The Feeding Of The 5000
Asylum
Do They Owe Us A Living?
End Result
They've Got A Bomb
Punk Is Dead
Reject Of Society
General Bacardi
Banned From The Roxy
G's Song
Fight War, Not Wars
Women
Securior
Sucks
You Pay
Angels
What A Shame
So What
Well?...Do They?
I am no feeble Christ not me. He hangs in glib delight upon his
cross, above my body. Christ forgive. FORGIVE? I vomit for you
Jesu. Shit forgive. Down from your cross. Down from your papal
heights, from that churlish suicide petulant child. Down from
those pious heights, royal flag bearer, goat, billy. I vomit for you.
Forgive? Shit he forgives. He hangs in crucified delight nailed to
the extent of his vision, his cross, his manhood, violence, guilt,
sin. He would nail my body upon his cross, suicide visionary,
death reveller, rake, rapist, lifefucker, Jesu, earthmover Christus,
gravedigger, you dug the graves of Auschwitz, the soil of
Treblinka is your guilt, your sin, master, master of gore, enigma.
You carry the standard of your oppression. Enola is your gaiety.
The bodies of Hiroshima are your delight the nails are your only
trinity, hold them in your corpsey gracelessness, the image I
have had to suffer. The cross is the virgin body of womanhood
that you defile. You nail yourself to your own sin. Lame arse Jesus
calls me sister there are no words for my contempt, every
woman is a cross in his filthy theology, his arrogant delight. He
turns his back upon me in his fear, he dare not face me.
Fearfucker. Share nothing you Christ, sterile, impotent, fucklove
prophet of death. You are the ultimate pornography, in your
cuntfear, cockfear, manfear, womanfear, unfair warfare, warfare,
warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare.
JESUS DIED FOR HIS OWN SINGS, NOT MINE
Back
Fuck the politically minded, here’s something I want to say, about
the state of the nation, the way it treats us today. At school they
give you shit, drop you in the pit, you try and try to get out, but you
can’t because they’ve fucked you about. Then you’re a prime
example, of how they must not be, this is just a sample of what
they’ve done to you and me.
Do they owe us a living? Of course they do, of course they do.
Do they owe us a living? Of course they do, of course they do.
Do they ow us a living? OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO.
They don’t want me anymore, cos I threw it on the floor. They
used to call me sweet thing but I’m nobody’s plaything, and now
that I am different, they’d love to bust my head, they’d love to see
me cop out, they’d love to see me dead.
Chorus
The living that is owed to me I’m never going to get, they’ve
buggered this old world up, up to their necks in debt. They’d give
you a lobotomy for something you ain’t done, they’ll make you an
epitome of everything that’s wrong
Chorus
Don’t take any notice of what the public think, they’re so hyped
up with t.v., they just don’t want to think. They’ll use you as a
target for demands and for advice, when you don’t what to hear it
they’ll say you’re full of vice.
Chorus
Back
I am a product. I am a symbol, of endless, hopeless, fruitless,
aimless games.
I’m a glossy package on the supermarket shelf. My contents
aren’t fit for human consumption. My ingredients will seize up
your body’s function. I am the dirt that everyone walks on. I am
the orphan nobody wants. I am the staircarpet everyone walks
on. I am the leper nobody wants to touch.........much.
I am a sample. I am a scapegoat of useless, futureless, endless,
mindless ideas.
I am a number on the paper you file away. I’m a portfolio you
stick in the drawer. I’m the fool you try to scare when you say,
“We know all about you, of that you can be sure,” well, I don’t
want your crazy system, I don’t want to be on your files. Your
temptations I try to resist them cos I know what hides beneath
your smiles, it’s.......EST.
I am a subject. I am a topic for useless, futureless, endless,
mindless debates.
You think up ways that you can hide me from the naive eyes of
your figurehead, but don’t you find that it ain’t easy? Wouldn’t you
love to see me dead? Your answer is to give me treatment for
crying out when you give me pain, leave me with no possible
remnant, you poke your knives into my brain, you send me
insane.
I’m an example. I’m no hero of the great, intelligent, magnificent,
human race.
