Down on the street where kevin’s house stands
you’ll never meet none of his soft pans- y kids there
they’re nowhere to be seen.

He’s keeps them locked indoors all day
nobody knocks no more to play, with kevs kids
coz hes got them hidden away.

We get bullied on the bus
too cowardly to discuss
were kevin’s kids us

Chorus
we are, cry babies, they’re softies coz kevin
we are, cotton wool kids, cotton wool kids, cotton wool kids, cotton wools kids,
they’re sissys, coz what he’s wrapped them in.

Comics and cds no chance when
watching the tvs forbidden, he says blue-
Peters too violent.

He follows them to the bog and back
a mollicoddling maniac, soft as crap
cotton wool wrapped by kevin.

We get bullied on the bus…