Graham Coxon
Who the Fuck?
I stole the bottle of gin from over the counter and ran
I knew I'd been seen
I scarpered stifling giggles down the street
And hid round a corner on a side street
I heard him huffing and the sound of his big feet
Against the paving, he was getting close
As he rounded the corner I sighted him up down the barrel of the gun
And on seeing his expression change to one of horror
And confusion jerked back the trigger
His body was jolted back by the force of the bullet
And his feet flew foward
I saw a bright little rivulet of blood arc into the air
And I slid the gun into the waistband of my trousers
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Is there really a thing like feeling too much?
Can you really escape and numb the real?
There's a way of saying, a way of sayin' a shape
I feel a certain shape and it's complicated it's not like a square or a circle
It's like a crystal or a diamond, it's clean, hard
Unfathomable and it ends in an augmented kiss
It ends in an demented kiss
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Rock Stars are not cool, they're full of his guy
They call Satan, kids stuff oozing from their mouths
They wear the shoes of dead soldiers shot by soldiers
Valium horses, trotting, squeezing through their raspberry blood
Sometimes I feel so stupid I wanna quit get out of it
'Cause I hate this world and everyone in it
The fat bald men who run it, the fat bald men
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?