(featuring Fruitbat)
You've got less soul than a boy band,
You're just a 3-chord punk,
You're like a petrified forest,
You're more like Forrest Gump,
You're always thinking of yourself,
What is it exactly that you want from me,
You know what they say about the leopard,
Turn it down or change the record,
You're always thinking of yourself.
And we split because of,
Your fights, your moods,
Your drugs, your booze,
Your style, my class,
My face, your arse.
So let's split the band,
Let's talk it through,
We owe it to the fans,
That much is true,
But the fans all know that you don't care,
Oh c'mon that's not fair,
You're always thinking of yourself.
And we split because of
Your fights, your moods,
Your drugs, your booze,
Your tunes, your words,
You notes, your verbs,
Your ego, your self-indulgence,
Your love songs, Your solo album,
My style, my class,
My face, your arse
Your fights, your moods,
Your drugs, your booze,
My style,
My class,
My face,
Your arse.
I'm sick of your fights,
I'm sick of your moods,
I've had enough of your drugs,
You've had enough booze,
You've got no style,
You've got no class,
My face,
Your arse.