I’m part of the race that kills for possessions, part of the race
that’s wiping itself out. I’m part of the race that’s got crazy
obsessions like locking people up, not letting them out. I hate the
living dead and their work in factories. They go like sheep to
their production lines. They live on illusions, don’t face the
realities, all they live for is that big blue sign, it says...Ford.
I’M BORED, BORED, BORED.
Back
They won’t destroy the world, no, they’re not that crazy. You’re not
dealing with the town hall. They’re not crazy. No political solution
so why should we bother? Well whose fucking head do you think
they’re holding it over?
FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.
They can’t wait to use it. They can’t wait to use it. They can’t wait
to try it out. They can’t wait to use it. They’ve got a bomb. They’ve
got a bomb and they can’t wait to use it on me.
Twenty odd years now waiting for the flash, all of the oddballs
thinking we’ll be ash. Well the four minute warning has run on into
years, are we waiting for them to confirm our fears?
FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.
Chorus
They can build them small, call it tactical. Stop the fallout, make it
practical to smash the misfits who foul up their scene with the
practical, tactical, killing machine.
FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.
Chorus
Back
Yes that’s right, punk is dead, it’s just another cheap product for
the consumer’s head. Bubblegum rock on plastic transistors,
schoolboy sedition backed by big time promoters. CBS promote
the Clash, but it ain’t for revolution, it’s just for cash. Punk
became a fashion just like hippy used to be and it ain’t got a
thing to do with you or me.
Movements are systems and systems kill. Movements are
expressions of the public will. Punk became a movement cos we
all felt lost, but the leaders sold out and now we all pay the cost.
Punk narcissism was a social napalm, Steve Jones started
doing real harm. Preaching revolution, anarchy and change as
he sucked from the system that had given him his name.
Well I’m tired of looking through shit stained glass, tired of
staring up a superstar’s arse, I’ve got an arse and crap and a
name, I’m just waiting for my fifteen minutes fame. Steve Jones
you’re napalm, if you’re so pretty why do you smarm? Patti
Smith, you’re napalm, you write with you’re hand but it’s
Rimbaud’s arm.
And me, yes, I, do I want to burn? Is there something I can learn?
Do I need a business man to promote my angle? Can I resist the
carrots that fame and fortune dangle? I see the velvet zippies in
their bondage gear, the social elite with safetypins in their ear, I
watch and understand that it don’t mean a thing, the scorpions
might attack, but the system’s stole the sting.
PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD.
Back
Not for me the factory floor sweeping up from nine to four. Not for
me the silly rat race, I don’t see the point in anycase. People ask
me why I say what I do, I say to them, “Well wouldn’t you?” if you
were fucked up just like me, a reject of society. They say I dig a
hole and jump right in, well I don’t give a shit about anything, I
don’t comply to their silly rules, all they are is hypocritical fools.
You give us conscience money, now you start to worry. The
Frankenstein monster you created has turned against you now
you’re hated.
They tell me I’m not what they’d like me to be, it’s their fault, you
can’t blame me. They fucking tricked me half the time now
they’ve got to stand in line. They don’t like it when they see me
have fun, they turn around and then they run. The don’t listen to
what I say, I’m a reject of society.
Chorus
Back
I’ve see it all before, revolution at my back door, well whose to
say it won’t happen all again. The Generals sip bacardi, while
the privates feel the pain.
They talk from the screen and T.V. tube, they talk revolution like
it’s processed food. They talk anarchy from music hall stages,
look for change in colour supplement pages. They think that by
talking from some distant tower, that something might change in
the structure of power. They dream, they dream, never walk on
the street. They dream, they dream, never stand on their feet.
Chorus
Alternative values were a con, a fucking con.They never really
meant it when they said “Get it on.” They really meant, “Mine,
that’s mine,” can’t you see? They stamped on our heads so that
they could be free. They formed little groups, like rich man’s
ghettoes, tending their goats and organic tomatoes. While the
world was being fucked by fascist regimes, they talked of
windmills and psychedelic dreams.
