The Headbuts of Kebabylon

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In the weather
 there’s a pressure
street lights flicker
morse code to litter.
On the high street there’s a violent sight
sirens wailing in the night
grab a kebab of spinning meat
right outside there's a nasty scene
shouting, spitting, being sick
"oi tart show us your tits!"
lurching man with kebab in hand
leaves salad trails across the land.
Evolution’s put to test
by drunken men with onion breath.
Pissing in the street, couldn’t care less
wobbling in heels, couldn’t wear less
pack of jackals, we're out for stress
play the night like a game of chess
the time is right for devil delight
its Friday night, lets spread some spite
armed & ready, tooled for the fight
the four of us don’t care what’s right
the four of us don’t care what’s right!
Distract that guy, while I strike from behind
an ambush punch right in his eye
fearing the fight, a man walks by
out of sight is out of his mind
there’s a bloody mess in  triage tonight
victim survives but he's not quite right
cctv, caught the sight
two more years to serve inside
I’m still the same
just not quite right
I’m still the same
just not quite right
I hear voices in the night
I’m still the same
just not quite right


◄ Sleep Beaurocracy

Leaving ►


C Byrne

Fri 23rd Sep 2011 11:09


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