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Flowers In The Dustbin >>
He dresses so well
As he goes to hell
On the 8.15 each day
He walks on polished feet
Down Cannon Street
But he doesn't know
He's going the wrong way
Mr Smith was a bastard stiff
Who walked through the city each day
He counted his money, then he counted his friends
But his blind false pride never went away
He thinks more about his telly than he does about his wife
Thinks more about the mortgage than he does about his life
And he loved his money more than he loved his friends
That was the start of bastard stiff Smith's lonely bitter end
Now Mr Smith lies on his deathbed each night
And he doesn't know what to say
But it doesn't mater too much, does it?
Cos the TV man, took his brain away
Fuck Work
Bollocks to work mate
Know what I mean?
Bit of a dropout mate
Know what I mean?
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