Some say I’m chic
Some say I’m cheap
Some say I’m made by slaves on a dollar a week
I’m in your high street like a rampant rash
Helping you to eek out your hard earned cash
In the midst of an economic crash
Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Ka-ching!
Don’t forget to buy your matching bling
If style and grace are not your passions
Don’t bother with the Paris fashions
Keep third world poverty on the map
Do the Primark t-shirt rap

I stretch round your neck
And soon get out of shape
I’m a shirt that converts into a drape
My shiny colours fade away and disappear
But you can buy me again three times this year
If you’ve NOT got money coming out your ears
And you think you look cool in a sack
Do the Primark t-shirt rap

You find me piled high
Or lying on the floor
If you love cut-price gear
Then I’m your whore
If you don’t do Gaultier and Cardin collections
Get four of me for a fiver in Primark’s selection
And though you spend two days queuing at the till
I still can’t promise you’ll be dressed to kill
But you will have change for a Happy Meal
For endless tack on tap
Do the Primark t-shirt rap

On display I look dapper, dashing, silky and smart
But wear me for a week and I fall apart
I’m a top that’s not much cop
What paint-by-numbers is to art
The retail opium of the masses
Giving you more power to your plastic
Grab me from the rack
If you don’t mind looking crap
And do the Primark t-shirt rap

So if it’s haute couture
That you’re looking for
Try t-shirts from Selfridges, Harrods or another store
But if you want to pose
In two-a-penny clothes
Don’t do Burton, Next, Top Shop, FCUK or Gap…
Do the Primark t-shirt rap