Chorus
Back
Banned from the Roxy...O.K. I never much liked playing there
anyway. They said they only wanted well behaved boys, do they
think guitars and microphones are just fucking toys? Fuck them,
I’ve chosen to make my stand, against what I feel is wrong with
this land. They just sit there on their overfed arses, feeding off the
sweat of less fortunate classes. They keep their fucking power
’cause their finger’s on the button, they’ve got control and won’t
let it be forgotten. The truth of their reality is at the wrong end of a
gun, the proof of that is Belfast and that’s no fucking fun. Seeing
the squaddy lying in the front yard, seeing the machine guns
resting on the fence. Finding the entrance to your own front door
is barred and they’ve got the fucking nerve to call it defence.
Seems their defence is just the threat of strength, protection for
the privileged at any length. The government protecting their
profits from the poor, the rich and the fortunate chaining up the
door. Afraid that the people may ask for a little more that the shit
they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get.
The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit
they get. DEFENCE? SHIT, IT’S NOTHING LESS THAN WAR
AND NO ONE BUT THE GOVERNMENT KNOWS WHAT THE
FUCK IT’S FOR. Oh yes they say it’s defence, they say it’s
decency, Mai lai, Hiroshima, know what I mean? The same
fucking lies with depressing frequency, they say “We had to do it
to keep our lives clean.” Well whose life? Whose fucking life?
Who the fuck are they talking to? Whose life? Whose fucking
life? I tell you one thing, it ain’t me and you. And their systems,
christ, they’re everywhere, school, army, church, the corporation
deal. A fucked up reality based on fear, a fucking conspiracy to
stop you feeling real. Well they’re wrong, ain’t got me, I’d say
they’re fucking wrong, I ain’t quite ready with my gun, but I’ve got
my song…Banned from the Roxy, well O.K. I never much liked
playing there anyway. GUNS.
Back
This country tells us that we’re down and out, got you thinking that
we’re through. Got to suffer to get them moving, say it’s up to me
and you. Well, look around and you’ll see who gets the goods,
not you and me. ’Cause they ain’t suffering, no, not for us, they’re
masquerading like pissers must. They abuse us, keep us right
underfoot, with the illusion of contentment and good. Well it’s not
over, war’s still around and they’ve got no problem when you’re
undergournd.
Back
Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars.
Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars.
Fight wars, not wars. FIGHT WAR, NOT WARS.
Back
Fuck is women’s money. We pay with our bodies. There is no
purity in our love. No beauty. Just bribery. It’s all the fucking
same. We make soldiers with our submission. Wars with our
isolation Fuck is women’s money. We pay with our bodies.
There is no purity in motherhood. No beauty. Just bribery. It’s all
the fucking same. We are all salves to sexual histories. Our
awareness of whoredom can be a release.
War is men’s money. They pay with their bodies. There is no
purity in that game, only blood, death and bribery. It’s still the
fucking same. But we have all got the power. Don’t just stand
there and take submission on the strength of fear. FIGHT WAR,
NOT WARS.
Back
I’m a private in a private army, I’m a private in a private army.
I am a working for securicor, take the money and come back for
more. I want to do it ’cause I know I should, for the customer and
the common good.
I walk around with a big alsation, he’ll rearrange you with no
provocation, and I’m the bugger who has got the lead, you’ll have
to be bright if you want to get at me.
Securicor cares. Securicor cares. Securicor scares the shit out
of you, do you want to come closer?
I block the pavement with my club and hat, I deal in money that
you can’t get at. You want to use me ’cause I’m up for rent, tough
shit, ’cause I’m really busy.
You ought to know me cause I’ve been a cop, out of the army
where I learned a lot. Some kids still chuckle when they see my
van, but it’s not all money sonny, you want to come closer?
Securicor cares. Securicor cares. Securicor scares the shit out
of you. Do you want to come closer? DO YOU WANT TO COME
CLOSER?
I’m a private in a private army, I’m a private in a private army, I’ma private in a private army.
Back
Do you really believe in Buddha? Buddha sucks. Do you really
believe in Jesus? Jesus fucks.
Is it alright really? Is it alright really? Is it working?
So you really believe in Marx? Marx fucks. Do you really believe
in Thatcher? Maggie sucks.
