Text: Stereophonics. Live From Dakota. Mr.Writer.

You line them up, look at your shoes,
You hang names on your wall, then you shoot them all,
You fly around in planes that bring you down, to meet me,
Who loves you? like me crashing to the ground,

Are you so lonely? you don't even know me,
But you'd like to stone me,
Mr. Writer, why don't you tell it like it is?
Why don't you tell it like it really is?
Before you go on home,

I used to treat you right, give you my time,
But when I turned my back on you,
Then you do what you do,
You've just enough, in my own view, education to perform,
I'd like to shoot you all,

And then you go home, with you on your own,
What do you really know?
Mr. Writer, why don't you tell it like it is?
Why don't you tell it like it really is?
Before you go on home,

And then you go home, with you on your own,
What do you even know?
Mr. Writer, why don't you tell it like it is?
Why don't you tell it like it really is?
Before you go on home,

Mr. Writer, why don't you tell it like it really is?
Why don't you tell it like it always is?
Before you go on home.

Mr. Writer, why don't you tell it like it really is?
Why don't you tell it like it always is?
Before you go on home