mOag - On this island

On this Island we knew like the back of our small hands Throwing stones and backstreet slang On this Island we grew in just a flick of our big eyes and baggy shorts, lords of the flies Bloody knees and football roars Screaming mums and hard slamming doors On this Island we flew Thieves for sweets and naughty magazines Outlaws for the most simple dreams On this Island we drew so many secret plans in the dark save the light that shone from the stars Bloody noses on concrete fists Fights about nothing, first cigarette mists Yeah with no feeling of head in the sand in the struggle to be head of the band On this Island at this school in breaking all the rules that’s the plan Yeah with a feeling of up to no good On this Island, on this wreck or most simply our neck of the woods On this Island of blue streets filled with banged down limousines in which we were the kings so lean On this Island we knew like the back of our small hands Throwing stones and backstreet slang