(Chorus) Can't hear you 'cause your mouth's full of shit Can't hear you 'cause your mouth's full of shit Do something about it (Repeat chorus) Well I'm really back to basics right beside a bar Choke the double trouble big one to the joker with the card Good call What's the crack, what's the damage done today From the commons to the common a banana skin away Knock it back knock it out Chuck a nightmare dart Quiet Compere on the mic turns turning to the court Putting beef vol-au-vents across the Union Jack Bolinger and Bitter says the colonies are back (Repeat chorus) You think you're god's gift You're a liar I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire (Repeat) (Repeat chorus) Up your ronson Take a tab With a flash of Zippo light Catch the hip parade passing to the Polaroids right Check the manic little rebel with a bottle in his hand A rhyming manifesto and a butty from his mam Local lad made bad with cowboy charm Claims he doesn't really mean every screw-'em-all barb Pass the mic Karaoke with the yesteryear stars Time to weep into your beer 'til the fireworks start (Repeat Chorus) You think you're god's gift You're a liar I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire (Repeat) (Repeat chorus)
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
(Chorus 1) Stop now, what's that sound? Everybody look what's going down Stop now, what's that sound? Wow! (Chorus 2) I am a timebomb A ticking ticking ticking timebomb I am a timebomb A ticking ticking ticking timebomb Unattended at the railway station In the litter at the dancehall Sitting pretty near the fast-food counter In a backseat of a Vauxhall Woah (Repeat chorus 2) (Repeat chorus 1) (Repeat chorus 2) Unattended at the railway station They're all dancing to the same song Hear the smashing of your expectations Hear the shattering of half-rhymes (Repeat chorus 2) (Repeat chorus 1) Gotta stop! Yeah, stop now, what's that sound, everybody look what's going down Stop now, what's that sound, everybody look what's going down (Repeat) Stop (Repeat chorus 1) And all the timebombs They're all dancing to the same song In a world full of no-ones I am someone (Repeat chorus 2) (Repeat chorus 1) (Repeat chorus 1) London bridge is falling down Thank you Mr. Jimmy Echo, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together Lovely
Act one, the smell of green leather, French polish, quite pristine, not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle, not a crease, the silverware all clean. Exquisite chaussures grace marble floors, be upstanding, for men of yore. But wait, who's this, sticky under the collar in Elsinore? Enter silent comedy geek with dynamite down his pants. Nervous, shuffling on his feet, leading a merry song and dance. A back seat driver of good moral fibre, holding up the light. He's made his own bed, now he's got to lie in it. Ha ha! Serves him right. Act two, a new New England, watch the good seed grow. But who is this miss out-of-wedlock, with children of her own? Enter witch finder general, of melancholy humor, and irascible power, all dressed in goody-goody two shoes, pulling the heads of flowers. 'Let this be,' said he, 'a lesson, your dirty linen is your own reflection.' Said I, 'Somehow it just doesn't wash, away with your petty inquisition. In the vernacular, most unkind sir, f**k with me and you will see the flesh and blood and bone, the black eye of thine enemy.' Dance, dance. Act three, 'I am the lord of the dance,' said he. John the Baptist, dripping wet, playing sir politick-would-be. Backslapping, backsliding, back to basic instincs, backfiring. By your own choice you're on a hiding to nothing, I ask you which is more comforting? The thought that I am bad seed, gone to seed, turned sour by TV sex and violence. Or even worse, am I unleashed by my own volition to do you ill? 'Condemn a little more, understand a little less.' Oh sad sir, thou jest! Ha ha! I am Prometheus, prepare thee to meet thy nemesis.
