fishfingerer
sultan of cringe
Cheesypoof said:
pete doherty lyrics - a celebration of england
- Thread starter Cheesypoof
- Start date
nineteen eighty bore
Who needs lobotomy when we've got the ITV
Who needs ECT when there's good old BBC?
Switch on the set, light up the screen
Fantasise and dream about what you might have been
Who needs controlling when they've got the cathode ray
They've got your fucking soul, now they'll fuse your brains away
Mindless fucking morons sit before the set
Being fed the mindless rubbish they deserve to get
Can't switch off big brother, they've lost all will to act
Lost in drab confusion, was it fiction, was it fact?
Another plastic bullet stuns another Irish child
But no-one's really bothered, no, the telly keeps them mild
They've lost all sense of feeling to the every hungry glow
Drained of any substance by the vicious telly blow
No longer know what's real or ain't, slowly going blind
They stare into the goggle box while the world goes by, behind
The Angels are on T.V. tonight, grey puke fucking shit
They army occupy Ireland, but the boot will never fit
Was it Coronation Street? Or was it Londonderry?
Oh it doesn't fucking matter, Paul Daniels'll keep us merry
Yes, I've heard of Bobby Sands, wasn't it Emmerdale Farm?
Yes, that's right, he was kicked by a cow
I hope it didn't do him no harm
And wasn't the Holocaust terrible, good thing it wasn't for real
Of course I've heard of H-Block, it's the baccy with man appeal
Deeper and deeper and deeper, layer upon layer
Illusion, confusion, is there anyone left who can care?
Yes, the Abbey National cares for you
Nat West, and Securicor
Well brings out the Branston bren-guns
Let's spice it up some more
The Sweeney are cruising Brixton, created another Belfast
And J.R.'s advising Thatcher on lighting, make up and cast
A thousand camera lenses point at the people's pain
As millions of mindless morons watch the action replay again
Action replay again
Softly, softly, into your life, you're held in it's brilliant glow
Softly, softly, feeding itself on the you you'll never know
You're life's reduced to nothing, but an empty media game
Big Brother ain't watching you mate, you're fucking watching him
Who needs lobotomy when we've got the ITV
Who needs ECT when there's good old BBC?
Switch on the set, light up the screen
Fantasise and dream about what you might have been
Who needs controlling when they've got the cathode ray
They've got your fucking soul, now they'll fuse your brains away
Mindless fucking morons sit before the set
Being fed the mindless rubbish they deserve to get
Can't switch off big brother, they've lost all will to act
Lost in drab confusion, was it fiction, was it fact?
Another plastic bullet stuns another Irish child
But no-one's really bothered, no, the telly keeps them mild
They've lost all sense of feeling to the every hungry glow
Drained of any substance by the vicious telly blow
No longer know what's real or ain't, slowly going blind
They stare into the goggle box while the world goes by, behind
The Angels are on T.V. tonight, grey puke fucking shit
They army occupy Ireland, but the boot will never fit
Was it Coronation Street? Or was it Londonderry?
Oh it doesn't fucking matter, Paul Daniels'll keep us merry
Yes, I've heard of Bobby Sands, wasn't it Emmerdale Farm?
Yes, that's right, he was kicked by a cow
I hope it didn't do him no harm
And wasn't the Holocaust terrible, good thing it wasn't for real
Of course I've heard of H-Block, it's the baccy with man appeal
Deeper and deeper and deeper, layer upon layer
Illusion, confusion, is there anyone left who can care?
Yes, the Abbey National cares for you
Nat West, and Securicor
Well brings out the Branston bren-guns
Let's spice it up some more
The Sweeney are cruising Brixton, created another Belfast
And J.R.'s advising Thatcher on lighting, make up and cast
A thousand camera lenses point at the people's pain
As millions of mindless morons watch the action replay again
Action replay again
Softly, softly, into your life, you're held in it's brilliant glow
Softly, softly, feeding itself on the you you'll never know
You're life's reduced to nothing, but an empty media game
Big Brother ain't watching you mate, you're fucking watching him
something about england
They say immigrants steal the hubcaps
Of the respected gentlemen
They say it would be wine an' roses
If England were for Englishmen again
I saw a dirty overcoat
At the foot of the pillar of the road
Propped inside was an old man
Who time could not erode
The night was snapped by sirens
Those blue lights circled past
The dancehall called for an ambulance
The bars all closed up fast
My silence gazing at the ceiling
While roaming the single room
I thought the old man could help me
If he could explain the gloom
You really think it's all new
You really think about it too
The old man scoffed as he spoke to me
I'll tell you a thing or two
I missed the fourteen-eighteen war
But not the sorrow afterwards
With my father dead, my mother ran off
My brothers took the pay of hoods
The twenties turned the north was dead
The hunger strike came marching south
At the garden party not a word was said
The ladies lifted cake to their mouths
The next war began, my ship sailed
With battle orders writ in red
In five long years of bullets and shells
We left ten million dead
The few returned to old Piccadily
We limped around Leicester Square
The world was busy rebuilding itself
The architects could not care
But how could we know when I was young
All the changes that were to come?
