Troublemeat

It's a wild thing, a brittle thing
 Some know it as the instrument of yearning
 It knows you will capitulate
 You're beeswax and the forest fires are burning
 You can have a lot mates, break a lot of plates
 Make it to the end in one piece but it's still a mystery
 It's not some mighty vision
 It's more a dirty Polaroid of history
 This thing has claws and poison spores
 This is a dirty bomb that blows off all the doors
 It's what they call the troublemeat
 The troublemeat
 It's a no-large-potato-thing
 But all your good sense cannot hold a candle
 It's another pissing contest
 'Tween the Devil and the nice guy in the sandals
 You wanna say it's on the blink, put it in the sink
 Take it to the landfill then go home and take a shower
 It leaves its greasy tidemark
 In a place your cleaning products cannot scour
 This bitch got wheels, it mass appeals
 And you will surely not remember how it feels
 That's why they it's called the troublemeat
 The troublemeat
 It's an unprepossessive thing
 A livid boil upon the arse of reason
 It fucks with me perpetually
 The filthy little monkey in its season
 You can file away your teeth, get up on the heath
 Howling in the pouring rain and find out who will listen
 I don't like to admit it
 I sometimes think I live just for this frission
 It licks its lips, swivels its hips
 You think it's elegant but it's as cheap as chips
 This lousy thing called troublemeat
 The troublemeat