A necklace of rubber
Burning bright
A burning rubber necklace
For my Angel's delight
A holiday in a box
Opportunity knocks
For the rich man's militia
Photographing my block
Kill a Cop
Ah... why the hell not?

Yeah!!!... burn mother-fucker burn!!
come on, come on, come on, come on
yeah..
I got a word for you - "dead"
I got [a trampoline]
Your fucking head

You roll down my street
In [your gloomy] new car
I've got no secrets, cash, or time left to give you
oh but I've got something else for you my friend
there's a crack in the restless night
a broken ball on the pavement
"Angel's delight"
was a recurring statement
burn the bailif
come on...
spill it don't save it

yeah...  burn mother-fucker burn
[run, run, run, run]
well, you can have what you asked
but [how it casts
now I play a card]
the payments last
you can put away your [mountains to be]
you can put away your dickens to be
you can [munch on while your looking at me]
looking at you
god bless
[????]
[????]
[????]
what do you do when words collapse?
and all that's left is broken glass?
I know, I know I'm trapped.

(oh yes)
I've got a holiday in a big oak box
with my friend the famous P.C. plop, plop, plop
Kill a cop, kill a cop
you lay a hand on me
I'm gonna kill you cop
Hey!  Let's all kill some cops
Some baillifs
Assholes


Concrete Block  -  (0:17)

(Instrumental)


Mr. Baby  -  (2:54)

yes.
see the priest in gleaming nappies, gurgling and burping child at play,
signing warrants, blessing firing-suads are the pleasures of this baby's day,
in a street where broken buildings fall on burning people ten foot tall
on stockinged knees not all not all just those who fight in bonfire light
inspite of all the crowd who call 
their hero...
a goldfish-jockey their hero remains
Mr. Baby
Mr. Baby
you know, you know, he's really crazy.
Mr Baby spills it by the ton
he wraps his mouth around his gun
he says "scared?" you're not the only one.
did they raise their fists to greet you all when they saw the colour of your skin?
did they laugh and say "go home" when you told them the trouble you were in?
you know they did.
{God is an arms dealer}
Your complaint is my mandate and your shoulders are my ladder straight.
What they can not defuse they must excuse and what they must allow they soon will bow to
and they will kneel 
they will kneel to Mr. Baby,
your own Mr. Baby.
whoah you really slay me
Mr. Baby in the burning bushfire
basement by the crater brook
reads from his ancient hate-book
Mr. Baby
Your own, your own Mr. baby
Mr. Babiiiiieeeeee, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby
Don't treat me mean now
whoah, don't bang your head
no, no, no Mr. Baby


The Door-to-Door Inspector  -  (4:13)

The Door-to-Door Inspector,
his knuckles bare and white,
is rapping on your window
he knows your hiding here tonight

He's traveled from the city
to your country slum
under rain and black clouds
and the burnt-out silver sun.

He'll drop you where you stand
lift the roof with his bare hands
hand you down his just demands
as you huddle in your tiny corner

The Door-to-Door Inspector
now sits to eat his lunch
he scowls at last week's paper
in the workers cafe, hushed.

well, now you've made you choice when mocking
the ways of true grown men.
Now may your women-love protect you
as you face this grevious punishment you've earned.

He'll drop you where you stand
he'll pump your brow and smash your hands
give you a mind of an old man
to light you dimly to the end of your days

oh now, he'll drop you where he stands
then journey home to wash his hands
to his bed he'll trembling go
passion not spent on man alone


Start the Week  -  (0:25)

(Instrumental)


You're a Rose  -  (3:32)

It's mister Blank calling gorgeous
from the slum which time ignores
where folks use razor-blades for toothpaste
and every breath is a Holy War.

Were you sleeping?
Do you hate me?
I've been dozing in the midnight sun
now I have solved all of my problems
making the many into one.

the Good times were all over
I don't care
It seems I missed them,
but I miss your smile, your laugh, your snore
your fond contempt, your faithful rage
You're a Rose.
You're a Rose.
You're a Rose.
You're a Rose.

