Out There (Explicit)

Song: Out There

Artist: Sleaford Mods

Lyrics: Jason Williamson

Composed: Andrew Fearn

Out there

I run my fingers through my hair

I wanna tell the bloke that\'s drinking near the shop

That it ain\'t the foreigners and it ain\'t the fuckin Cov

But he don\'t care

I take up the right, left view and the road in front too

And make up my mind, slide past you

There\'s always animals singing on everyday

No cars to drown the noise of this, yea

Just queues for the clinic and 6ft conversation

I don\'t wanna talk, innit

I don\'t wanna talk to you, you cunt

You boring fucking cunt

Looked grim

Then all of a sudden I didn\'t give a shit about it and just became in

Got in with it, didn\'t touch anything

Just stared into a cold month with no people near it

I got stunnеd but the ivy grew back nice on my back wall undеr that sun like, who was it?

Necking soft drinks in a Sydney bar was just really good, won\'t it?

Planes flying dead low

So warm and people talking shit on Mandy

Not me though

Out there

I run my fingers through my hair

I wanna tell the bloke that\'s drinking near the shop

That it ain\'t the foreigners and it ain\'t the fuckin Cov

But he don\'t care

Why\'s this cunt got police protection?

He wasn\'t even running in the last election

I bet his partner at night sez things like

\"It\'s all for the good of your ideas\"

Putting milk in the bowls of his children\'s inevitable tears every morning

Insane

Watch \'em get depressed under the lockdown stress

Little slap headed cunt, get Brexit punched

Let\'s get Brexit fucked by an horse\'s penis until its misery splits

Ugly rich white men get shagged by it

Squeak

North London suburbs carry the pain in the bricks, religion and wheat

MP\'s popping up like newly planted council trees

Squeak squeak

Out there

I run my fingers through my hair

I wanna tell the bloke that\'s drinking near the shop

That it ain\'t the foreigners and it ain\'t the fuckin Cov

But he don\'t care

Benches with RIP badges under swaying trees that kiss the energy damaged

People underneath, same old same old, dug outs and old walks, footings

Oh fuck, story\'s about the origins of buildings, slight hills, panic behind the tills

Rumble rumble, get the hot weather and some fucker got a beer or two

Old firm hands unemployed, loitering

You just get fucking annoyed like, what?

Drop kick ya silly bastards in my dreams that\'s about ya lot

Mumble mumble, dragging out slight hills, more panic behind the tills

Out there

I run my fingers through my hair

I wanna tell the bloke that\'s drinking near the shop

That it ain\'t the foreigners and it ain\'t the fuckin Cov

But he don\'t care

Panic behind the tills