More songs by Monster Florence
Description
Producer: Tom Donovan
Composer: Andre Mclean
Composer: Quinton Mitton
Composer: Alex Osiris
Composer: Tom Donovan
Composer: Cameron Morrell
Composer: Jonny Poole
Lyricist: Andre Mclean
Lyricist: Quinton Mitton
Lyricist: Alex Osiris
Lyricist: Tom Donovan
Lyricist: Cameron Morrell
Lyricist: Jonny Poole
Arranger: Tom Donovan
Lyrics and translation
Original
Read you like a, read you like a, read you like a, read you like a- Read you like an open book, dead centre in a fold. Queues queuing up, job centre on the dole.
On time, two times, now they said you're on a roll, but every time you roll seem to end up in a hole again. Hold this, bring it back to life and then you ghost it.
Ghost it! But what's that? Water off a duck's back, crumbs in a moustache.
Who am I to talk?
I go missing myself in a fight with the pillow when I'm hitting myself with the left, right chop, think I'm white belt and the oven's so hot that the chicken might melt. And you're acting like I'm evil, like I'll leave you.
I would never do that, that's illegal, and you could never be free, just in free fall.
It's the white noise painting pictures in me head.
With every stroke, I slowly notice all the colors I could see just seem red.
So I scream, "La, la, la, la, la! Oi, oi, oi! La, la, la, la, la. Oi, oi, oi!
La, la, la, la, la. Oi, oi, oi! La, la, la, la, la.
" 'Cause my head's busy like old TV from way back when I was a boy.
I leave this episode on repeat and try and make sense of all the noise. Oi, oi, oi!
Faint colors and shades, as soft as the glow.
Turned off at the mains, I hope that you know.
I left the telly on to wake you.
Oi, oi, oi. Pantomime of politics.
As a young man, I scholared in a world of bollockings.
On top of the world like a broken monument, but foundations wore thin when our walls were falling in.
You'll burn yourself out before you ever reach the brim. If you ain't a fireman, you'll have to build thicker skin.
Seven years bad luck for every glass I clink, still I sprint towards the finish line with half-empty drinks. Charging through the mist, then the path eventually sinks.
When you realize your house ain't a home because it stinks.
You was only taught to think with the blunt end of your fist, but you're running out of armor, your father could be the link.
Are we all desensitized to pictures of missing, and that's why we never shared the link?
Just council estate kids doing council estate things until we're just some county court building in closed cases.
So I scream, "La, la, la, la, la! Oi, oi, oi! La, la, la, la, la. Oi, oi, oi!
La, la, la, la, la.
Oi, oi, oi! La, la, la, la, la.
" 'Cause my head's busy like old TV from way back when I was a boy. I leave this episode on repeat and try and make sense of all the noise.
Oi, oi, oi!