Tom: G major
Verse 1
D
Cm
From a very large number of
computer rounds
Making various assumptions
A- adopting various maxima
and minima
There is in fact a terrible forecast
of a breakdown of world society
G
D
Cm
In the first decades of
Eb
G
D
Cm
the next century
Eb
G
Interlude 1
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
Gm
G
Verse 2
D
The entertainment for the night
Cm
Eb
Watching a toilet, swimming in piss
G
D
Who's gonna tip it over the edge?
Cm
Eb
You get a prize for it
Verse 3
G
People ripped to shreds by the
D
Cm
whip of exploitation
Eb
Are deadened, bleeding,
G
D
Cm
you failed in expectation
Eb
I walk around looking at the
D
Cm
Which one's gonna pop me?
Eb
Break into the house, nick the microwave
D
Cm
Eb
use my aftershave, old spice fucker
Verse 4
G
D
Cm
Mediocre, mediocre
D
Cm
fuck the maze
Eb
G
First blood, I put a bit of wet dog
D
shit in your undugged tits
Cm
Eb
Scaly- faced boozed pricks
Verse 5
G
D
No experience equals no deliverance
Cm
Eb
I'm gonna tip your canoe
G
D
Copious bollocks, we wanna get high,
Cm
Eb
and we wanna get loaded
G
And then we're gonna cry and
Cm
Eb
Verse 6
G
D
Cm
Eb
I don't wanna disco or two
G
D
I don't wanna disco or two
Cm
Eb
Verse 7
G
D
World interiors and
Eb
G
Smile, veil food and wine
Cm
Eb
I got a fag off the barman
G
D
Moody Friday, stop trying to show off
Cm
Eb
It doesn't matter where I got my coat from,
G
mate
D
Cm
You what? Look just fuck off
Verse 8
Eb
G
Rain, stain, callous
Cm
Eb
G
I don't wanna improve my fucking life for you
Cm
Eb
of my existence than I do
G
D
I dodge the small towners, the music scene,
Cm
Eb
think they are shit bands
Verse 9
Gm
G
You're all wanker
Cm
Eb
White funk snores
G
D
Good relationships with the industry
Cm
donkeys and live down South
Eb
G
Talent forecasts,
shut your mouth
D
Cm
Eb
Verse 10
Gm
G
D
Cm
Eb
I don't wanna disco or two
G
D
I don't wanna disco or two
Cm
Eb
Verse 11
G
D
Pukka pies, meal deal with a drink,
Cm
Eb
five- ninety- nine
G
D
Pot- bellied promoters, cheap coasters
Cm
Eb
G
I can't get the fucking stain off
D
You know the song's shit,
Eb
G
That's why I fucking wrote it
Verse 12
D
Cm
Blaise, make your cleg nuts
Eb
fight the loo roll, mate
G
D
Cm
High, high, high fever
Eb
G
Pete Wiley dog shit, singer turner DJs
Cm
Eb
just a quick quid
D
Cm
slow death in Stone Island
Eb
Alcohol
Verse 13
G
D
down the fucking orange tree
Cm
Eb
Strawberry fields forever,
G
fucking
Eb
G
D
Mystical face twat headlines
Cm
Look at the wise men sing
Eb
G
I'm flash, here's the ball,
D
Cm
Eb
I beat your fucking soldiers up ming
Verse 14
D
Cm
Eb
disco or two
G
D
Cm
Eb
I don't wanna disco or two
G
D
Cm
Eb
I don't wanna disco or two
G
D
I don't wanna disco or two
Outro 1
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
G
D
Cm
Eb
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