Interpret:

Napalm Death

Album:

Order Of The Leech

I chase my toil 
Hammering a nail against the grain of fact 
I keep on bouncing back 
Misinformation is passed 
Look left to the right 
Always fight or fight 
I painfully dissect 
Will never take as read 
Yet fall back to earth as the wretch 
Which suits them fucking fine 
Mister pessimism - a trait we'd all rather 
Mister pessimism - after this it comes so natural 
Reserving judgement wounds me time after time 
Exploitation becomes a daily grind 
Take a saccharine shot, not to humour these fuckers 
But the scheming scum have all bases covered 
Which suits you fucking fine 
From a catalogue of lies, there is scant protection 
So you see dependability is force and fiction 
Which suits you fucking fine