Sanoja: Stereophonics. Word Gets Around. Not Up To You.

Salt grips the road, awaits his lift again,
Street orange glow, shades the odds against,
One more sip, a shoe, a miss, a shaving nick, one extra kiss,
Who's to know, whatever?

Not up to me, not up to you
Not up to me, not up to you

The swings don't swing, the parks been dead for years
How do you know the last swing weren't the last for good,
Hard book on freaks, fresh summer peach,
Creased magazine, sugar chocolate treat,
Who's to know whatever?

Not up to me, not up to you
Not up to me, not up to you

The streets so long where she lost her pocket purse,
Kept the last picture of the man she committed first,
Cracked windscreen rain, French murder play,
Junk take away, tired street parade,
Who's to know, whatever? whatever

Not up to me, not up to you
Not up to me, not up to you
Ha whatever
Not up to me, not up to you
Not up to anything we do
Not up to me, not up to you
Ahh you
Ahh you
Ahh you
Its not up to me,
Its not up to you

Its not up to you
Its not up to you
Its not up to you