Pulp

Mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits. Raised on a diet of broken biscuits, oh we

don't look at the same as

you, we don't do the things you do, but we live round here too. Oh

really. Mis-shapes, mistakes,

misfits, we'd like to go to town but we can't risk it, oh 'cause they

just want to keep us out. You

could end up with a smash in the mouth just for standing out. Oh really.

Brothers, sisters, can't you

see ? The future's owned by you and me. There won't be fighting in the

street. They think they've

got us a beat, but revenge is going to be so sweet. We're making a move,

we're making it now,

we're coming out of the side-lines. Just put your hands up