Open your eyes, time to wake up Enough is enough is enough is enough Give the fascist man a gunshot Trying and trying to get this damn thing done. It can't done. Come shoot the fascist with a gun. 'Cause it's stopping us from unity. We cannot see reality, just vanity, insanity, Fusion cannot stand it see. No man, fascist man, will ever get me outta the land so understand Fusion plan to stop them with a bang. We sang and sang to make the peple all unite. Not fight, but fight because the leaders don't think right. You burnt us in the past you know it won't happen again. So black and white take a stand and all try to defend. All of the people and the children who are living in the past, just blast, and blast, don't make the fascist man last. Open your eyes, time to wake up Enough is enough is enough is enough Give the fascist man a gunshot On and on and on you know the feeling's so strong, so long, it's wrong, I'm telling you it's wrong. Destruction, confusion, and blaming it on the color, I wonder, in horror, 'cause the people start to follow. All the leaders and the rulers who are putting up the fence, it's dense, immense, and you say you're talking sense. Bull, bull, I want to say it full, but people on the radio you know will make a pull. So I try to tone it down to make the whole world know that the language of my violence will proceed in my show. Flow, flow, to make the fascist man know that unity is here and unity will grow. Open your eyes, time to wake up Enough is enough is enough is enough Give the fascist man a gunshot Open your eyes, time to wake up Enough is enough is enough is enough
If you want to find the general I know where he is I know where he is I know where he is If you want to find the general I know where he is He's pinning another medal on his chest I saw him, I saw him Pinning another medal on his chest Pinning another medal on his chest If you want to find the colonel I know where he is I know where he is I know where he is If you want to find the colonel I know where he is He's sitting in comfort stuffing his bloody gut I saw him, I saw him Sitting in comfort stuffing his bloody gut If you want to find the seargent I know where he is I know where he is I know where he is If you want to find the seargent I know where he is He's drinking all the company rum I saw him, I saw him Drinking all the company rum Drinking all the company rum If you want to find the private I know where he is I know where he is I know where he is If you want to find the private I know where he is He's hanging on the old barbed wire I saw him, I saw him Hanging on the old barbed wire Hanging on the old barbed wire
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)
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 wh at 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
This girl, she didn't turn out quite the way she was supposed to do This girl, she got bored of all the things they brought her up to say She never meant them anyway This girl, she got caught out on the multi-storey car park Throwing goodbye notes wrapped up in bricks When they put her in the car she said, 'Jesus made me do it' But all the priests in all the world couldn't save this girl This girl, content with all the bloody noses, scabby knees You get from fighting wars like these, Running past the tidy houses pulling faces This material world couldn't tempt this girl (Chorus) Now she entertains the world and all its mates But she doesn't fit in And everybody thinks this girl is great But she's lacing all the party drinks with venom from a poison pen This girl, she made a habit of habitually lying Does everybody's head in She knows what happens when the next stop that you see It's not the one that everyone expected it to be This girl, happy families 'round the supermarket check-out She loves to be the odd one out The party girl who stayed upstairs Playing musical chairs La-la, la-la-la She doesn't care this girl. (Repeat chorus) This girl, she didn't turn out quite the way she was supposed to do
Oscar Wilde, Oscar Wilde, can you tell me where you've been? I've been down to London town to pay a visit to the Queen. Oscar Wilde, Oscar Wilde, can you tell me what you saw? I saw the Queen and all her coutiers cooking up new laws; I saw the corridors of power, with closets wall-to-wall; And I saw the truth, the truth, behind the Emperor's new Clause! So you burn the books, and close your eyese to every other possibility-- you got to keep your job for collaborating with the enemy. You keep throwing stones though your house is made of glass; you've helped to make McCarthyism popular, at last. Blessed are the moralists, the Judges, the patriarchs. Blessed are the gutter-press, the AIDS-joke comedians. Praise to the guilt-mongerers, the fear-builders, the sin-fetishists. Glory, glory, halleluia, His truth is marching on One in ten driven underground, divisions getting wider. Hide your inclination behind a straight face and a Bible. Third Reich morality, and if the cap doesn't fit, there's a designer label for hypocrites. Here comes the officer, knocking on your door. He's got a care order in the pocket of his uniform. Where's Radclyffe Hall? Now is the time to tear up clause 29! Here comes the preacher checking your soul. Too late sir, I'd rather fall. We'll eat your bread and we'll drink your wine, and still tear up clause 29! Here comes the judge, hammer in hand, but we've all gone deaf to bigots' commands. Our justice will cross the thin blue line and tear up clause 29! Here comes a brick, heading your way. A concrete opinion says all I want to say. Save your own soul, mine will be fine, once we've shredded clause 29.
