Big Burt - Sleaford Mods

It is bastard biz

Slim shirt, belly pops out

They call me Big Burt

Darts player, tungsten delivery phantom

On the treble sixty

It’s really dated

And yet you still caught it

Make out you’re knowledgeable

You still rate it

Airfix dickheads

You snap-on tools who never grow

Shelling out fifteen-hundred pounds to see an has-been

Who can’t even do three gigs in one go, what’s that?

Wheel that on a three-sixty

You music magazines lying to us

Just to stay in print

Well, I want a free frisbee

Plugging a shit pic

So you can still parade around Arnos Grove in your get-up

Namedropping nineties pricks

Worse

It’s getting shitter

And no amount of talking about

Something that you’ll never do anything about

Is gonna make it better

Yeah, yeah, yeah

I got a wonky back

Inspector Gadget

In deep sea batter

80's cafè, Scampi champ

Alright chap, Bostom stump

You fall off, splatter

Beef jerky

After hours in the farm shop restaurant bar

Keys in a bowl murky

Legs eleven

Hundred percent dolphin-friendly

Nets in caravan kitchen heaven

We ain’t got a lot

And I don’t want God’s plan

Is it twenty-five pound a month for the handset

And free calls to the promised land?

We ain’t got a lot

And I don’t want God’s plan

Is it twenty-five pound a month for the handset

And free calls to the promised land?

I don’t want God’s plan

Is it twenty-five pound a month

And free calls to the promised land?

It is bastard biz

Slim shirt, belly pops out

They call me Big Burt

Belly pops out

They call me Big Burt

Belly pops out

They call me Big Burt

(They call me Big Burt)