How this substandard ginger fanny is seen as a singer/songwriter of repute is a mystery worthy of Mulder and Scully and Sherlock Holmes combined.
I heard one of Sheercunt’s pieces of audio excrement on the radio this morning. Some badly written drivel called ‘The Man’, with lyrics as crap as these: ‘I kind of knew you liked the dude from private school. He’s waiting for the time to move. I knew he had his eyes on you. He’s not the right guy for you. Don’t hate me cause I write the truth’.
Typical Sheercunt. A bog standard piss poor Leo Sayer impression, combined with pure cat sat on the mat and after all you’re my wonderwall bollocks. Once we had Dylan, Paul Simon, Tim Buckley and Donovan. And now we have this cunt. Another example of this ginger gremlin’s absolute shit is ‘Perfect’. With lyrics like ‘You between my arms. Barefoot on the grarse’.
For fuck’s sake. Who ever says ‘ you between my arms?’ It doesn’t even scan. Someone should tell the carrot cocked mong that it’s you ‘in’ my arms. As for rhyming the word arms with an elongated version of grass? Fuck me, primary school kids have done better than that. Even Oasis can outdo that shite.
And let’s not forget ‘She played the fiddle in an Irish band. But she fell in love with an English man’.
Sheercunt is fucking diabolical and he produces lowest common denominator shite.
Nominated by: Norman
…and this from Ron Knee
A tinged with grudging respect cunting for tuneless pop crooner Ed Sheeran.
Apparently he trousered no less than a cool £70 mill. last year, in spite of taking a break from recording.
Nice ‘work’ if you can get it; and this in spite of having no discernable talent whatsoever, and looking like the love child of Wurzel Gummidge and Aunt Sally.
Respec’.
The jammy cunt.




