Shhh

Chumbawamba's fourth LP, Shhh, quickly followed a project which was scrapped due to copyright laws. Much of the censorship aspects of Shhh discuss this situation.

Shhh

(Chorus)
Hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing, say nothing
Hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing, say nothing
L A U G H I N G laughing
L A U G H I N G laughing
Just when you figured it out someone lets you down
Who'll make all the wrong decisions when the judge is up for trial?
No-one has the cure for all our daily hurts
Least of all this rock and roll, it's wannabee Christs all dead and dying
Truth, get stomach and wings!
Mama Cass carrion crow!
Pecking at the tongue of a still-warm body
Shut your mouth or laugh out loud
Hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing, say nothing
Hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing, say nothing
(Repeat chorus)
We haven't said a word
We haven't said a word
For a few brief words and a few short lines I was taken to the coliseum, fed to the lions. And lions aren't the type you can really love enough, but you can turn 'em into rugs! Ow mate, can you spare some change? Too much. Are you down on your fashion, or down on your luck? Sometimes questions never get dropped. Hey Mick, are you dancing? I never stopped!
(Repeat chours)
Does anybody remember laughter?

Big Mouth Strikes Again

I caught you with your head down the toilet as you were gulping up dirty words, then later dressed in suit and tie, whilst playing to the laughing crowds, you were gargling, spitting, fingers down your throat, making yourself so sick. Vomiting the words that you'd sucked and slurped all over the cops at the back!
Big mouth, big mouth, big mouth strikes again
Big mouth, big mouth, big mouth strikes again
Flucky now, flucky now, flucky now, oh my, it's a good job Fusion cannot spell. 'Cause if I could you know I'd get a lot of flack off the record company, always on my back. Well I thank God for watching what I'm doing. Whoops. Fusion watch what you're saying. Remember what happened before when you tried to thank God, um, Christ, um, Him--you had to scrap your lyrics and throw them in the bin. I couldn't win, it must've been a thing. Anyway I've been asked here not to give lip, but to talk about a topic which we call censorship. Musicians have no right to say what they want to. MC Fusion want to say some of the people say that blunt--nobody has the right to tell you want to do. 'Cause if you do it to them, it may be [?] on you. Whoever bought this record try and figure out what the flucking hell is Fusion talking about, but it makes sense to the A G I T, cause this is what happened when they try to censor me. Ha. Finally, Fusion, I mean we, got freedom of speech. Censorship is a load of bollocks, and that's what agitation propaganda and anything you can do, I can do better.
'To' is a preposition
'Come' is a verb
'To come' is a verb intransitive
To come, to come
Did you come? Did you come good? Good!
Did you come? Did you come good? Good!
Don't come in me, don't come in me
Don't come in me, don't come in me
It takes technique to thrill me!
Did you come? Did you come good? Good!
Did you come? Did you come good? Good!
Did you come, come, come, come, come good?
Big mouth, big mouth, big mouth strikes again
Big mouth, big mouth, big mouth strikes again
(Good Thief routine)
Stepford husbands, Stepford wives
With longer scissors, sharper knives
So sugar-sweet, they spend their time as censors, working overtime
This good-good culture
Bullshit motherfucker bullshit
Welcome Christ, judges, lone ranger
Bullshit motherfucker bullshit
Padres, pastors, popes, priests
Bullshit motherfucker bullshit
Critics, comics, you, me
Bullshit motherfucker bullshit
Big mouth, big mouth, big mouth strikes again
Big mouth, big mouth, big mouth strikes again

Nothing That's New

Same seven notes and some slag poet's quotes
Stick them together with glue
You can mix a fine cocktail from memories
And pretend what you're drinking is new
But there's nothing that's new under heaven
(Chorus)
There's nothing that hasn't been done
Pour me another double cliche
You can't write a song that's never been sung
Everyone's stealing from someone
Burglars get burgled as well
There's nothing that's new under heaven
There's nothing unique over hell
There's nothing that's new under heaven
(Repeat chorus)
You can't write a song that's never been sung
You can't write a song that's never been sung

Behave!