You don't mind the cues, the burning trains
the squalid mute despair
you don't mind deceiving lovers
you ignore the stinking air
well now accept your just a person
not the touchstone not the face
of the ages past their grandeur 
and the death-wish of the master-race

the dawn sky is getting bleaker
our demise could not be neater
and your face hangs now before me like 
a rootless flame in awe I stare
You're a Rose.
You're a Rose.
On fire
Yeah
You're a rose in a crown of thorns

oh well, I think you'd better hang up on the jerk
I think you'd better hang up on the jerk
I think you'd better hang up on the jerk
it's better to [love, to love,
[to love] from now on
it's only going to be one way
one-way traffic from now on
the door is open
the door is open wide
'cause I said so
'cause I said so


Legoland 3  -  (0:27)

(Instrumental)


Thursday - (3:38)

The window's watch me wait for you
Mirror mirror
Mirror mirror

I've seen a world beyond their view
Mirror mirror
Mirror mirror

Of course the night times are the worst
Of course I burn with an Evil burst
You exist so I am cursed
Mirror mirror
Mirror mirror
Mirror mirror
Mirror mirror

I'll be good 'till Thursday comes
The World will think I never had
an Idea that could drive me mad
I'll be good 'till Thursday comes
Then burn all good away

I weed my house, I wash my trees
Mirror mirror
Mirror mirror

I cross my legs in front of me
Mirror mirror
Mirror mirror

I tingle at the thought of you
Is this what the humans do?
My childish words just don't ring true
See ya later, great dictator.
In a while, not a [bile]

I'll be good 'till Thursday comes.
Well unless I am [insweed] in you
You shine me up and make me new
I'll be good 'till Thursday comes
And wish I never did say

I'll be good 'till Thursday comes
It's such a lot of fun
To watch the liar I've become

And I'll be good 'till Thursday comes
And burn all good away.

ahh.... dream all this my lover
ahh.... dream all this my lover
I am your lover now 


Ceausescu Flashback  -  (0:14)

(Instrumental)


Broken Radio #1  -  (4:38)

At the platform's end
where the crowd grew thin
and the light was dim
on our shoes

We sat there so tense
not to touch
though we meant to (I think)

there was no will, no spell
oh, to breach the night and stop the talk
she tossed her hair and home did walk

Broken Radio.
Broken Radio.

On the day that I was born 
there was no big flash and no great storm
but the man read the news in Dutch and warned 
"I'm gonna play Jet'aime on my hunting-horn."
In my cradle I was most impressed
so this is what you called success.

Let me explain
Black Seamus cried,
"My Shamrock has died 
and my father's gone back to Peru"
the frost-damp town 
wore a fat-guts frown
and the DJ's played Brian Boru 
oh, the Sundays sticky,
home with rain,
sedition never entertained:

Broken Radio.
Broken Radio.

Murder the past and all who sail in it
if the past is a [wreck then] all who sail in it
make me realize it's time to move on (but)
all the ships and flames are gone
I'm in a savage place with a timid song
and mumbled words [babies]


Concrete Block  -  (0:28)

(Instrumental)


*Note* - The Next two tracks appear to be swapped on the label.
Farewell, Oratorio  -  (0:59)


Aodhagan went hunting
for food and money
through the streets of Walthamstow
but the dim Sunday passed
with nary a catch
and the dogs came home alone
the dogs came home alone

[eat] me now {we inspect our genitalia on a regular basis}
[eat] me now {we inspect our genitalia on a regular basis}
eat me, eat me, eat me, eat me
eat me, eat me now {we inspect our genitalia on a reg...}


Look What I Stole For Us Darling  -  (3:06)

Attacking the ones who are weakest of all
on their dim walk to work with their eyes slit so small
for the dawn and the path and the shekels are mine
fortune won't smile I must be brutal or die.

Now I live by the railway
with the rest of the coven
in a hovel vibrating 
lit by the tandoori ovens 
where we keep the ransomees

we get raided on Fridays
we get drunk when they leave us
we discuss ways to die 
ways we could have gone wrong
we don't mention the now
we can see no way out
we draw skulls on the walls
we draw blood from our balls
we play catch with the rats
still the silence won't crack
though we heave and we hack

Look What I Stole
Look What I Stole For Us, Darling
Look What I Stole

Maybe we're dead, I forgot
They're hunting us so, maybe not

Oh let us mention her torso
heat, electrical chaos
if it burst she would die
oh, oh, oh
wasn't it kind of her to let me in!

Will it get fat when it's older
get all riddled with cancer
while she stays the same person
who's fucking me now?

See the view from above 
of the sofa of Love
with the roof cut away
cars and people out there
and the stains spreading out
and our blood running cold

Look What I Stole!
Look What I Stole For Us, Darling
Look What I Stole
Look What I Stole For Us, Darling
We used to be
Human beings
not anymore

I'll have her washed
and brought to you
so you my wife
can know her too!


The White Knuckle Express  -  (4:16)

Ciao, Ceausescu!
Ciao, Ceausescu!

