It's a Mugs Game - Soft Cell

Oh God it’s another night

And your head is feeling like a lump of lead

You should never have drunk those party-fours

You should have been home being good instead

Ever been in a deja vu in the end it’s the same

Oh yeah you ran out of your silver thins

And you’re trying to be so high class

Though you need a bath and your hair’s looking like string

And though you’re nearly broke

You end up paying for all the drinks

And you tell them «Oh its nothing

There’s a million where those come from.»

And then you whisper to your longest-suffering friend

«Please lend me a few quid…»

Oh God it’s another day

And your stomach’s feeling like a blown-up balloon

You should never have eaten that greasy food

The doctor told you that chili was bad for your blood

And you’re standing at the chemist in Boots

Coughing up your guts like you’re at deaths door

And all this for a packet of Do-Do's

And the assistant gives you a wink

And you turn bright red

It’s at time like this that you wish you were dead

And you take the whole packet

And you feel like you’ve drunk a bottle of bleach

And you tell yourself «Never, never again.»

Not until next week anyway.

And you were never one for holding drink

And you stagger off to the toilet

And you throw up like it was Christmas

And you miss the bowl and you hit your shoes

And there’s no paper towels

What else can go wrong with you?

It’s a choice between a cab fare home

And a packet of cigarettes

So you choose and the money sticks

In the machine and the manager says

«Tough shit — drink up and leave.»

Oh god it’s another disease

And you just got rid of the last

You were beginning to feel Okay

And the friends you gave it to Were speaking to you again

You find yourself having sex in the back of a car

And the girl underneath doesn’t care who you are

And you’re nearly there and she still doesn’t care

And her chewing gum is getting stuck in your hair

And there’s something wrong, something that you’ve forgot

Oh shit you’ve forgotten the rubber

And you don’t want a kid well deny it was you

Oh Christ if your dad find out

Then he’ll make you stay in

And do your homework

And cut your hair

And wear your school uniform out in the street

What a fate worse than death

Oh well, he can’t hit you you can hit him back

And play your records so loud

All the ones that he especially hates

Deep Purple in rock, Led Zeppelin too

Well even you hate those…

Well, on second thought

I think I’ll leave home and go and live um… In America

Because they earn more money there

And you can get away with murder — yeah!

Oh, it’s a mug’s game

I Can’t wait ‘til I’m twenty-one

And then tell them all to sod off!