Kevin Bloody Wilson Hey Gmh
Little while back I got thinking don’t use the ute much
anymore
Should retire the old girl gracefully, I’d look beaut
in a new Commodore
They told me it’d take three weeks, three weeks, pigs
f..ckin’ arse
Cause as soon as I signed the dotted line, the f..ckin’
bullshit started
Hey GMH you cunts. Where’s me f..ckin’ car
You told me it’d take three weeks, it’s been three
f..ckin’ months so far
I could’ve crocheted a f..ckin’ Commodore by the time
you cunts got started
GMH you cunts where’s me f..ckin’ car
If I’d wanted to listen to bullshit
I woulda’ played one of me own CD’s
And I could’ve fertalized the f..ckin’ Nullabour
With the crap you’ve fed to me
And as far as f..ckin’ excuses, mate I’m a married drunk
I tell lies for a livin’, so don’t practice on me ya
cunt
Hey GMH you cunts. Where’s me f..ckin’ car
You told me it’d take three weeks, it’s been three
f..ckin’ months so far
I could’ve crocheted a f..ckin’ commodore by the time
you cunts got started
GMH you cunts where’s me f..ckin’ car
Next time I come to see you, I’m gonna bring me mongrel
kids
And let’m loose in your f..ckin’ showroom while I drink
ya f..ckin’ piss
And when the cops com’n round up my mob and sling us
out the f..ckin’ door
I’ll go and do what I should’ve done, I’ll go and buy a
f..ckin’ Ford
Not happy mate
Hey GMH you cunts. Where’s me f..ckin’ car
You told me it’d take three weeks, it’s been three
f..ckin’ months so far
I could’ve crocheted a f..ckin’ commodore by the time
you cunts got off your arse
GMH you cunts where’s me f..ckin’ car
I’ll dob you in ya cunts, I’ll tell John Laws on you
He’ll kick the f..ck out of you
I saw GMH suck Kevvys cock.
Not happy Mate
