Text: Graham Coxon. The Sky Is Too High. Who The Fuck...?.

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 + confusuib jerked back the trigger. His body was jolted back by the force of the bullet + his feet flew foward. I saw a bright little rivulet of blood are into the air and I slid the gin into the waistband of my trousers.

CHORUS:
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 It ends in an augmental kiss

REPEAT CHORUS

Rock Stars are NOT cool They're full of his 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 rasberry blood. Sometimes I feel so stoopid I wanna quit - get out of it 'cos I hate this world and everyone in it - The fat Bald men who run it - the fat bald men