i stole the bottle of gin from over the counter
and ran, i knew i\'d been seen, i scarpered
stifling giggles down the street and hid round
a corner on a side street.
i heard him huffing and the sound of his
big feet against the paving, he was getting close.
as he rounded the corner, i sighted him up
down the barrel of the gun and on seeing his
expression change to one of horror + confusion
jerked back the trigger. his body was jolted
back by the force of the bullet + his feet
flew forward. i saw a bright little rivulet
of blood are into the air and i slid the
gun into the waistband of my trousers. who you fuckin lookin at?

who the fuck you lookin at?
who the fuck you lookin at?
who the fuck you lookin at?

is there really a thing like feeling too much?
can you really escape + numb the real?
there\'s a way of saying, a way of sayin
a shape - i feel a certain shape and it\'s
complicated it\'s not like a square or a
circle. it\'s like crystal or diamond, it\'s
clean, hard, unfathomable and it ends in
an augmental Kiss.

who the fuck you lookin at?
who the fuck you lookin at?
who the fuck you lookin at?
who the fuck you lookin at?

rock stars are NOT cool.
they\'re full of this guy they call satan,
kids stuff oozing from their mouths.
they wear the shoes of dead soldiers
shot by soldiers, valium horses trotting
squeezing through their raspberry blood.
sometimes I feel so stoopid I wanna
quit - get out of it cus i hate this
world and everyone in it - the fat
bald men who run it - the fat bald men.

who the fuck you looking at?
who the fuck you lookin at?
who the fuck you lookin at?
who the fuck you lookin at?

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