This is the wasteland, we call this the wasteland,
Where fewer little posh boys canât believe we treasure beer cans.
Whereâd you get those fans,
Found them at the shop man,
Peculiar place to find them but theyâre dedicated View fans.
You think itâs cynical to this home a miracle,
Itâs not a miracle; weâre just so strangely typical,
Initiate in one gang, initiations tough man,
Imprisonment is on the cards,
Weâre heading for the quick sand.
Sign on the brew, coz thereâs 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,
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Regurgitated circle of a seven hour shop stand.
So steal a car chief, the police are off the beat thief,
Theyâll find it funny when they see insurance relief,
Sign on the brew, coz thereâs nothing to do,
Nothing to do, but I listen to you,
Iâm not listening to you my parents told me not to,
Think youâre a hard prick, something quite sadistic,
No you werenât sadistic when heâd done you with the brick vick,
Your land is boring, so very, very boring.
Wouldnât dream to wonder if itâs raining or itâs snowing.
This is the wasteland, wasteland...
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Wasteland lyrics @ elyricsworld.com
