I stand here all virtuous, volatile

Self-reflective, bespeckled and broken

'Twas the dawn of a new millennium and I'm somehow nostalgic

For a time before I was alive

Wipe that out

We pecked on the weak in packs like horny pigeons in unbalanced ties

Hanging up there under the bridge by the bus stop covered in shit

Pecking at the dead

Breathing the fumes

All neck and sideburns

Roll up, roll up

Two's on a roll-up, boy

Says for a spin around the block

Now the revolution has been assimilated

By the all-consuming neon fog and the grinning pigs up front

Bad suit, stuffed pockets

Bad suit, stuffed pockets

Bad suit, stuffed pockets

Cashier number nine, please

I stand here all shiny with my new spliffy jeans on well retro

Covered in followers desperate for a shag

Nine months sober, hung the fuck over

Saving the planet one oat latte at a time

Cashier number two, please

Roll up, roll up

Two's on a roll-up, boy

Says for a spin around the block

Roll up, roll up

Two's on a roll-up, boy

Says for a spin around the block