This is the wasteland, we call this the wasteland,
Where fewer little posh boys cant believe we treasure beer cans.
Whered you get those fans,

Found them at the shop man,
Peculiar place to find them but theyre dedicated View fans.


You think its cynical to this home a miracle,
Its not a miracle; were just so strangely typical,
Initiate in one gang, initiations tough man,

Imprisonment is on the cards,
Were heading for the quick sand.


Sign on the brew, coz theres nothing to do,
Nothing to do, but listen to you,
Not listening to you my parents told me not to,

This is the wasteland, our idealistic wasteland,
Regurgitated circle of a seven hour shop stand.


So steal a car chief, the police are off the beat thief,
Theyll find it funny when they see insurance relief,
Sign on the brew, coz theres nothing to do,

Nothing to do, but I listen to you,
Im not listening to you my parents told me not to,


Think youre a hard prick, something quite sadistic,
No you werent sadistic when hed done you with the brick vick,
Your land is boring, so very, very boring.

Wouldnt dream to wonder if its raining or its snowing.

This is the wasteland, wasteland...