I Don't Wanna Disco Or Two
๐ต 2420 characters
โฑ๏ธ 5:04 duration
๐ ID: 6026231
๐ Lyrics
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
In the first decades of the next century
The entertainment for the night
Watching a toilet, swimming in piss
Who's gonna tip it over the edge?
You get a prize for it
People ripped to shreds by the whip of exploitation
Are deadened, bleeding, you failed in expectation
I walk around looking at the toe rags with no money
Which one's gonna pop me?
Break into the house, nick the microwave
Stab me in the throat, use my aftershave, old spice fucker
Mediocre, mediocre
Mediocre, yeah, mate
I'm gonna blade you, fuck the maze
First blood, I put a bit of wet dog shit in your undugged tits
Scaly-faced boozed pricks
No experience equals no deliverance
I'm gonna tip your canoe
Copious bollocks, we wanna get high, and we wanna get loaded
And then we're gonna cry and moan about the fucker
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
World interiors and Baltic restaurants
Smile, veil food and wine
Eight pound on two pints
I got a fag off the barman
Moody Friday, stop trying to show off
It doesn't matter where I got my coat from, mate
You what? Look just fuck off
Rain, stain, callous
I want a pint and fight, I don't wanna improve my fucking life for you
You make more money out of my existence than I do
I dodge the small towners, the music scene, think they are shit bands
You're all wankers, grinder man bores
White funk snores
Good relationships with the industry donkeys and live down South
Talent forecasts, shut your mouth
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
Pukka pies, meal deal with a drink, five-ninety-nine
Pot-bellied promoters, cheap coasters
I can't get the fucking stain off
You know the song's shit, I like it, so what?
That's why I fucking wrote it
Blaise, make your cleg nuts fight the loo roll, mate
High, high, high fever
Pete Wiley dog shit, singer turner DJs
Fucking nonsense, just a quick quid
Useless like Rick Pete, slow death in Stone Island
Alcohol down the fucking orange tree
Strawberry fields forever, fucking
What dog shit?
Christmas log, jog on
Mystical face twat headlines
Look at the wise men sing
I'm flash, here's the ball, I beat your fucking soldiers up ming
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
Making various assumptions
A-adopting various maxima and minima
There is in fact a terrible forecast of a breakdown of world society
In the first decades of the next century
The entertainment for the night
Watching a toilet, swimming in piss
Who's gonna tip it over the edge?
You get a prize for it
People ripped to shreds by the whip of exploitation
Are deadened, bleeding, you failed in expectation
I walk around looking at the toe rags with no money
Which one's gonna pop me?
Break into the house, nick the microwave
Stab me in the throat, use my aftershave, old spice fucker
Mediocre, mediocre
Mediocre, yeah, mate
I'm gonna blade you, fuck the maze
First blood, I put a bit of wet dog shit in your undugged tits
Scaly-faced boozed pricks
No experience equals no deliverance
I'm gonna tip your canoe
Copious bollocks, we wanna get high, and we wanna get loaded
And then we're gonna cry and moan about the fucker
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
World interiors and Baltic restaurants
Smile, veil food and wine
Eight pound on two pints
I got a fag off the barman
Moody Friday, stop trying to show off
It doesn't matter where I got my coat from, mate
You what? Look just fuck off
Rain, stain, callous
I want a pint and fight, I don't wanna improve my fucking life for you
You make more money out of my existence than I do
I dodge the small towners, the music scene, think they are shit bands
You're all wankers, grinder man bores
White funk snores
Good relationships with the industry donkeys and live down South
Talent forecasts, shut your mouth
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
Pukka pies, meal deal with a drink, five-ninety-nine
Pot-bellied promoters, cheap coasters
I can't get the fucking stain off
You know the song's shit, I like it, so what?
That's why I fucking wrote it
Blaise, make your cleg nuts fight the loo roll, mate
High, high, high fever
Pete Wiley dog shit, singer turner DJs
Fucking nonsense, just a quick quid
Useless like Rick Pete, slow death in Stone Island
Alcohol down the fucking orange tree
Strawberry fields forever, fucking
What dog shit?
Christmas log, jog on
Mystical face twat headlines
Look at the wise men sing
I'm flash, here's the ball, I beat your fucking soldiers up ming
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
I don't wanna disco or two
โฑ๏ธ Synced Lyrics
[00:03.07] From a very large number of computer rounds
[00:06.18] Making various assumptions
[00:09.23] A-adopting various maxima and minima
[00:12.73] There is in fact a terrible forecast of a breakdown of world society
[00:17.89] In the first decades of the next century
[00:20.47]
[00:40.76] The entertainment for the night
[00:42.52] Watching a toilet, swimming in piss
[00:45.37] Who's gonna tip it over the edge?
[00:47.42] You get a prize for it
[00:49.56] People ripped to shreds by the whip of exploitation
[00:53.30] Are deadened, bleeding, you failed in expectation
[00:58.17] I walk around looking at the toe rags with no money
[01:01.33] Which one's gonna pop me?
