[Chorus: Jehst]

Too mashed for a Monday

Tryna get high

I just crashed on the runway

This was never gonna be a fun day

Money in the bag

Got 'em gagged

[Verse 1: Jam Baxter]

Adrift on a sea of sweet Irish cream liquor

Box cutter eyes, dagger thumbs

Cut a clean figure (clean)

He was fried (yeah)

Rat meat

A free dinner

In the cold, peeling off his 59p sticker

Damn (damn)

We're a mismatched pair

I just painted your whole face red

I think that's fair

You begin the spiel, I'll just sit back there (right there)

They're like used car salesmen with slick-backed hair

I slashed every tyre as I left

Looking like a pink, newborn

Messiah in a crèche

They say I took to the role

Like fire to the flesh

With a huge, beating ball

Of barbed wire in my chest

He confided in us all

[Like a slip gutted fish

Laid slurring his words

With them thick, sluggish lips?]

This is awkward

They all wanna vent when you're cornered (yeah)

Washed-out

Face freshly laundered (freshly, freshly)

They were all small puppets of themselves

Sat clucking on the shelves

Pecking holes out the floor

Hotbed of sewage

Scroll down for more

Take half of this, child

Hold out your claw

[Chorus: Jam Baxter]

I was attached to the walls with a nail gun

I was a touch too wasted for a Wednesday

I got the whole city stuffed in my suitcase

I got that parboiled brain

Al dente

[Verse 2: Jehst]

Glass jar with the parboiled brain

Got to customs

That was kind of hard to explain

That's why I'm last on the 'plane

Got your picture in a locket

Shaped like a heart on a chain

'Round my neck

Briefcase

Cuffed to my wrist

Full of unmarked

Consecutive bills for the trip

And my drip so Derelicte

Derek Zoolander chic

Magnifique

Little merman

When the Magnum leak

Champagne in the red, plastic cup

With my best white voice

And my head bandaged up

That's why I'm worry-free

They either roll out the red carpet

Or pull the rug out from underneath

Call the thug out

And bust your teeth

Brought a new drug out

People gonna bug out

When it touch the street

A feast for the bloodsucking leech

You're getting waved, OK

Yeah, right

Life's a fucking beach

But who's Hasselhoff?

Your home's getting raffled off

Now you're on the frontline

Holding a Kalashnikov

From the carrycot

To the coffin

That you're carried off in

He's just an evil genius

Another tragic boffin

He got it popping

Rapidly stacking

Since the day he solved the meaning

Of life on the back of a napkin

He should take a rest

He's bored

Sleeves stapled to the desk

Forehead glued to the keyboard

[Chorus: Jehst]

Too mashed for a Monday

Tryna get high

I just crashed on the runway

Was never gonna be a fun day

Money in the bag

Got 'em gagged with the duct tape

Too mashed for a Monday

Tryna get high

I just crashed on the runway

This was never gonna be a fun day

Money in the bag

Got 'em gagged