Firing Squad (Come On I'm English, I'll Even Queue and Wait My Turn) - The Wombats

You pulled the ace out of the pack

Describing me as a charmless nowhere man

I wasn’t stationed here to take flak

Or to be your sycophantic fan

So kick me to the floor

You must be sick of these rhyming metaphors

And as my teeth chip and crack

Your eyebrows raise, were you expecting a white flag?

Is it still giving up if you want the trigger pulled back?

'Cause I’ve begged all that I can

I’ve held up my hands

You’re a firing squad

You’re a firing squad

Too little, too late

Too big of a stake

You’re a firing squad

You’re a firing squad

So blow me away

Despair has its own calms

Like the sedatives when I broke my arm

I remember those good old days

Happily lost in my charmless nowhere place

No thanks for the birthday cake

And the upright cigarettes that acted as the flame

Why would I watch the filters burn

When you could take your aim and I could watch those barrels burn?

Come on I’m English, I’ll even queue and wait my turn

'Cause I’ve begged all that I can

I’ve held up my hands

You’re a firing squad

You’re a firing squad

Too little, too late

Too big of a stake

You’re a firing squad

You’re a firing squad

I’ve begged all that I can

I’ve held up my hands

You’re a firing squad

You’re a firing squad

Too little, too late

Too big of a stake

You’re a firing squad

You’re a firing squad

Now blow me away

Now blow me away

Now blow me away

Now blow me away

Now blow me away