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letra de dirty thoughts - complete

[intro: complete]
oi, layla, why are people so f-ckin’ narrow minded, yet they have the guts to say we’re f-cked up?

[chorus: complete]
some say i am disgusting
the sick and perverted sort
well, i don’t give a f-ckin’ sh-t
cause i can’t stop these dirty, dirty thoughts
some say i am disgusting
the sick and perverted sort
well, i don’t give a f-ckin’ sh-t
cause i can’t stop these dirty, dirty thoughts
[verse 1: complete]
thoughts gross, deeper than ho-rs- throats
twisted like the cord when a fetus is born choked
i’d forge notes to my teacher and sports coach
till they found me pleasin’ the school priest in a wardrobe
my missus’ lawn’s mowed firm, night and day
but it’s probably ‘cause she only turned five in may
i’m a strange kind of psycho, only fight with g-ys
‘cause they’re likely to die quicker if combined with aids
my mind’s decayed, when i’m not abusin’ kids with layla
i like to name my poos and introduce ‘em to my neighbour
confusion’s in my nature, f-ck provin’ that i’m greater
regrets keep me fresh, like food in a container
shoot me with a taser, ‘cause i need a be shocked
believe it or not, i wanna make this freak in me stop
‘cause i doubt you’ll ever see my cd in a shop
but you can see me bleed from my c-ck
on your street, asleep with your dog

[chorus: complete]
some say i am disgusting
the sick and perverted sort
well, i don’t give a f-ckin’ sh-t
cause i can’t stop these dirty, dirty thoughts
some say i am disgusting
the sick and perverted sort
well, i don’t give a f-ckin’ sh-t
cause i can’t stop these dirty, dirty thoughts
[verse 2: layla]
i got dirty thoughts, like sperm in a horse
after churnin’ out pharlap’s and girthin’ his corpse
cream yeast in your face with cottage cheese drawers
[?] strap on [?], of course
serve up my herring with berries, weak three
wear confetti as sheets, with my cheap bl–dy maries
freeze t-rds for d-ld-s, but keep no size varies
depending on how much i eat of my bloke’s hairy
stick finger, pink b-tch, touch up my big stick
convince [?] to slam the shorts of a midget
jam seven inches up a reverend’s vas deferens
and pray to all the medicines his altar boy revenges him
it’s common fact often the last comet spat
does gobby, smack staff, can’t fathom an office chat
[?] when i got so warped on tap
maybe when the cord got wrapped
bus blew out my mother’s gash

- complete

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