Fizzy

The cunt with the gut and the Buzz Lightyear haircut Callin' all the workers plebs You better think about the future You better think about your neck You better think about the shit hairdo you got mate I work my dreams off for two bits of ravioli And a warm bottle of Smirnoff Under a manager that doesn't have a fuckin' clue Do you want me to tell you what I think about you, Cunt? I don't think that's a very good idea—do you? You pockmarked four-eyed shit-fitted shirt, white Converse And a taste for young girls Don't send me home with a glint in my eye I told my family about the fuckin' wage rise And got fucked on Devoured Puked on And sucked up You fuckin' fly The suction on your fly feet Kept me pinned to the blinds Whilst your PA rattled out e-mails Workstation, forced to engage in flirtatious conversation Fizzy * 3 Well just to keep the job Just to keep fuck all from turning into a fuckin' nothin' blob Bang it out; go on tell me what you really think You got no chin; an' you got no balls to chin 'em with Glass panels separate you The mid-price handwash from the bin of used Public toilet paper towels We've run foul of the hidden hatred That festers in dogs like you Tripwire taut that makes way for the vacuum Ya piece of fuckin' shit My name: Fizzy! [* 3] Use the sheet of promise and the red shoes of Dorothy Blanked out on the bed of thick monotony With the usual stereotypes that fall for the lip I fuckin' hate rockers; fuck your rocker shit Fuck your progressive side, sleeve of tattoos Oompa Loompa blow me down with a feather Cloak and dagger bollocks Fizzy! [* 3] Ahhhh!!