Lyrics:
of this song
Well I could go on and on
But it's still unfashionable
To believe in principles
South South Yorkshire, mass murderer
How can you sleep
of this song
Well I could go on and on
But it's still unfashionable
To believe in principles
South South Yorkshire, mass murderer
How can you sleep
This is the South Yorkshire Police
We've had complaints
Just grab your shit and leave
And no-one goes to gaol
But we are the West Yorkshire
Ego's A list
She won't be leaving in the same state she came in
She burning bridges
Just to cross over the same bridge
Shit gone south like Cambridge
Said
at night
Heading south to cotton rows and honeysuckle bloom
Under the cumberland moon heading south, heading south
Give me room to travel on my way
on the go, imagination
Backpack, shimmer shimmer, rest in peace
Listen up lady gents
This is what you tryna get
Yorkshire minister
This is what i said to her
South London's finest, I was Lambeth raised
Yorkshire born, see me out in St Tropez
All I'm seeing is Medusa heads and
Grams of yay moving like
any old o'clock
Between the rock and roll devil and the fear of god
Big brotherly love runs shallow as skin
In the deep south of Yorkshire
Well
Where is Mrs. Right?
I gotta find her
(Streamline and Conjunction)
Where is Mrs. Right? I gotta see her
Travel all across the world just
this yearning
I try to do my work but it ain't no use
I gotta travel south in the morning
Gonna head south on the red-eye in the morning
I'm gonna head
the North
Just south of the Yorkshire moors
A little town out by the coast
And when I'm feeling down I take a drive out to the east
Something picks me up when
I should send 'em down south
To the bottom of my blue jeans
I gotta problem with my middle finger
It's causing me endless woes
I gotta problem with my
Johannesburg, South Yorkshire
A stone's throw away, now we're there
- in poland,
Johannesburg - south yorkshire,
A stones throw away: now we're there.
travel the world
(I wanna, I wanna)
But nothing can compare to that dirty south coast
Cause we cornbread fed,
You see that figure in the clothes (Figure in
Where is Mrs. Right?
I gotta find her
(Streamline and Conjunction)
Where is Mrs. Right? I gotta see her
Travel all across the world just
to the cricket pitch, bat in hand
In his veins, the pulse of two distant lands
From Yorkshire puds to samosas, he tastes it all
Straddling borders like he's ten
You told me you love I'll never forget
The feeling as I stood up and left
Now I won't travel home
To me you're still near your telephone
Spells of good
Frickley in South Yorkshire, a small mining town
Where once the riot coppers beat the pickets to the ground
Has a football team, and a stand full
I was panning for gold
In the Yorkshire countryside
I found what I was looking for once or twice
But I lost what I left behind
She was nursing
fruitcake
Firewood touché
Do it to me baby 'til the bell break
And just like that, her wish was granted
The girl from South took Santa's North Pole
THE BcLLcD OF EMILY SWcNN
Emily Swann was a wife, from South Yorkshire she came
When her husband turned up dead she took all the blame,
I'm with whateva' you wit' you feel me
Yeah I'm down for whateva'
Yeah you know
Aight
You could be my South Señorita
Follow the leader
Soon
whizzing round, the dingo scratches gravel
The possum, bears and bandicoots are always on the travel.
In South Australia I was born, heave away, haul away
.jpg/300px-Avion_Travel_111_(870989713).jpg "Piccola Orchestra Avion Travel")
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