Back At The End Again

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The People Who Run The Country

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Come and whimper
Pot-bellied like a cuck
Scroll though everything you know you'll never have
Picture your partner happy
Shutting the door in your face
Let it loop like a gif
Your child being thrown in the air
By the well-toned arms of better man
Your mother, drunk
Shitting herself at sports day
Go fixed-point gambling
Wank in the train toilets
Go on, it's your birthday
Back, back
Back at the end again
Back, back
Back at the end again
So come, come on, meet me
There's a Shell garage on the South Circular
A Burger King at Thurrock services
A month of Tuesday evenings in November
They'd be perfect
Let's finger each other like fifteen year olds
Bash teeth with morning breath
Let's talk about the sofas we'll own in our 40s
Our dream sofas
Our forever sofas
Back, back
Back at the end again
Back, back
Back at the end again
Spend Easter weekend with a dozen TV agents
And some bloke you assume to be their dealer
Cheer up!
Kit Harrington is on the One Show
Hasn't he done well?
Look at Kit Harrington
He was in that thing
Y'know, that thing
Look at Kit Harrington!
Then plunder yourself for parts
Back, back
Back at the end again
Back, back
Back at the end again
So snap that elastic band
In the post office queue
At parent's evening
In the flickering gloom of the village film club
Julia Hartley-Brewer is here with her strap-on
Go on, you know you want to
You can be your own optimism
She'll be…
Julia Hartley-Brewer
Submit like you always do
No one hates you, mate
No one's even noticed
Back, back
Back at the end again
Back, back
Back at the end again
It's tailbacks for miles in both directions
Feel the heft of your gut
The spot on your pubis
Pull your ugliest face
Look in the toilet bowl
Smell the panic seeping from your armpits
Submit to the sugar tax
Keep on glugging
That's it, keep on glugging
Run your tongue over your furry teeth
Picture yourself as a four year old
Squinting in the sunlight
Holding your little spade
So unspoiled, so sweet
That's it, right there, good boy
Weep
We're The People Who Run The Country
So come blame it all on us
We're The People Who Run The Country
So come blame it all on us
We're The People Who Run The Country
So come blame it all on us
We're The People Who Run The Country
So come blame it all on us
We're The People Who Run The Country
So come blame it all on us
We're The People Who Run The Country
So come blame it all on us
We're The People Who Run The Country
So come blame it all on us
A blend of thug and gentry
But no sir, we ain't out of touch

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