is this the real me, am I in comedy
Talk in a landslide
no escape from reality as such
Open my world, I crete up to me as I see

I'm just a poor sod
I need those vivid dreams
Cos i'm classically-trained, crack-addled, Seattle-born Tupac Shakur
Hit me when the fire goes and it didn't even matter to me
(to me)

Hitler just proved him wrong
Put Eva to his head
Pull my nigger to my bed
Too late now, it's Alfred Hitchcock
I need somethin' to make me treat me right

Father
ooh-ooh-aah-ooh
I didn't need to bite myself
I guess that we're shall move on Oh
Move on, move on, move on cuz nothing really matters

Hello
my shining bike
I had a book of Queen and it's all gone
Then I had Arctic Monkeys
placed them all again with 10CC
Knowledge
oooh-aaah-ooooh
Try to please myself
As I just wasn't in these times
I know how, I know how, oh no it doesn't really matter

I'm just a Hitler with a Pat Cash (Tennis stinks, stinks than poop) Talking shite (talking shite) oh talking shite
poo, poo, poo, poo
Mama Mozart, Mama Mozart
Mama Mozart let her go
had a Irish accent just like me
oh me, oh me

So can you start dreaming somethin' else
oh baby, are just wanna get in my ear

Nothing ever matters
oh, Beethoven can see
i can't really matter for me
Nothing ever happens for me

And the story goes
'woooosh'