Plan B - Paint It Blacker Feat. The Rolling Stones

Oi! Oi! what you fucking doing?
That’s my car mate,
Seriously stop doing that man.
Oi! Come on that’s my car bro.
Right, give me that fucking can, give me that fucking brush you cunt,
Give me that fucking can.
Oi! Come back here.

Once upon a time there was a guy called Mick
Who was walking down the street one day and just switched.
So many pretty colours made him sick,
So he bought a can of paint and a brush to paint blick
All the whips that he passed that were parked on the street,
And all the front doors on the yards full of peeps, all the cars and the jeeps
That were black, he leaves
The paint in his can
For the reds and the greens
And the ones in between, like purple and brown.
You could paint on them straight, not circle around.
He weren’t happy till he saw them blacked out,
Had a look on his eyes like he was cracked out,
Looking macked out with a trench coat and his back slouched,
Paint black out, and leave everything as black now,
Not leaving even one stone unturned.
He remember shit turns black when it burns, so he burns
All the leaves and the trees in the park
That are marked with “I was here and so was Mark” inside a heart,
Engraved by kids bunking school in the park, young love,
They thought they’d be together for eternity,
But the flame went out like these burning trees
That are now the colour Mick wants to see:
Charcoal Black with a capital B.

I see a red door and I want it painted black,
No colours anymore I want them to turn black.
I see the girls walk by dressed in their Summer clothes,
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes.

Mick sees the girls walk by in the Summer clothes,
For a split second his darkness goes,
But it ain’t long till he’s back in his darkest mould
And the darkness grows,
He turns his head back,
So he can paint black the red rose,
He snatched from the bush that is black
‘Cause he painted that with a brush in his hand.
And the paint in his can that is now on the van,
Eight cars and two jeeps that are parked on the street,
And all the front doors in the yard full of peeps.
A dead green seagull by his feet that is turning blue
Makes him weep,
Tears start streaming down his cheek
As they fall from his chin onto the beak
Of the bird that is laying in the gutter of the street,
By the kerb.
Something’s going on, something deep and absurd inside of Mick’s head:
Why does he care so much?
Give a shit that it’s dead? I guess we’ll never know
What’s up with this tortured soul,
Painting shit black
As he turns a dead seagull that from front to back.

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue.
I could not foresee this thing happening to you.
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts.
It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black.

Everything is black now,
Even the dogs and the cats now:
Dogs bark, cats miaow.
But Mick just won’t back down,
He wants to paint the city
And everything inside it,
All the girls that are looking pretty
And all the men that tried it
with them. If he had his way he’d paint the whole of bricks
And he’s sick in the head, ain’t nothing gonna calm him down,
Motherfucker’s gone barmy now.
The only thing that could stop him is the army now,
Take away his paint can and disarm him now.
Hold on, wait, said he was calming down
Looking at something sticking out the ground
In the cemetery,
Underneath a tree that he just didn’t see before
Or
Maybe he saw it
Before but just ignored it.
Anyhow, now he’s walking towards it,
Minus the can and a brush ‘cause as soon as he saw it
He dropped that shit in a rush man, all of it.
‘Cause he was so in awe of it
So in awe of this hefty new grave
Engraved with the name Ruby Tuesday,
A natural beauty, no Oil of Ulay needed to make it shine like a new day,
But not today
‘Cause she’s dead,
Laying in a hole in the floor instead
Being alive and looking live and red.
From what guys have said
Being live in bed
And alive at head.
Holy shit! What the fuck?
Mick’s eyes are full of tears,
Head looks like it's gonna bust. He sees a bus and starts to rush towards it
Past the line of hearses in the street
On the way to put somebody six feet deep
In the dirt.
He wishes it was him, can’t deal with the hurt
Even when he jacks up ‘cause the drugs don’t work
They just make it worse
And time is something that he can’t reverse.
So he looks at the Sun then runs towards it
Straight into the road,
Where on the 58 bus, the driver’s floored it, ‘cause he don’t know
Mick’s about to come out of nowhere
So when he hits Mick it’s all over so their left lying on the floor
As a tortured soul bre's
Body all tortured up but no soul there.

I see a line of cars and they’re all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back.
If I look hard enough into the setting sun,
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes.