Line them up, dose them, one by one,
A backstreet bar brawl,
Where he stirs the shit, but keeps his hands clean.
His pockets are filled with green, his boys ensure that,
He leaves, and leaves them sitting in the dirt.

Crying out.
Crying out.

Why do they congregate behind a backstreet bar brawl,
Where he stirs the shit but keeps his hands clean?
They travel the world to hear the pearls of wisdom
He dishes out for free.
If you buy his wares his words are gratis.

Crying out.
Crying out.

He doesn’t thieve or rob or steal, no need to do that,
The clothes he wears designed in Italy.
They gather round him dressed in rags and knock-off tracksuits,
They mean nothing at all to him or me.

Crying out.
Crying out.
Crying out.
Crying out.


Lyrics submitted by driver08uk

Story For Nothing song meanings
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