Filthy Fool

Intro

Mate, pick up

Your mom's gone rogue

I'm holding her handbag

She's striking a pose

Verse 1

She came to collect you

Now she's collecting stares

I'm guarding her handbag

She's swinging her hair

Low dip, slow hips

She drops to the floor

One glance, no chance

I'm begging for more

Your mom's at the speakers

I'm losing my mind

You tell me to leave

I'm enjoying the grind

Drunk or just buzzing?

Can't tell from her grin

We step out for water

Then head back in

I ask if she's flirting

She pulls at my tie

I'm trying to act cool

My mouth's gone dry

Chorus

She drops low, I lose my cool

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

You call me a filthy fool

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

You keep calling, she keeps grinning

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

Mate, stop crying, your mom's winning

(Ooh, your mom's got fucking taste)

You call me a filthy fool

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

You keep calling, she keeps grinning

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

Verse 2

You're loud on the phone

She's close to my ear

I'm missing your point

But her point is clear

Big talk, slick walk

I thought I had game

She touches my collar

I forget my own name

Her nails on my neck

My hands on her waist

You call me disgusting

I call it good taste

She calls me a darling

You call me a prick

She asks for her lipstick

I fetch it real quick

I came with intentions

A filthy ambition

Now I'm fetching her coat

Like I passed an audition

Chorus

She drops low, I lose my cool

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

You call me a filthy fool

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

You keep calling, she keeps grinning

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

Mate, stop crying, your mom's winning

(Ooh, your mom's got fucking taste)

You call me a filthy fool

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

You keep calling, she keeps grinning

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

Verse 3

She pulls me away

From the crush at the bar

Her hand finds my collar

We don't get far

She asks if I'm coming

I tell her I'm keen

Then kisses me harder

Behind the smoke machine

Your phone keeps buzzing

Against my thigh

Her lips find my neck

Mate, I'm letting it die

Big grin, pulled in

My back to the wall

Your mom's got my attention

You're getting fuck all

She invites me to hers

With a hand on my waist

I've got no plans tomorrow

She's got no time to waste

You ask where we're going

I send you the pin

Better stay in your room

Because she's letting me in

Chorus

She drops low, I lose my cool

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

You call me a filthy fool

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

You keep calling, she keeps grinning

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

Mate, stop crying, your mom's winning

(Ooh, your mom's got fucking taste)

You call me a filthy fool

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

You keep calling, she keeps grinning

(Your mom's got fucking taste)

Outro

Yup, that's it bro

I'm gonna be your new daddy now!

Ain't that great?

Hahaa!