tony, bucking flair

he's got no sense of rhythm, he's got no sense of cool
pretends that he can play guitar & just looks like a tool
he's got no sense of fashion, he's got no sense of style
he ain't got much of anything but that manufactured smile

he doesn't care, he doesn't care - that's Tony, bucking flair

he's got no sense of honesty, he's got no sense of shame
he lied to us to go to war & he'll lie to us again
he's got no sense of dignity, he's got no sense of class
& no one likes to see a tongue that far up Bush's arse

he may not be a virgin, but it's still a well-known fact
that even after all these years his Cherie's still intact
she's standing by him there, with Tony, bucking flair
though heaven knows that it's enough to make a saint despair

his truth & justice is a sham, he gives us Hutton dressed as lamb
as Tony munches buttered crumpet, hiding under spank-stained Blunkett

he's Tony, bucking flair...