Walk Up
Walk up to failure
Walk up to regret
Walk up to a place you'll never forget
Past the pregnant guard
The red paradise of dreams and scars
Leg scars, arm scars, stomach scars lead by far
The marks of the old country start
The old cliche, exploitation blues
The offers no young hungry things could refuse
"Welcome to Hell"
She may as well say
As you walk up, walk up
Walk up for love on your lunch break
Walk up, walk up
Walk up to see God, to see sweet Jane
You still smell her snatch
As you trawl the accounts
Flip through the company books
You can say you rode coattails of blind chance
I know you itch for romance
Another lonely еxecutive cunt
The kind that only knows how to pay to touch
In thе boardroom
Your fish fingers shake hands with the top-flight men
Check your balls for lumps once they've left
What's that itch? Is that new?
Is that working as it's supposed to?
Am I alive?
Is she sleeping with her eyes open?
There's a place for your briefcase
But watch out for the wandering hands
Walk up
To see God, to see sweet Jane
To pay for a new name
For love on your lunch break
"Do they like these pretty young things, or just get by on the brink?"
You are asked as you both walk past
You feign indifference; you say, "I've got no idea"
"Enough to live well, I suppose"
And your favourite catches your eye
But she stays quiet; you exhale relief
Humiliation was almost complete
Chalk it up to blind fate
Tomorrow you're back for love on your lunch break
Walk up
Walk up
Walk up
(Crowd complaining)
Hey, turn that shit down, motherfucker!
Hey, I'm gonna listen to my music whenever the fuck I want!
Boring!
Go home, man!
What are ya talkin' bout home? I ain't got no home
I ain't got no home; I ain't got no town
Ain't got no friends, ain't got a frown
I am unhappy, and that's the truth
I got two words: fuck you!
(Crowd wooing)
Hey, keep that going on now, boy!
Once he starts playin', he never stops, that damn boy
Walk up to regret
Walk up to a place you'll never forget
Past the pregnant guard
The red paradise of dreams and scars
Leg scars, arm scars, stomach scars lead by far
The marks of the old country start
The old cliche, exploitation blues
The offers no young hungry things could refuse
"Welcome to Hell"
She may as well say
As you walk up, walk up
Walk up for love on your lunch break
Walk up, walk up
Walk up to see God, to see sweet Jane
You still smell her snatch
As you trawl the accounts
Flip through the company books
You can say you rode coattails of blind chance
I know you itch for romance
Another lonely еxecutive cunt
The kind that only knows how to pay to touch
In thе boardroom
Your fish fingers shake hands with the top-flight men
Check your balls for lumps once they've left
What's that itch? Is that new?
Is that working as it's supposed to?
Am I alive?
Is she sleeping with her eyes open?
There's a place for your briefcase
But watch out for the wandering hands
Walk up
To see God, to see sweet Jane
To pay for a new name
For love on your lunch break
"Do they like these pretty young things, or just get by on the brink?"
You are asked as you both walk past
You feign indifference; you say, "I've got no idea"
"Enough to live well, I suppose"
And your favourite catches your eye
But she stays quiet; you exhale relief
Humiliation was almost complete
Chalk it up to blind fate
Tomorrow you're back for love on your lunch break
Walk up
Walk up
Walk up
(Crowd complaining)
Hey, turn that shit down, motherfucker!
Hey, I'm gonna listen to my music whenever the fuck I want!
Boring!
Go home, man!
What are ya talkin' bout home? I ain't got no home
I ain't got no home; I ain't got no town
Ain't got no friends, ain't got a frown
I am unhappy, and that's the truth
I got two words: fuck you!
(Crowd wooing)
Hey, keep that going on now, boy!
Once he starts playin', he never stops, that damn boy
Credits
Writer(s): Geordie Greep
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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