lyrics
The local’s full with mates from school, rotting away on the bar-stools
A double shot of the barmaids love, sets the tone for this evenings role-call
“Jimmy”, tell us a tale about the switch-hitting women from the Welling estate
This brim-stoned, backbeat, James Dean prophecy
Is a smoking gun for high times when we meet
But just recently his drinking etiquette has turned nasty
For some reason though no-one provokes him
He starts spitting insults in every direction
If someone stands to call him on it
His face contracts and he starts to get violent
My Hyde (standing on the top of the world) of closing time
My Hyde (standing on the top of the world) of closing time
St George, he calls as the high street dawns, tangled up with the barstools
Where the stainless stars cross fire and charge shine sharp and hard to lead us onwards
“Jimmy” keep it down, the boys ‘round here ain’t messin’ around
Moonlight excites low lives on the curb
A call to arms for crash land kids who yearn for blood in the night but these restless stares ain’t sittin’ right
Fortunes collide on a downward run
Try as he might, he can’t hold his tongue
Taunts the live wires and playful ones;
We wanted peace, but it’s earthbound from now on.
My Hyde (standing on the top of the world) of closing time
My Hyde (standing on the top of the world) of closing time
These stone-faced disgraces crawl out from the council estates and spring up straight and proud
A South London stand-off, you want to leave it be, but Jimmy won’t back down
Unstable souls fold and roll back as this wide-eyed rat-pack expand and fill the street
Flying high on some misguided ride of honour, the young brother’s eyes are showing signs of unease
Lanky leader spits and bleeds us, knows he’s no chance but wants to find out
Squares up as all goes quiet...
The kids freeze as this wirey wretch sinks to his knees, no time to think just dive in, he ain’t seen, you sink him
Spinning round you catch these blood shot brothers rolling on the ground
The chaos splits leaves Jimmy’s stranded with three kids, laying the boot in, he manages to pull himself to his feet and shuffle down the street
Gliding round the back you catch these two cats cold, down they go as they other makes a run for it up the road
Blood rips on his shirt, Jimmy’s more annoyed than hurt, his face is aching, scraped hands won’t stop shaking.
He wants to find them, you wanna get off the street before the police come
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