[01:03.36] Break into the house, nick the microwave
[01:05.46] Stab me in the throat, use my aftershave, old spice fucker
[01:10.91] Mediocre, mediocre
[01:13.99] Mediocre, yeah, mate
[01:15.53] I'm gonna blade you, fuck the maze
[01:18.12] First blood, I put a bit of wet dog shit in your undugged tits
[01:23.07] Scaly-faced boozed pricks
[01:25.12] No experience equals no deliverance
[01:28.03] I'm gonna tip your canoe
[01:30.14] Copious bollocks, we wanna get high, and we wanna get loaded
[01:34.43] And then we're gonna cry and moan about the fucker
[01:40.69] I don't wanna disco or two
[01:45.59] I don't wanna disco or two
[01:50.89] World interiors and Baltic restaurants
[01:53.66] Smile, veil food and wine
[01:56.16] Eight pound on two pints
[01:58.13] I got a fag off the barman
[02:00.14] Moody Friday, stop trying to show off
[02:03.14] It doesn't matter where I got my coat from, mate
[02:06.02] You what? Look just fuck off
[02:09.37] Rain, stain, callous
[02:11.29] I want a pint and fight, I don't wanna improve my fucking life for you
[02:16.50] You make more money out of my existence than I do
[02:19.94] I dodge the small towners, the music scene, think they are shit bands
[02:25.30] You're all wankers, grinder man bores
[02:28.37] White funk snores
[02:30.36] Good relationships with the industry donkeys and live down South
[02:34.67] Talent forecasts, shut your mouth
[02:40.98] I don't wanna disco or two
[02:45.93] I don't wanna disco or two
[02:51.00] Pukka pies, meal deal with a drink, five-ninety-nine
[02:55.63] Pot-bellied promoters, cheap coasters
[02:58.70] I can't get the fucking stain off
[03:01.32] You know the song's shit, I like it, so what?
[03:04.53] That's why I fucking wrote it
[03:07.14] Blaise, make your cleg nuts fight the loo roll, mate
[03:11.14] High, high, high fever
[03:13.81] Pete Wiley dog shit, singer turner DJs
[03:17.36] Fucking nonsense, just a quick quid
[03:20.48] Useless like Rick Pete, slow death in Stone Island
[03:25.06] Alcohol down the fucking orange tree
[03:28.39] Strawberry fields forever, fucking
[03:31.77] What dog shit?
[03:32.95] Christmas log, jog on
[03:35.38] Mystical face twat headlines
[03:37.94] Look at the wise men sing
[03:40.02] I'm flash, here's the ball, I beat your fucking soldiers up ming
[03:46.32] I don't wanna disco or two
[03:51.38] I don't wanna disco or two
[03:56.27] I don't wanna disco or two
[04:01.34] I don't wanna disco or two
[04:04.06]
[00:06.18] Making various assumptions
[00:09.23] A-adopting various maxima and minima
[00:12.73] There is in fact a terrible forecast of a breakdown of world society
[00:17.89] In the first decades of the next century
[00:20.47]
[00:40.76] The entertainment for the night
[00:42.52] Watching a toilet, swimming in piss
[00:45.37] Who's gonna tip it over the edge?
[00:47.42] You get a prize for it
[00:49.56] People ripped to shreds by the whip of exploitation
[00:53.30] Are deadened, bleeding, you failed in expectation
[00:58.17] I walk around looking at the toe rags with no money
[01:01.33] Which one's gonna pop me?
[01:03.36] Break into the house, nick the microwave
[01:05.46] Stab me in the throat, use my aftershave, old spice fucker
[01:10.91] Mediocre, mediocre
[01:13.99] Mediocre, yeah, mate
[01:15.53] I'm gonna blade you, fuck the maze
[01:18.12] First blood, I put a bit of wet dog shit in your undugged tits
[01:23.07] Scaly-faced boozed pricks
[01:25.12] No experience equals no deliverance
[01:28.03] I'm gonna tip your canoe
[01:30.14] Copious bollocks, we wanna get high, and we wanna get loaded
[01:34.43] And then we're gonna cry and moan about the fucker
[01:40.69] I don't wanna disco or two
[01:45.59] I don't wanna disco or two
[01:50.89] World interiors and Baltic restaurants
[01:53.66] Smile, veil food and wine
[01:56.16] Eight pound on two pints
[01:58.13] I got a fag off the barman
[02:00.14] Moody Friday, stop trying to show off
[02:03.14] It doesn't matter where I got my coat from, mate
[02:06.02] You what? Look just fuck off
[02:09.37] Rain, stain, callous
[02:11.29] I want a pint and fight, I don't wanna improve my fucking life for you
[02:16.50] You make more money out of my existence than I do
[02:19.94] I dodge the small towners, the music scene, think they are shit bands
[02:25.30] You're all wankers, grinder man bores
[02:28.37] White funk snores
[02:30.36] Good relationships with the industry donkeys and live down South
[02:34.67] Talent forecasts, shut your mouth
[02:40.98] I don't wanna disco or two
[02:45.93] I don't wanna disco or two
[02:51.00] Pukka pies, meal deal with a drink, five-ninety-nine
[02:55.63] Pot-bellied promoters, cheap coasters
[02:58.70] I can't get the fucking stain off
[03:01.32] You know the song's shit, I like it, so what?
[03:04.53] That's why I fucking wrote it
[03:07.14] Blaise, make your cleg nuts fight the loo roll, mate
[03:11.14] High, high, high fever
[03:13.81] Pete Wiley dog shit, singer turner DJs
[03:17.36] Fucking nonsense, just a quick quid
[03:20.48] Useless like Rick Pete, slow death in Stone Island
[03:25.06] Alcohol down the fucking orange tree
[03:28.39] Strawberry fields forever, fucking
[03:31.77] What dog shit?
[03:32.95] Christmas log, jog on
[03:35.38] Mystical face twat headlines
[03:37.94] Look at the wise men sing
[03:40.02] I'm flash, here's the ball, I beat your fucking soldiers up ming
[03:46.32] I don't wanna disco or two
[03:51.38] I don't wanna disco or two
[03:56.27] I don't wanna disco or two
[04:01.34] I don't wanna disco or two
[04:04.06]