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