Well, the sun goes down on London town
But it never sets on Oxford Street
Those well spoken young men
And their bouncers are trying to create a well dressed elite
And all on private medicine, tut tut
Once inside join the rising tide
Of people who are so proud to get in
Who think their face is their fortune
But under their skin their ugly as sin
Didn't I meet you down at the clinic?
And lots of boys with lots of poison
There right down to their hips
There're lots of pretty girls with suntans
And cold sores on their lips
Is he your boyfriend
Or is he just here to hold your coat?
Or take it off, take it off, take it off
And let's find out
Half passed tries with half cast eyes
Are sucking in their cheeks until it hurts
Lots of twats in funny hats
With Karl Marx printed on their shirts
Will tell you
Revolution is just a state of mind
Oh this is Saturday night
In the west end, alright
And these people are not my kind
You can cut the rug with this weeks **
Make 'em all queue up to lick your arse
Wear a T-Shirt that says
Young, free and single
Or a big badge that says
I'm here, punk working class
The place is full of ear holes
Who hang on every word
That they speak
Who believe what they write
About themselves
Week after week after week after week
I don't know how they get away with it
They should be ashamed
While if it's all so bloody beautiful
Well take it home and have it framed