Chorus
Do you really believe in the system? Well o.k. I BELIEVE IN
ANARCHY IN THE U.K.
Chorus
Back
You’re paying for prisons. You’re paying for war. You’re paying
for lobotomies. You’re paying for law. You’re paying for their
order. You’re paying for their murder. You’re paying for your
ticket to watch the farce. Knowing you’ve made your contribution
to the system’s fucked solution, to their political pollution. No
chance of revolution. No chance of change. You’ve got no range.
Don’t just take it. Don’t take their shit. Don’t play their game.
Don’t take their blame. USE YOUR OWN HEAD. Your turn
instead.
It’s economise. It’s not apologise. It’s not make do. It’s not pull
through. It’s not take it. It’s not make it. It’s not just you. It’s not
madmen. It’s not difficult. It’s not behave. It’s not, oh well, just this
once. It’s fucking impossible. It’s fucking unbearable. It’s fucking
stupid. IT’S FUCKING STUPID.
Back
The angels are on T.V. tonight, grey puke, celluloid shit. The
army have sent a mission to Ireland, just to see to it. Kojak is on
the T.V. streets again, grey puke, fucking shit. They army say
they seek peace in Ireland an that they’ll see to it.
That they keep in line, horizontal hold. Keep in line, vertical hold.
Keep in line, brightness. Keep in line, contrast. Keep in line,
VISION ON.
Coronation Street is on twice a week, grey puke, fucking shit.
The army say that they seek peace in Ireland and that they’ll see
to it. The army are on the news report. WARS. BULLETS.
DEATH. They’re beating the fuck out of someone just to see to it.
Chorus
VISION OFF.
Back
It doesn’t take much to bring you down. There are plenty of
people standing ’round. They wait till you slacken off just a bit.
They they fill you up with passive bullshit.
It’s too good. It can’t last. What a shame.
Watch out for the quiet ones at the back. All they want is the
smallest crack. Everything’s happening down the front. Innocent
bystander you’re the biggest runt.
Fuck the punks, Punks are fucked. It’s too loud. Awful row. they
can’t play. They’ll give up. In the end. What a shame. Oh what a
shame it’s still the same.
Back
They ask me why I’m hateful, why I’m bad. They tell me I got
things they never had. They tell me go to church and see the light.
Cos the good lord’s always right.
Well, so what, so what
So what if Jesus died on the cross. So what about the fucker, I
don’t give a toss. So what if the master walked on the water. I
don’t see him trying to stop the slaughter.
They say I wouldn’t have to live from bins. If I would go along,
confess my sins. They say I shouldn’t commit no crime. Cos
Jesus Christ is watching all the time.
So what, so what.
So what if he’s always over my shoulder. I realise the truth as I
get older. I get to see what a con it is. Because it’s my life, mine
not his.
We’ll they say they’re going to send me away. Said they’re going
to make me pay. We’re sorry but you have to go. You were
naughty, you said ‘NO’.
So what, so what.
So what if I see through the lies. So what if the people I despise
twist my arm and make me work, I’m no deaf, dumb fucking Jerk.
I’m no spastic lying in the street. I’m no superstar elite. I’m just a
person, a human being.
NO YOU’RE NOT YOU’RE A PART OF OUR MACHINE.
You’re a part of our machine because we want you to be. We’ve
got you now and you’ll never be free. We can even have your
body after you’re dead. We can take the eyes out of your fucking
head. Yes we’ll take them out, use them again. We can do it you
know cos we’ve got your brain. We’ll crucify you like we crucified
him. We’ll make you obey our every whim. We got the power, the
power and the glory. I’ve heard that before in a different story.
But the story I heard covered up the truth, didn’t touch on the
actual factual proof. Didn’t say about the bodies in the
concentration camps, didn’t say about the surgeon knives
underneath the lamps, doesn’t say that the ovens are still warm,
doesn’t say that this wretched little form is a human being who
wants to live but not in the snot and shit they give.
They say that I had better keep quiet or they’re gonna douse my
light. Jesus Christ can save my life, but I can always use my
knife.
So what, so what, so what, so what, so what, so what, SO WHAT
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