteps
in
for
a
beer
Side-stepping
the
riot
of
racists
in
jackets
With
their
smart,
shiny
shoes
and
enormous
pay-packets
Till
he
comes
back
out
scowling
and
moans
that
all
ladies
Are
sluts
and
he'd
just
love
to
sterilise
babies
And
repeatedly
tells
me
like
some
fucking
Papist
How
much
he
can
sympathise
with
rapists
And
exactly
where
he
wants
to
stick
it
And
then
he
heads
off
to
play
more
damned
cricket
And
the
McDonalds
git
who
kicked
his
fuck-buddy's
gut
Till
she
had
a
miscarriage
but
she
saw
that
as
luck
As
she
didn't
really
want
her
darling
son
And
she
stayed
with
the
bloke,
ah
well,
least
he's
well-hung
And
he
didn't
stop
her
getting
too
drunk
And
vomiting
in
gutters
after
too
much
skunk
And
the
teenage
junkie
fuckwits
camped
by
Sky
Blue
canal
To
bother
to
chat
with
without
legal
highs
And
think
you're
an
axe
murderer
'cos
they
can't
see
your
eyes
Like
the
time
the
other
week
on
that
bench
near
the
trees
When
they
keep
on
hitting
as
one
poor
sod
OD's
Now
guys,
your
radical,
daring
minds
may
not
know
this
so
here's
a
favour
That's
kinda
like
Holloway
crack-house
behaviour
But
it's
okay
though
since
you're
on
more
socially
acceptable
stuff
than
that
And
only
having
a
little
laugh,
you
steaming
mound
of
twats
So
yeah,
observe
the
middle
of
the
road
behaviour
and
deeply
hilarious
jokes
Of
an
area
chock
full
of
regular,
non-mental
folk
And
as
for
those
CMHT
psychiatrists
well
aren't
they
gloriously
sincere?
An
altruistic
desire
to
remove
my
fear
With
a
8 year
gift
of
anti-psychotic
pills
Then
refusing
all
service
when,
for
some
reason,
I
got
rather
ill
And
promises
of
a
counselling
waiting
list
that,
ho
hum,
didn't
exist
Oh,
joy
to
the
world
that
at
least
I'm
not
pissed
And
I
know
all
the
rest
so
there's
no
point
repeating
The
last
couple
of
months
save
I
haven't
been
sleeping
And
if
I
ever
see
another
smiling
person
in
a
suit
and
tie
I'm
quite
tempted,
somewhat
like
Job
might
feel,
to
stick
drawing
pins
in
their
eyes
But
then
again,
that
might
just
give
them
a
kick
'Cos
it's
pretty
damn
apparent
that
the
whole
world's
fucking
sick
Sat
on
a
cushion
with
this
bastard
wound
in
my
butt
I
offer
heartfelt
apologies
for
being
such
a
pecan
And
to
follow
your
wonderful
example
so
far
healing
problems
so
twisted
I
should
help
myself
out
and
get
anally
fisted
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