3G
You're as green as grass. Green green grass. Grassing
people up. He smells of booze. She deals drugs, undercutting your sister.
You're also a fucking arse licker. Creeping up to the boss. Sticking your
tongue up his arse. Till is comes out of his mouth. You're worse than a snake.
At least a snake is biological in its bites. You grass up people by choice.
Green green grass. You told Staci to wake up. She's more switched on than
you'll ever be. She agrees with us. That you're a grassing bitch. Every factory
has a green green grass like you.
She Wolf
Once it was Fenris the wolf who lived up north. Now it's
Frank the drug dealer. Council flats are cheaper up north. Leaving him more
cash to buy drugs, cut them and sell them on. There's no wolves here. Only
hyenas and jackals selling weed, crack and speed. Go back to London you make
believe man.
Trust Fund
You've got lots of cash from your cushy well paid job. A
nice plush pad in the outskirts. A big car worth a mint. An older gay lover
called Lenny. And a shed full of racing pigeons to be one of the boys. One
thing you don't have is trust. Look at what you did, siphoning funds off from
overseas contracts. Now that cash resides offshore. No tax here. Only your
scheming illegal acts and shady morality. You, the city boy.
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