More songs by Sleaford Mods
More songs by BIG SPECIAL
Description
The noise is like a headache after three sleepless nights and a litre of cheap coffee. The world is breaking into shattered pieces - phantoms, faces, echoes of other people's words. It feels like someone has stripped away the gloss from reality, leaving only raw nerve tissue – pulse, irritation, sarcasm. Meaning isn't sought here; everything that's been stuck between your teeth for a long time is just spat out. Dirty, loud, honest. And somewhere beneath this chaos is a strange feeling of freedom, like after a fight in the wind: alive, angry, but alive. Director: Ben Wheatley Director of Photography: Nick Gillespie Executive Producer: Andy Stark Producer: Benjamin Raymond Assistant Editor: Edward Mills Assistant Producer: Jack Mulekezi Camera Trainee: Stan Pizzi Head Hair Stylist: Claire Moore Head Makeup Artist: Daniel Kolarik Photographer: Paul Johnson Manager: Claire Ormiston
Lyrics and translation
Original
So I'm not punching down, lads. I'm gonna style it out.
I'm gonna make out I'm not doing it, but in reality, I am.
The one thing they don't tell ya, if you get anywhere with an idea, it's a trail of cheesy bastards that come straight after ya, like here. I'm not punching down, just gonna remove you from the equation.
I'm gonna get rid quick like tattoos on Pete Davidson. It's alright.
I mean, so fucking what? But what you've been sniffing, you're fucking terrible, my God.
I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom.
I can see a phantom. Twenty-five thousand fathoms, I can see a phantom.
Yeah, I like yobs that chuck it quiet, casters hiding from the job.
Love to ruin all you tank bastards trying to style it out with stuff that's robbed.
Aikido master climbing the stairs of fire. My guy's edgy in a lumpy car.
He's got a flat fucking tire. You got awards for joyless faces 'cause your bands like joyless shit.
You got posters while the tour photographer polishes a turd you print.
On your head like a parrot, you wear crap clothes like Jasper Carrot.
You're not larger than tedium, waste and wayside feeding 'em.
I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom.
I can see a phantom. Twenty-five thousand fathoms, I can see a phantom.
You know the good life's better for me.
You know the good life feels like it must when you're free.
You know the good life's better for me.
You know the good life feels like it must when you're free.
It's real, you're fucking fake shit. I fuck it all the time.
I smack my head, the smelly bed, I cry like a fucking child.
My fucking head's gone fucking, fucking bastard seed. Like everybody else alive, I think there's only us pain and me.
Smashed against the rocks, this boat to his Skull Island.
Torment caught the flames as they hypnotize his rage in silence.
I'm the mega man with a severed hand. I'm evil cannibal stunt cyclist and I know we're fucking mad.
I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom.
I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom.
Twenty-five thousand fathoms, I can see a phantom. You know the good life's better for me.
You know the good life feels like it must when you're free.
You know the good life's better for me.
You know the good life feels like it must when you're free.
English translation
So I'm not punching down, lads. I'm gonna style it out.
I'm gonna make out I'm not doing it, but in reality, I am.
The one thing they don't tell ya, if you get anywhere with an idea, it's a trail of cheesy bastards that come straight after ya, like here. I'm not punching down, just gonna remove you from the equation.
I'm gonna get rid quick like tattoos on Pete Davidson. It's alright.
I mean, so fucking what? But what you've been sniffing, you're fucking terrible, my God.
I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom.
I can see a phantom. Twenty-five thousand fathoms, I can see a phantom.
Yeah, I like yobs that chuck it quiet, casters hiding from the job.
Love to ruin all you tank bastards trying to style it out with stuff that's robbed.
Aikido master climbing the stairs of fire. My guy's edgy in a lumpy car.
He's got a flat fucking tire. You got awards for joyless faces 'cause your bands like joyless shit.
You got posters while the tour photographer polishes a turd you print.
On your head like a parrot, you wear crap clothes like Jasper Carrot.
You're not larger than tedium, waste and wayside feeding 'em.
I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom.
I can see a phantom. Twenty-five thousand fathoms, I can see a phantom.
You know the good life's better for me.
You know the good life feels like it must when you're free.
You know the good life's better for me.
You know the good life feels like it must when you're free.
It's real, you're fucking fake shit. I fuck it all the time.
I smack my head, the smelly bed, I cry like a fucking child.
My fucking head's gone fucking, fucking bastard seed. Like everybody else alive, I think there's only us pain and me.
Smashed against the rocks, this boat to his Skull Island.
Torment caught the flames as they hypnotize his rage in silence.
I'm the mega man with a severed hand. I'm evil cannibal stunt cyclist and I know we're fucking mad.
I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom.
I can see a phantom. I can see a phantom.
Twenty-five thousand fathoms, I can see a phantom. You know the good life's better for me.
You know the good life feels like it must when you're free.
You know the good life's better for me.
You know the good life feels like it must when you're free.