Bronx in a Six

[Chorus] Bronx in six Bronx in six [Verse 1] He never gave any refunds to his mates Now he wonders why he sits in his big house all on his own With all his plastic and nice painted plates Bronx in a six, let's do a one skinner you ten bob Laughing me head off at the old cows that grazed on grass from the boom It soon turned its jet on ya face and boom Burnt you Puff Daddy, it maced ya bastards Good, I fuckin' laugh like fuck at ya wannabe labels, shoots on location Cut blokes in stables ra, ra, ra All ya chinny wine tasters die in boxes like the rest of us wasters Bastard, I fucking tie ya veins round ya Vans limited edition Stitched tongues, bond street like the Von Bondies You got slapped up right, I wouldn’t fuck about with Jack White You’re a jammy slug, missed the salt A twat with nine lives You’re a lucky little tit cake, die, die, die [Chorus] Bronx in a six A single skinner, how’s tricks? Bronx in a six A single skinner, how’s tricks? [Verse 2] I couldn’t give a fucking shit what you think about me, cunt What ya saying now? Where’s ya wife? Ya kids? Ya house? You ain’t got none you silly billy All gone quiet on the wanker front Gary Cooper's on the clue cause he stuck to his guns Radio edit, oh it's so nice Lauren Laverne keeps playing tumbling dice Just like you with ya Maharishi shoulder bag Walking the strip like you fucking own the path You wonder why you got no mates? You pretend to be proud of ya own culture Whilst simultaneously not giving two fucks about ya own culture What culture? Fuck culture, the blueprint for all control On the dole, money monk, the monastery's faint flicks of reference Paint a vague idea, a pound in the fruity Fuck lolly on that scale you cunt, you're mugged The money monks saying its prays on bank books [Chorus] Bronx in a six A single skinner how’s tricks Bronx in a six A single skinner how’s tricks [Verse 3] I knocked ya shit vase over one night I think you was boring women, you slag off about some buying trip to Hanover, alright Lobbing out the posh nuts and fucking weird fruit as some appetizer Clean white tiles, a view to the garden, a room with a poo I nicked all ya takings and ya fucking mates coke too Bringing women 'round then bragging about the conquest With ya pot belly Helmut Lang white vest Autumn, winter 2002 mind fest [Chorus] Bronx in a six A single skinner, how’s tricks? Bronx in a six A single skinner, how’s tricks? Bronx in a six A single skinner, how’s tricks? Bronx in a six A single skinner, how’s tricks?