Blog Maggot Lyrics – Sleaford Mods
Singer: Sleaford Mods
Title: Blog Maggot
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Celebrities are flocking
My real mates are dropping
The English way:
If you look like y’winning they f#ck ya mate
Winning what?
I got a fruit machine wi’ chewy on the slot
I’m knocking back nicotine beans
My fingertips tingle – official… or non-official
I just wanna send the f#cking email
Blog maggot, YouTube twat
If I ever meet the cunt I’ll bite his f#cking head flat
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot
This is why the force is strong with a Tory
No blonde moments, no-ones sh#te
We are just tricked into dislike
Headcase men – dead men – war
Ed Sheeran selling fast – best album marketing farce
On You
We are John Rocha – we are all John Rocha
Used to be fendi trendy – faintly trendy
Now nobody gives a tosser
All of this death – everyone’s deaf – all of the death
William S. Burroughs can tell him Seth
It’s all this death, who ever
On your Facebook feed poster
Philosophical wanker
All this death
We are all half-cut – half-dead – hard to swallow
Night trainers on me
I can’t sing about anarchy in all this death
You, multiple images, magazine men
I’m buff like a tent, smoking a peg men
Guts like a stink pipe sink pipe
Bits of bean juice washing-up sleep then death
All this death
All this death
All this death
All this f#cking death
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot
Promenade voting jacket
Silver bullet polo hacket
Golden stitch don’t ya skinnage
No, I’m minted mate
Geronimo, tally-ho, bombs away Derek
Don’t sound quite the same
They’ve all got sh#t Eighties mahogany wood names
Like fat cigars in sunburnt boxes
Lord Loxley Cobhead in Union Jack wasits
Robin Thicke – thick as f#ck
The trendy sex heads are all thick as f#ck
That cunt with the big hat
He’s as thick as f#ck
That cunt who gave drugs up
But still writes tunes that celebrate ’em
He’s as thick as f#ck
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
People can do what they want – no they can’t
Y’can’t keep kissing that cunt behind reception
It’s work you twat
And not a flashy love bite convention
Moaning like a poor cunt
Like a shriveled bitter wanker
A stomach full of Gold Blend trousers
Like Jo f#cking Fox’s
New 30 mile speed limit enforce
Speed camera pensioners on Harleys, yeah course
Y’reap the Tudor piglets of picturesque hamlets
Park outside some cunt’s house
Toggy pocket
He’s the gaffer
Selwyn Froggitt
I flog parrots to them Grantham lads
Do a little Leonard one-skinner
It’s not that y’can handle it
It’s just that you don’t want to f#cking talk about it
Pepper on chips
I can yam five filet of fish easy
The idea is you gotta go around the bend
And not into it
Key markets, Fine fare, Fine trade
Chris Martin nightmare
Nightmare n-n-n-nn-nn
Nightmare n-n-n-nn-nn
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot m-m-m-mm-mm
Blog maggot
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Lyrics Sleaford Mods – Blog Maggot
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