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letra de great grand mcabre brothers - mcabre brothers

[verse 1 – monster under the bed]
i waste life hovering ’round at daytime
and tuck a nine in my tweedy trouser waistline
wrinkled face, crippled arthritic pain
but still pull 20 year old sl-ts on my zimmer frame
horrible c-nt; yes i pack a mac-eleven
and hold post offices up for my stamp collection
old aged pensioning, cocaine peddling
out my gray cardigan, hands shaking from parkinson’s
incoherent talking, your drunk aggressive neighbour
bandana tied over my f-cking respirator
keep it old school, no need to hold tools
but if you have to, you can stare at my pistol barrel
steady ‘illin
take the pharmacy under siege for my next prеscription of penicillin (ha!)
i’m keeping it real, my false t–th arе a grill
pedal crack on the block from my old people mobile
golden leaf pack, t–th black and lost my hair
i lean back and relapse in my rocking chair
living legend, with a pair of 607 cazal-
and a smith & wesson wearing it out
i keep my bunions on display like a nice pair of tits
and win in arm wrestles with prosthetic limbs
cigarette in mouth in a dressing gown with my member out
popping shots off into the breakfast crowd
the hard of hearing, i think my disabled parking permit’s a policeman’s badge
i pull over in the middle of the street and nap
where the f-ck are my oaps with their heaters at?
[verse 2 – mr. wrong]
titanium false t–th attached take your fist
spitting lager tops, screwb-lls in tartan socks rocking grandfather clocks
i think i’m dead and now i’m getting head on my chairlift to heaven
l!cking shots in the air with a smith and wesson
rolling with a broken neck
and only raise my glass tinted cane when i keep my hoes in check
grumpy, old, no respect
a hundred-and-something and haven’t spent a whole day sober yet
can’t spare no money
and hang around on street corners with gangs of oaps that aren’t scared of hoodies
with a veteran thug b-tch giving me head
feds tapped the phone, leave the nice old man alone
angry with a stammer, drunken mental patient slowly pacing
a threat to any younger generation
check the lager stench – the awkward
scumbag hunchback, my chin scr-pes along the floor when i’m walking
with a 21 bobby car entourage
oaps throwing bombs on the bowling green
horrible old man, ignorant thug sh-t
pistol whipping his d-mn grandchildren in public
mad, grinning with crooked t–th and gum disease
my budgie speaks and knows every word to f-ck the police
geriatrics run the streets, little’un
children? i’m sick of ’em, old bitter and ignorant
sip a hot toddy, take a walk in the dark
thugged out, bopping with his body falling apart
i’m chatting sh-t with holes in my comfort jumper
mumble under breath too over a f-cking number

- mcabre brothers

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