Hey diddle diddle, here's a brand new riddle
What's shallow and cheap with a hole in the middle
Five fingers holding four wise angels
Little heads float by on clouds of goodness
They're playing voodoo with their Kylie dolls
Sing it right or don't sing it all

Snip Snip Snip

Well madam how'd you like it, maybe plenty off the back? I heard the coiners took the scissor to the Union Jack, with a snipper and a clipper and a bloody close shave making fivers, tenners, twenties, change. What's your size? What's the hours? No, you don't need the hassle--take the new short cut to the old clippy castle with the ramblers and the scramblers and the loiners and the tykes and the punks and the hippies living over by the pike.
Pick a coin, any coin, and with a snip snip snip you turn a portuguese guinea to a threepenny bit; and every last watermark just curled up and died and now the king and the queen got a bit on the side. Don't be bloody silly keep away from bloody Billy cause he's shopping all the chopping going down along the valley, and supergrassing catches like a plague, to be sure, but it's nothing that a bullet in the belly couldn't cure.
Please to put a penny in the young man's hat, then roll 'em over, roll 'em over, lay 'em out flat! Just deliver us kicking from our pokes and sacks to the hills of Hebden, hell and Halifax, and the next bugger blabs is the next bugger dies, got a flame for your pants and a poker for your eyes where every hot guinea is another hot dinner, with the weavers and the spinners and the reverends and the sinners.

Look! No Strings!

Look, no strings--just paper, glue, and card
Hark, the angels sing 'Paste the Lord'
That was the Armley tabernacle choir. Next we'll be hearing the true story of an American housewife who claims to have taken mid-air photographs of Jesus Christ in the skies of Indiana.
High above the streets and houses
Misses Meta Battle, with one hand on the Valium and one hand on the bottle
Somewhere over Indiana, eight miles high
Meta Battle sees the good Lord wandering 'cross the sky
(Chorus)
Have your fun whilst your alive
You won't get nothing when you die
Have a good time all the time because you won't get nothing when you die
Look, no strings--just paper, glue, and card
Hark, the angels sing 'Paste the Lord'
Gobsmacked, William Shatnered
Meta does a double take
Come on baby, do the camera shake
Half expecting from the aisle a certain Mister Beadle
Watching you, watching us, watching Misses Meta Battle
(Repeat chorus)
Look, no strings--just paper, glue, and card
Hark, the angels sing 'Paste the Lord'
Meta Battle shot her Lord
And watched him tumble down
And now there's people out with Polaroids all around town
And who knows, that Jesus on the church near your house may well be the original
Kiss it as you pass
(Repeat chorus)
Look, no strings--just paper, glue, and card
Hark, the angels sing 'Paste the Lord'
(Repeat)
Susej em kcuf ho
(Repeat)

Happiness Is Just A Chant Away

I'm having a wonderful time drunk on communion wine
One sin over the seven
Sick all over the stairway to heaven
Bullshit, bullshit, priests without a pulpit
Shake shake shake your blessed bells
Ding dong, heaven calling, buzz buzz buzz, haircut sir
You put your whole self in, your whole self out
In out in out, shake it all about
With a pop song, pop song, smothering love bombs
You're great I'm great everybody's great
Everybody's great
(Repeat)
Happiness is just a chant away
(Repeat)
Georgie got a needle and Georgie got a hit
Georgie got religion and a saviour on a stick
There're a thousand Georgies all posing in a field
Which are false and which are real?
You put your whole self in, your whole self out
In out, in out, what's it all about?
Pop song, pop song, smothering love bombs
You're great i'm great everybody's great
Everybody's great
(Repeat)
Happiness is just a chant away
(Repeat)
I'm having a wonderful time drunk on communion wine
One sin over the seven
Sick all over the stairway to heaven
Harry Roberts, Harry Roberts, Roberts, Roberts, Harry, Harry
(Repeat)
Everybody got a good deal
Everybody got a guru
Everybody got a love bomb
Everybody got a hit song
(Repeat)

Pop Star Kidnap

A phonebox rendezvous, don't whisper a word
Half a million by Monday
Or Roger Waters gets it
My little baby, they cut off his ear
Half a million by Tuesday, then
Don't whisper a word
Shhh

