Return Of The Sharp Heads

You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers
Who rate yourselves
You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers
In beige lapels
I'll sit back and admire how much you hate yourself
You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers
You total cunts

Childlike in every fucking way
Shit me up anyway
A sad lunch face, the pasteurised
Unusual-looking models
Nihilism toffs, your face is curdled

And all these roads that lead to Allbarone
And the fashion firing squad
The moon-kissers, the party-starters
The succession people, the absolute
Return of the sharp heads and dainty-fingered cunts

Hey, where are you?
Where is this?
Who are you?
Is this the wrong floor?
Is this the wrong floor? Ah!

You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers
Who rate yourselves
You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers
In beige lapels
I'll sit back and admire how much you hate yourself
You're just a bunch of soul-fuckers
You total cunts

Pleated, unwashed, stubbly communists
Signet ring, boiler suits
Vintage cashmere, inappropriate love-maker
I'll sit and commit to write down and fight and bathe
And what was never said, but I'll say it anyway

S.S. Trousers and charity-shop haircuts
Big fat lovers, big fat Olympic, Ozempic hips
Your slippy knees, offensive neck
Crew me up, tie me down, love me forever
Love me (love me), love me (love me), love me (love me)

Hey, where are you?
Where is this?
Who are you?
Is this the wrong floor?
Is this the wrong floor? Ah

This world might mean something to you
If you make an effort with these soul-fuckers
Gold lapels
Stop that laughing
This world might mean something to you
If you make an effort with these soul-fuckers
Gold lapels
Stop that laughing