This truck stop rancid gravy
a man with no hands, waving
and the dog 'round my leg
he bumps and grinds
it rains for miles outside there
on mud and tar and still air
and the fungus-lined gap 
between stinking towns

Pork-eyes got him a brand new hand to hold
He's gonna grasp you 
he won't ask you
and he'll tell you it's your fault
the cup runneth over
your jaws to bless
on the White-Knuckle Express

She is a grey snake
I cannot see her face
she slides acorssed me
I'm wearing a collar and a tie

We're tunefull, cute and giving
See, that's how we make our living
in a hall full of corpses
we'd smile and bounce on

Some say it's aimless bullshit
(oh) but they come from big houses and budgets
and, although I don't look it
I'm getting really fucking old

Pork-Eyes, in the presence of a sweet young girl
He's gonna spill you
it better thrill you
or he'll rip this place apart.
Pork-Eyes!
We're going up!
We're going up!
Feet-first, feet-first!

And the legend on that girl's thigh reads:
"Love hurt hate."
The cup runneth over
your jaws to bless
on the White-Kunckle Express

he will stroke your long hair tenderly
in all the waterfront bars
where the wine and hollow talk-of-men
will muffle things
that really, really are
and you'll go back to your room 
with him on your healthy sandalled feet
to come out minutes later...
(bleeding, torn inderneath)


Chemical Cosh  -  (1:42)


Alcohol, Heroin, THC
[canned] in the impotent community
resignation, irony under scrutiny
so events can slip from memory,
from history a voluntary dictatorship

Chemical Cosh
Chemical Cosh
Chemical Cosh
Come on!

one kind for the rich and one for the poor
the only distinction is the thickness of the front door
Unless it makes you act-up, the law won't mind
you play in the game, this land is yours, the warden is blind.

Chemical Cosh
Chemical Cosh
It's the only time you got (caught)
If you won't come across

They will have it known you're mad if you won't fit their equation
They will have you for not being rich or body-tax evasion
and they'll pay some stoned stockbroker's son
to phone and say "I'm coming 'round , I'm bringing my machine-gun"

Chemical Cosh
Chemical Cosh
It's a stab on the neck
and [the food in the throughs]
from the earth-evolving decade
which [death forgot.]


Tima Mansio Speaks  -  (0:17)

(Instrumental)


A Pack Of Lies - (2:53)

They first met at the hospital she was checking out for good
her body patched but past repair and there her angel stood.
she was feeling quite confused now that her death was close at hand
she had to face eternity so why not this mumbling man
who got himself a wedding suit at a local warrant-sale.
It belonged to some old Turkish man who'd owed and gone to jail.
He would coax her mind with talk of love, to make her body kind,
because people hate the truth, you know;
they need their pack of lies.

Growing tired of being foreign, being spat on and short-changed
he demanded that she leave with him for the land from wence he came
they were herded on like cattle to a ferry at high-tide
this un-kempt aging orphan and his helpless dying bride
but he left her at the other [store] crying on the deck
she had slipped against the rail as he had struggled to free his neck
the customs shed was empty as he made his way inside
there were no chimpanzees in uniform to hear... 
his pack of lies

Now she's ascending into heaven with contentment on her face
and holy God is there to greet and batter her into her place.

But meanwhile back on Earth it seems the prodigal's returned
and they're making him the cheiftain and they come to him to learn 
how their neighbors in the Rich Land better steal and kill and lie
and when they ask who culls the weaklings there he just shrugs and says 
"not I! Though surrounded by diseases, I stood tall and kept my health!
I could have been important, If I'd been somebody else!"

The moral of this story is:  this land's a victim-farm.
Don't you ever feed a beggar here, he'll eat your fucking arm
and don't blashpheme the strong ones, if you want to stay alive,
Now, smile and give them thanks when they say:
"Here's a pack of lies!"


Viva Dead Ponies  -  (5:14)

Retail, Groceries.

Do you know how Jesus feels,
when behind his sports car wheel,
and the windscreen glass 
is all gummed up with blood?
said do you know how old Jesus feels?
For he walks the Earth again,
but not in Mecca or in Jerusalem.
No, he sells papers and beer in a shop in Crouch End (London).
for he walks the Earth again.

So:  Viva Dead Ponies!
Come out and fight me!
Viva Dead Ponies!
Customers:  Drop dead.

I have switched the fridges off,
and I will burn down this whole stinking shop.
I will get drunk and I will break every little Islamical law,
for I have switched the fridges off!

So: Viva Dead Ponies!
Come out and fight me!
Viva Dead Ponies!
Customers:  Drop dead.
Drop Dead.

"Haven't made love for a while
it's the best way to make a child,"
said Jesus to the disciples,
and then he said, "If you can't shift this crate of Brillo Pads by Friday...
Vengeance will be mine."

So:  Viva Dead Ponies!
You're afraid to fight me!
Viva Dead Ponies!
The customers pay what you owe!
Burst you in whole yeah!
Viva Dead Ponies
Back from the circus!
They lunched with Jesus,
Fire in their noses 
All gone, all gone...


More Smack, Vicar  -  (0:52)

(Instrumental)