Sometimes Plunder

Two little ducks sank with a knock knock knock
She got twenty on tick and smoked the bloody lot
The fridge was bare, the dog was bones
Weavin' and a-bobbin' when the tallyman calls
Mary, Mary, she went up the wall
And she kissed bye bye to the holiest Joe
Played the wild rover and climbed on board
Says, 'It's all that the lady of the manor can afford'
You sometimes plunder, and you sometimes plunder
You sometimes plunder, and you sometimes plunder
Meet Miss Morrissey, fingers light
She lifted up his hat and he wept all night
She's the woman with the granny bag dressed to the nines
The pleasure and the privilege mine all mine
Candid camera on every bloody wall
All the cameras under heaven couldn't catch 'em all
Fill those pockets and lift that grail
Lead me into temptation, girls
You sometimes plunder, and you sometimes plunder
You sometimes plunder, and you sometimes plunder
Everything I do, I do it for you. Everything I do is driven by you. Driven by you? You don't have a clue. I make your songs better and you always try to sue! Money, money, money--it's gone to your head. I sample too much and you say 'the music's dead'. Dead? Huh! You're the one that's dead--lots of money spent on someone with a hollow head. New Kids, Minogue, all those sort of rogues, making lots of money for those scheming little toads. Then you come to us and say we made the music worse--look at the Beatles and Stones--who made their music first?
All the threes and all the queen bees singing 'does the driver wanna wee wee?'
Wicked ladies, malicious intent
Your honor, I was only trying to pick it up for lent.
Does the driver wanna wee wee?
Does the driver wanna wee wee?
Does the driver wanna wee wee?
'Cause we want to wee wee too!
Why waste change, why change the habit
If the girl's got to have it then the girl's got to have it
Easiest pickings, wall to wall, in England's piped ceramic malls
By the dickens and the devil's daughter
Bingo full house everyone's a winner
The lady works in mysterious ways
All because the lady loves Christmas every day
You sometimes plunder, and you sometimes plunder
You sometimes plunder, and you sometimes plunder
(Repeat)
You can make a living sometimes plundering
(Repeat)
Too late
(Repeat)
Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs

You Can't Trust Anyone Nowadays

You can't trust anyone nowadays
(Repeat)
Brown shirts don't make it
(Repeat)
I'm not so brave and I'm not too crazy
And I'd rather be a coward than pushing up daisies
Never rocked the boat, never tipped the scales
Never got off the fence, never had that much to say
So when I get a leather glove across my face
I say 'yes sir, no sir, whatever you say sir'
And when the Nazis stop me
Shouting 'get out your pass book'
I say 'yes sir, yes sir'
I don't trust to luck
Who'd Adam and Eve it
They're rationing clothes
And where they find a molehill a mountain grows
So please, no pictures 'cause the snap you took
They'll take it as a sign
Jesus H Christ--just my luck
You can't trust anyone nowadays
You can't trust anyone nowadays
I'd stay at home and sit it out
But in a dirty world you need a launderette
Two short minutes
I look the other way
Some bastard robbed me blind
You can't trust anyone nowadays

Stitch That!

Note on Stitch That!: the lyrics are partly nicked from a traditional song reinterpreted by martin carthy on an album i forget the name of - it's a lovely song. the reason it's on shhh in particular is because we were adamant that we use the 'stolen' drumbeat and intro from the beatles 'sgt pepper'; seemed appropriate at the time because ringo starr was infamous for a short time as a drunken wife-hitter. we recreated paul mccartney's stamping footsteps as well. sad as we are. the imitated loop was the 'theft' issue for having it on the album as an adendum. the words were hurriedly sung in two takes and it was only later we turned it into a real song to play live. lou was probably fixing a car the day we originally recorded it, or something... it was also martin carthy who mainly inspired the version of 'new york mining disaster'.
boff

So this husband came home drunk each night
And he thrashed her black and he thrashed her white
He thrashed her to within an inch of her life
Then he slept like a log, did her husband
But as he lay and snored in bed
A strange idea came into her head
So she went for the needle and she went for the thread
And straight to her sleeping husband
She started to stitch with a girlish thrill
With a woman's art and a seamstress' skill
She pinned and tucked with an iron will
All around her sleeping husband
When her husband awoke with a pain in his head
He found he could not move in bed
'Sweet Christ I've lost the use of me legs!'
But the wife just smiled at her husband
Then she thrashed him black, she thrashed him blue
With a frying pan and a colander, too
With a rolling pin just a stroke or two
A battered and bleeding husband
Isn't it true what small can do
With a thread and a stitch and a thought or two
He's wiped his slate, his boozing's through
Goodbye to a drunken husband
Kick out the jams, motherfucker!
Shhh