Текст (слова) песни: Napalm Death - Retching On The Dirt
I`m retching on the dirt, it`s earthiness coating my throat. I`m wincing on the bitterest pill. I refuse to swallow. I`m offered the warmth of a velvet glove, an iron fist to some. I`m hounded by white - right might that wants the country pure. I`m incensed by those in awe of "living amongst their own". Selective perfection will cut their own throats! I`m constantly forcing the point, but we`re all retching on dirt, = and we`ll choke if we don`t spit it out!
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