Skint in a material world
I did a warehouse stint for southsea girl
It was HongKong clothes for cash
Everybody got treated worse than trash
Punch the card in the company clock
Load the trolleys and the company trucks
And around and around the whole day through
And you couldn't sit down when there was nothing to do
Well they had beaten up people from every land
Fools like me trying to be in bands
A little French girl so good to me
But I couldn't love her back so lonely
A backpacker travelling through
A lumberjack with the travelling blues
He had worn out shoes and wore out cuffs
And big ideas that were never big enough
He said "The man wants you, go wash his car.
Hey you, I'm talking to you."
I said "Me? Not me, uh uh. No can do."
No can, can do, no can
No can, can do, no can
Now some were grown up unlike me
And were dealing with reality
I was spitting, sulking, smoking, shirking
While the lady from Jamaica was singing and working
I had everyone but me to blame
And everyday was just the same
Well nobody ever said it was a righteous world
But they did they never said it was a southsea girl
He said "The man wants you, go wash his car.
Hey you, I'm talking to you."
I said "Me? Not me, uh uh. No can do."
No can, can do, no can
No can, can do, no can
Well I've made my bed on people's floors
Opened up and closed some doors
Dreamed that if my dreams came true
Then I wouldn't do what I didn't want to
Walking through the gates to the outside
To dream some dreams that never died
And I walked the streets of London town
Looking for a place to put my head down
