Next Time


Next time I’ll be last in the line when they’re handing out high IQs.
Ignorance is bliss and dumb fucks good – despite misspelt tattoos.
Next time I’ll be the first in the queue when they’re handing out dicks for donkeys.
A gen-u-ine stud, hung like a horse – and none-stop chicks and bonkin’.

The school of hard knocks has taught me well, what’s needed in this life.
Next time I’ll load up on all the things, to skip the struggles and strife.

Next time.

Next time I’ll ensure I am the second born of a rich, power-hungry elite.
Silver spoon in my mouth, the life of Riley with – the world laid out at my feet.
And while I’m there I’ll push and shove my way past and to the front,
of the egoistical crowd, to be a figure-head, or other obnoxious little cunt.

PRE-CHORUS

CHORUS

Next time I’ll lie and cheat and steal my crooked way to the very top,
and once I’m there, I’ll keep on going, ‘cos I won’t know when to stop.
Next time you’ll see me on TV, twenty-four-seven-three-sixty-five.
I’ll live like a God, hated and unloved, micro-managing your lives.

PRE-CHORUS

CHORUS

©7.4.2016 Andrew Robert Chapman


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