Pulp

Mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits. Raised on a diet of broken biscuits, oh
we don't look the same as you, we don't do the things you do, but we
live around 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 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 - it's a raid yeah: We want your homes, we want your lives,
we want the things you won't allow us. We won't use guns, we won't
use bombs, we'll use the one thing we've got more of - that's our
minds. Check your lucky numbers, that much money could drag you
under, oh. What's the point of being rich if you can't think what to do
with it? 'Cause you're so very thick. Oh we weren't supposed to be, we