Lyrics
We're here to help. Catching canaries is all part of the job
Those of you who are way ahead of me could say something
about a bird in the hand being worth two in the bathroom or something
She's grateful, of course. Very grateful
and invites me to stay for tea and a bit of cake
What would you do?

Never got along with many heads
Never got along with feds
Couldn't sleep in girls' beds
Had to fled
After I fuck and after I bust
I had to duck, get the night bus home
Now I'm getting a bus home
Stumbling home
Wandering home through Holloway Road
She wants me to do

What would you do?

Man I got too much respect for you, baby girl
We don't have to do that right now
I mean it'll be fun, but when the sun comes up
Man I think to myself, "What have I done?"
I'm like fuck, I got a little bit of luck
A lot of girls I link, man they have to get

He had the same batch since his feet were bound in kickers
Creating unknown brothers, and unknown sisters
Locked in blood, gunk, fluids and mixtures
Of sweat, grease chicken, beef and love leaking stitches
Learning his citizenship he paints naked pictures
Earned to give her a tip
She waits on him but he's drifted
She took his eye and now his brain's gifted
A relaxed marriage on an island in the South Pacific

Closure all over when thoughts got explicit
He turned off the paper cause he read a seedy snippet
Perverse scum, their tongues stung and twisted
Remain in fine light but they're devils, and they're not with it
For us, they ain't with it
Uncovering these tales are horrific
Some men are dogs to be specific
Some men are dogs to be specific
Some men are dogs to be specific

Some men are dogs to be specific
Some men are dogs to be specific
Some fucking men are dogs to be specific

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): Archie Ivan Marshall




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