All the photos in the wallets on the battlefield
And now the terror of the scientific sun
There was masters an' servants an' servants an' dogs
They taught you how to touch your cap
But through strikes an' famine an' war an' peace
England never closed this gap
So leave me now the moon is up
But remember the tales I tell
The memories that you have dredged up
Are on letters forwarded from hell
The streets were now deserted
The gangs had trudged off home
The lights clicked out in the bedsits
old England was all alone
They say immigrants steal the hubcaps
Of the respected gentlemen
They say it would be wine an' roses
If England were for Englishmen again
I saw a dirty overcoat
At the foot of the pillar of the road
Propped inside was an old man
Who time could not erode
The night was snapped by sirens
Those blue lights circled past
The dancehall called for an ambulance
The bars all closed up fast
My silence gazing at the ceiling
While roaming the single room
I thought the old man could help me
If he could explain the gloom
You really think it's all new
You really think about it too
The old man scoffed as he spoke to me
I'll tell you a thing or two
I missed the fourteen-eighteen war
But not the sorrow afterwards
With my father dead, my mother ran off
My brothers took the pay of hoods
The twenties turned the north was dead
The hunger strike came marching south
At the garden party not a word was said
The ladies lifted cake to their mouths
The next war began, my ship sailed
With battle orders writ in red
In five long years of bullets and shells
We left ten million dead
The few returned to old Piccadily
We limped around Leicester Square
The world was busy rebuilding itself
The architects could not care
But how could we know when I was young
All the changes that were to come?
All the photos in the wallets on the battlefield
And now the terror of the scientific sun
There was masters an' servants an' servants an' dogs
They taught you how to touch your cap
But through strikes an' famine an' war an' peace
England never closed this gap
So leave me now the moon is up
But remember the tales I tell
The memories that you have dredged up
Are on letters forwarded from hell
The streets were now deserted
The gangs had trudged off home
The lights clicked out in the bedsits
old England was all alone
May Kasahara
take me to the feeling
fishfingerer said:
It's funny because it's true.
BassJunkie
Clams on the half shell, and roller skates.
Oh where are you now
pussy willow that smiled on this leaf?
When I was alone you promised the stone from your heart
my head kissed the ground
I was half the way down, treading the sand
please, please, lift a hand
I'm only a person whose armbands beat
on his hands, hang tall
won't you miss me?
Wouldn't you miss me at all?
The poppy birds way
swing twigs coffee brands around
brandish her wand with a feathery tongue
my head kissed the ground
I was half the way down, treading the sand
please, please, please lift the hand
I'm only a person with Eskimo chain
I tattooed my brain all the way...
Won't you miss me?
Wouldn't you miss me at all?
pussy willow that smiled on this leaf?
When I was alone you promised the stone from your heart
my head kissed the ground
I was half the way down, treading the sand
please, please, lift a hand
I'm only a person whose armbands beat
on his hands, hang tall
won't you miss me?
Wouldn't you miss me at all?
The poppy birds way
swing twigs coffee brands around
brandish her wand with a feathery tongue
my head kissed the ground
I was half the way down, treading the sand
please, please, please lift the hand
I'm only a person with Eskimo chain
I tattooed my brain all the way...
Won't you miss me?
Wouldn't you miss me at all?
Monkeygrinder's Organ
Dodgy geezer swilling vapid lager
Fledgling said:
'You'll have to pry my bottle of Baileys from my cold, dead hands.'
ETA: That picture is from 'The Charlton Heston Online Shrine'
ViolentPanda
Hardly getting over it.
Cheesypoof said:
30 years ago you'd have been an Osmonds fan. A plastic "latest craze" follower of media-manufactured musically-talentless celebrity.
Pete Docherty is a pale reflection of talents like Ray Davies, David Gedge, Stephen Morrissey and Mark Ermintrude Smith (
). His "poetry" doesn't come near the likes of Benjamin Zepheniah, Spot the Poet, or even Billy Childish. Docherty is a fucking McGonagle. Perhaps one day, when it's his songwriting that sells his records rather than his addiction to class a drugs, he'll be fit to lick any of their boots.
kyser_soze
Hawking's Angry Eyebrow
Victoria Wood asking 'bend me over backwards on my hostess trolley' in 'Can't do it' evokes a more humourous and real vision of the people of this sceptic isle than the Moss shagger...
ViolentPanda
Hardly getting over it.
kyser_soze said:
Innit.
I won't say that Docherty is a waste, because his lyrics are nowhere near as banal as some I've heard, but "poetry"? Only if you've never progressed beyond sixth-form verbal doodlings.
If the guy didn't have such excellent PR (wonder what their expenses claims for supplying tabloid journos with charlie look like?) he'd be down among the indie deadmen, playing empty working men's clubs.
Similar threads
