C 'n' C-S Mithering

歌詞

Three days Three months Three days Three months A treatise A treatise To explain these First was cash 'n' carry house dance In Lancashire they're A In King Nat Ltd. empire Kwik Save is there The scene started here Then was America Then was America We went there Big A&M Herb was there** His offices had fresh air But his rota was mediocre US purge, rock 'n' pop filth Their material's filched And the secret of their lives Is... All the English groups Act like peasants with free milk On a route On a route to the loot To candy mountain Five wacky English proletariat idiots Californians always think of sex Or think of death Five hundred girl deaths A Mexico revenge, it's stolen land They really get it off on "Don't hurt me please" Rapist fill the TVs And the secret of their lives Is S.E.X.. I have dreams, I can see Carloads of negro Nazis Like Faust with beards Hydrochloric shaved weirds (Applause from audience at Cyprus Tavern ) This was going to be called crap rap fourteen, but it's now Stop Mithering. The things that drain you off and drive you off the hinge. Boils, dirty socks, the ceilings collapse. The Sunday morning loud lawn mower, the upstairs Jewish girl damn hoovering every thirty minutes, from valium cig withdrawal. She wants communal, fluent flat household. I want privacy. The bastard dentist doctors surgery, Clip, clop, ring, knock, ring Stop mithering*** The estates stick up like stacks The estates stick up like stacks The residents keep wild dogs And on that father's bedroom closet top, electric blanket boxes Surplus jonnies, demob pictures To their children they sing Stop mithering You think you've got it bad with thin ties, miserable songs synthesized, or circles with A in the middle. Make joke records, hang out with Gary Bushell, Join round table. "I like your single yer great!" A circle of low IQ's. There are three rules of audience. My journalist acquaintances, go soft, go places, on record company expenses. I lose humor, manners become bog writers, don't know it. The smart hedonists, same as last verse, allusions with H in electronics, on stage false histrionics, Corpse mauling dicks, pose through a good film, him, him Stop mithering I'm not joining conventional rock band. The conventional is experimental, the conventional is now experimental, And is no way noble, and I'm no chock stock thing. So stop mithering. Engineers save up for cars. I try to let down their tyres with matches to make them molten. Ouch! Ouch! They say I rip off Johnny Rotten They always strike for more pay. They say "See yer mate..Yeh...see yer mate" To their mothers they sing Stop mithering He even did fail the penile tissue test. He hangs out for sex. He enters magazine contest. White tan horror in the mirror. Spotty exterior hides a spotty interior. He's not your enemy. He's not your enemy, his name is not Harry. The secret of Cash and Carry.