Streets - All Got Our Runnings lyrics

rate me

again I step out my yard<br />

head swings round, clocks my landlord<br />

start chippin’ up the road cos I owe him three-weeks dough<br />

<br />

the ship’s sinkin’, tele’s on the blink<br />

‘n’ in the pub it’s one beer to last all evening<br />

later on chips for feedin’<br />

<br />

when the quids are down<br />

try sneakin’ a bottle of brandy round bouncers into the Ministry Of Sound<br />

scored, Moffat, back indoors with a profit<br />

‘cos they do say havin’ no money forces one to make the right choices on life each day<br />

if you can’t pay you can’t play<br />

<br />

success hides a multitude of sins<br />

but I ain’t successful and my piggy-bank’s still in the bin,<br />

been there since I was a kid<br />

<br />

goin’ round in circles, not being careful but say;<br />

“I get paid on Friday, can’t wait to live life my way”<br />

<br />

‘cos on the streets I’m just a geezer<br />

I gotta make ends meet, yeah?<br />

gotta do what I need to<br />

shit, we all got our runnin’s now<br />

on the streets I’m just a geezer<br />

gotta make ends meet, yeah?<br />

gotta do what I need to<br />

shit, we all got our runnin’s now<br />

<br />

Brut pocket I’m back in the Burassic seat again<br />

after spending sixty pound last week on beers with friends<br />

brought it all on myself see, granted<br />

now I’m scorin’ draw for everyone to get my next spliff sorted<br />

hang round mum’s house to get smothered<br />

got no tins in the cupboard this week<br />

hold on to your seat ‘cos it’s all gone a bit Pete<br />

live for the moment said he *wrong*<br />

downin’ beers out of my tree, now the moment’s passed the cash is a distant memory<br />

you know things are bleak when you’re tellin’ the birds you asked out last week that things <br />

<br />

are busy<br />

when really you’ve got no dough in the piggy<br />

two days after pay day’s clocked<br />

and it’s back at The Black Dog stuffin’ them socks into pool table pockets<br />

<br />

*Chorus*<br />

<br />

I’m skint, got no moolah<br />

need to get some colour in my cheeks says mum<br />

that’ll be my English inner city tan<br />

I’m skinny like a woman, need to get some punan’ through the door<br />

*Please Sir, can I have some more?*<br />

oi.<br />

oi, lend me a tenner so I can go to the chip-shop,<br />

twenty-four garage and then for a quick top,<br />

this time opting for the reassuringly cheap option<br />

<br />

when the quids are down,<br />

my Schott hoodie’s my ball gown<br />

my essential accessory is my bad day frown ‘cos,<br />

life in the third-class carriage can be evil<br />

when your only ticket to freedom is a permit to travel<br />

so, Uncle Shiner, you best go get the spade and dig me a grave<br />

‘cos I can’t pay the rent but I got ‘ hundred-and-nine pound pair o’ trainers on<br />

<br />

*Chorus*<br />

<br />

La la la<br />

and then this geezer turned round to me and said<br />

“What are you doing, you twat”<br />

and I was like<br />

“What the fuck, is this, what are you saying, you div?”<br />

oi… that’s it.