[Intro: Synth arpeggio, building to a gated drum fill and driving synth bass.]
[Spoken, with a detached coolness]
Oi, listen up, you lot, lemme spin a yarn for ya,
About these shiny things that caused me pure torture.
They cost a king's ransom, a hefty damn price,
Now I'm walkin' round like a lost bloody ice.
[Verse 1]
So there I was, mindin' me own biz, innit?
Just strollin' down the road, feelin' proper legit.
Saw these beauties gleamin', right there in the shop window,
Said to meself, "Blimey, they're a knockout, don't you know!"
Me old boots were threadbare, 'adn't seen daylight in weeks,
The missus was goin' on, talkin' 'bout them leaky leaks.
So I plonked me hard-earned, every last bleedin' quid,
On these fancy Italian jobs, a fashion, they said, kid!
[Chorus]
Oh, my new kicks, you shiny, smug disgrace!
You sit on me feet, puttin' me in me place.
Costin' me an arm and a leg, what a right bloody joke,
Every step I take with ya, me spirit gets broke.
These ain't just shoes, nah, they're a bloody decree,
That if you're lookin' flash, you ain't truly free!
These ain't just shoes, nah, they're a mockery,
Of me bleedin' life and me poor, tired feet!
[Verse 2]
First time I strapped 'em on, felt like a movie star,
Struttin' down the pavement, reachin' for a faraway star.
But then the blisters started, like a plague upon me soles,
Every stride a sharp sting, playin' havoc with me goals.
Tried to keep 'em clean, polish 'em with a soft cloth,
But the slightest bit of dirt, it caused a bloody wrath.
A pigeon done its business, right on me polished toe,
And I swear those boots sneered, "You dirty rat, just go!"
[Chorus]
Oh, my new kicks, you shiny, smug disgrace!
You sit on me feet, puttin' me in me place.
Costin' me an arm and a leg, what a right bloody joke,
Every step I take with ya, me spirit gets broke.
These ain't just shoes, nah, they're a bloody decree,
That if you're lookin' flash, you ain't truly free!
These ain't just shoes, nah, they're a mockery,
Of me bleedin' life and me poor, tired feet!
[Verse 3]
My mates all took the piss, said I'd gone and lost me head,
"You bought these posh trainers? You'll soon be broke instead!"
Now I’m terrified to leave the house, this whole charade,
Just wanna chuck 'em in the bin, see 'em all decayed.
But the price tag mocks me, a constant, cruel refrain,
Remindin' me I'm trapped, caught in this fashion chain.
This ain't no liberation, it's a gilded cage for my feet,
Makes me wanna shout and curse, down this pretentious street.
[Chorus]
Oh, my new kicks, you shiny, smug disgrace!
You sit on me feet, puttin' me in me place.
Costin' me an arm and a leg, what a right bloody joke,
Every step I take with ya, me spirit gets broke.
These ain't just shoes, nah, they're a bloody decree,
That if you're lookin' flash, you ain't truly free!
These ain't just shoes, nah, they're a mockery,
Of me bleedin' life and me poor, tired feet!
[Bridge/Middle 8: ad-libs.]
You devils of leather, you cursed designer soles!
You whisper sweet nothings, then take their heavy tolls.
You promise me glamour, a ticket to the high life,
But all you bring me is agony and strife!
I curse the day I saw you, the moment I was weak,
Now my wallet's weeping, and me arches squeak!
You taunt me with your stitching, your fancy metal bits,
But you’re just a bloody prison for me sensitive pits!
[Final Chorus: Full energy!!! Ad-libs.]
Oh, my new kicks, you shiny, smug disgrace!
You sit on me feet, puttin' me in me place!
Costin' me an arm and a leg, what a right bloody joke,
Every step I take with ya, me spirit gets broke!
These ain't just shoes, nah, they're a bloody decree,
That if you're lookin' flash, you ain't truly free!
These ain't just shoes, nah, they're a mockery,
Of me bleedin' life and me poor, tired feet!
Oh, my new kicks, you shiny, smug disgrace!
You sit on me feet, puttin' me in me place!
Costin' me an arm and a leg, what a right bloody joke,
Every step I take with ya, me spirit gets broke!
These ain't just shoes, nah, they're a bloody decree,
That if you're lookin' flash, you ain't truly free!
These ain't just shoes, nah, they're a mockery,
Of me bleedin' life and me poor, tired feet!..
[Outro: Synth motif repeats, bassline becomes more sparse. Vocal, weary and laced with cynicism. Ad-libs.]
Yeah, my new kicks... me proud new kicks.
Just gonna wear 'em... 'til they give me bloody tics.
Right now, they’re lovely, ain't none like ‘em, see?
I’m off for a pint, just me and my feet!..
[Sound of a disgruntled sigh, perhaps a faint, mocking synth chord fades out.]
