Ste McCabe - Hate Mail lyrics

It seems I can't get away from high browed faces Talking about abolishing races I've been around this place for way too long I know that what you don't understand must be wrong Well the Daily Mail must make you feel Like your nasty little ways have ma** appeal You've got style, I must confess For a piggy little hitler in a floral dress I've got to get out of here The smell of middle England gives me The Fear I'm the story that makes you sick And what's my crime? Well take your pick It all seems a little unfair Earth calling Tory land, anyone there? You've got wisdom I must conclude For a sheltered old yuppie who calls ignorance truth Now one, two, three, four Who's the piggy that we'll ignore? Five, six, seven, eight For all the immigrants who you hate Nine, ten, eleven, twelve You and your family values can rot in hell You've got views, you proudly explain But you're the hypnotised playing out a therapists game.