Georgina's cooking supper for her husband All her friends are coming 'round to see the show Because the thief she calls a husband won't be hungry When he sees what's on the end of his fork Georgina isn't asking any more And her lover isn't asking any more And the cook isn't asking any more Since the thief met a bullet on the way to the floor Georgina's got a timebomb in her stomach She knows that any minute now it's going to blow With all the pain and the silence that she feeds on With all the hurt that the bruises can't show Georgina isn't asking any more And her lover isn't asking any more And the cook isn't asking any more Since the thief met a bullet on the way to the floor Georgina's got an appetite for vengeance And she sings all the songs from 'Oliver' But she won't be wanting seconds any more As she tightens up her grip on her trigger finger
Georgina isn't asking any more And her lover isn't asking any more And the cook isn't asking any more Since the thief met a bullet on the way to the floor Georgina isn't asking any more And her lover isn't asking any more And the cook isn't asking any more Since the thief met a bullet on the way to the floor
Just take a ticket It takes you nowhere They saw us coming It's them and us here Just keep your voice down And light another I am a patient girl I wait, I wait, I wait It's not your money Don't call me stupid Not big, not clever Mean can mean awkward It's Wigan Pier here I'm not for jumping See candid camera Sees next to nothing (Chorus) You keep me waiting I keep on shouting You keep me waiting I keep on shouting You keep me waiting I keep on shouting You keep me waiting My letterbox knows Bangers and bad news Good morning campers Sees queues and queues and queues They spell my name wrong It's not for art's sake And every truth told Black mark on black mark You love to chew on This bread and butter You crunch your numbers And push your papers Pile-up on pile-up Malicious bad turns I'll light another Slow fuses, slow burn (Repeat chorus)
I'm always waiting I'm sick of waiting For the day my luck will change I've spent enough time In queues and bread lines In hope of better days These thieves and scroungers And lazy bastards If I move they'll steal my place Steal like this State does And who's to blame us When none of us can pay? Will heaven's angels Pull out the rent books And ask me how I'll pay? Behind their big desks Misspell my kids' names And file my life away?
Albert! What? Bobby! What? For god's sake burn it down Nothing ever burns down by itself Every fire needs a little bit of help Nothing ever burns down by itself Every fire needs a little bit of Give the anarchist a cigarette 'Cause that's as close as he's ever going to get Bobby just hasn't earned it yet The times are changing but he just forgets He's going to choke on his harmonica Albert Nothing ever burns down by itself Every fire needs a little bit of help Nothing ever burns down by itself Every fire needs a little bit of Give the anarchist a cigarette A candy cig for the spoilt brat We'll get Albert to write you a check And he'll be burning up the air in his personal jet You know I hate every pop star that I ever met Nothing ever burns down by itself Every fire needs a little bit of help Nothing ever burns down by itself Every fire needs a little bit of Give the anarchist a cigarette Burn baby burn, burn baby burn (Repeat) Nothing ever burns down by itself Every fire needs a little bit of help (Repeat)
Driving on the bypass to Damascus I saw a preacher trying to hitch a ride With a pair of broken wings And a suitcase full of sins He gathered up his dreams and jumped inside Pulling Malatesta from his suitcase He lifted up his voice and began to sing 'My songs of desperation lead to action... And this is where the serious fun begins.' We don't go to God's house anymore Saw the light and walked right out the door We don't go to God's house It's more fun in the dog house We don't go to God's house anymore Well driving on, I tasted sweet salvation As we sung away the pulpit and the past The preacherman and me We sang such harmonies The highway of my life went by so fast The preacher, he got off at the crossroads He said, 'This is where I end, and you begin' He left behind the wings and the Malatesta And the memory of the songs we both did sing We don't go to God's house anymore Saw the light and walked right out the door We don't go to God's house It's more fun in the doghouse We don't go to God's house anymore
