he knows it as well there's spunk and this boy ain't got it his disease is all he deserves and i'll take the crap, take the crap right out from him he's no heart, no nerve and i lie in bed and my love reads me poetry now that's what i, she's what i call an angel and so all you slags, you stay bitter and lonely talking pathetic lives, ah just get to hell 'cos you do not know fuck all bring me the head, the head of the stirrer i know he's dead, he knows it as well she and her mouth, a problem held dearly feeble little girl, whose ignorance brags rivers of sick flow from her freely she lives in a world of invented facts and his ears burn as he listens to shit stir mouth ablaze, bits of sex in her teeth his eyes aglow, his face ugly and twisted there's naught up front, even less underneath 'cos you do not know fuck all bring me the head, the head of the stirrer i know he's dead, he knows it as well and if you say that, if you say that again i'll be around and i'll kick you in if you say that, if you say ought again then i'll be around and i'll kick you in if you say that, if you say that again i'll be right round your house and i'll kick you in and lo! on the fifth of the