Текст (слова) песни: Fatima Mansions, The - Angel`s Delight
A necklace of rubber, burning bright A burning rubber necklace for my angel`s delight A holiday in a box, opportunity knocks for the rich man`s militia photographing my block Kill a cop. Why the hell not?
YEAH!! Burn, motherfucker, burn! I got a word for you: dead Got a trampoline--your fuckin` head
You roll down my street in your gleaming new car I`ve got no secrets, cash or time left to give you but I`ve got something else for you, my friend A crack in the restless night, a broken bone on the pavement Angel`s delight was a recurring statement Burn a bailiff--spill, don`t save it
YEAH!! Burn, motherfucker, burn! Run, run, run, run! You can have what you ask, but not in cash [with a?] credit card, a payment slashed You can put it where your mouth used to be You can put it where your dick used to be You can [...?] looking at me, looking at you [...?] blacklist, [...?] blacklist What do you do when words collapse and all that`s left is broken glass? I know, I know I`m trapped
I`ve got a holiday in a big oak box with my friend, the famous PC Plod, Plod, Plod* Kill a cop, kill a cop, you lay a hand on me, I`m gonna kill you, cop. Hey! Let`s all kill some cops. Some bailiffs. Assholes.
* "PC Plod" is a well known and derogatory name for a British beat cop. It`s capitalized, like "John Q. Public."
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