1. |
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I have The Great British Disease –
I plug my ears and pull down the blinds.
Playing “Follow Our Leader” time after time,
For I’m wealthier now than many friends of mine.
I am The Ghost of Britain Past –
Can you afford me for my fee is high.
My memory is short but my tolerance is not,
And when the voting starts my thinking goes to pot.
Is this the only way, is this the only way forward?
The thing I miss in a politician’s kiss is the lump in the throat
And the warmth that goes with it.
The future’s rosy anyway –
I know! I wipe mine with The Sun and The Times.
May the Good Shares protect Our City rejects
When they’re made 65 before they’re 40!
Is this the only way, is this the only way forward?
The thing I miss most in this land of honeyed-bliss is … a nod and a smile.
All I ask is this:
A home to be proud of and a shirt that fits.
The sun is shining on this Pleasant Land.
We could laugh and say it was but a sham
For if it were not for The Peasant Man
My head would be purple.
LAST VERSE ALTERNATIVE VERSION:
The sun is shining on this Peasant Land.
We could laugh and claim our turn at the helm,
For if it were not for The Pease-Pudding Man
Our heads would be infertile.
“Kids shouldn’t have to grow up in soot ‘n’ muck – it isn’t reight.
What can they hope for? What can they look forrad to?”
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2. |
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Honey Dear, if the sun is in your eyes,
I’ll steal the shade to keep the staple things in life ‑
There are many up here who think its over,
Choking on their beer as it instigates tears: low and Be-Holed.
Honey Dear, when the country’s undermined,
There’s a moral duty to smash the steel behind that complacent smile…
Well, staring into your beer won’t make the weather clear – no no no !
Honey Dear, what’s to be done, it can be done!
I’d gladly sell your begging bowl
To put a brick in the mouth that grates on and on.
Honey Dear, take the sticks and stones with the froth and the foam ‑
Cornered beasts would do anything to keep control and everything they own.
There are many down here rolling in clover –
Skimming the cream off the Monetarist Dream and auctioning off the left-overs.
Honey Dear, we will get what we deserve:
Slaughtered daughters, castrated sons if we haven’t the nerve to pull a fast one, for
Honey Dear, there’s an Achilles Heel to the strong:
It’s called insolence, pride and arrogance,
And a crass belief that “We is never, never wrong.”
Where are the many thinking it over?
Stepping up a gear out of the Bondage of Fear?
Brollies to the fore, girls!
I can’t hear the thunder but I can feel the rain,
So do we just talk about the weather, merely hope it gets better?
No, no no!
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3. |
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Records are sacred when you’re seventeen.
Art is your best friend when you’re seventeen
And it’s cold in summer – the seasons change their minds.
Cold in summer – on a YTS behind the Poverty Line.
The whole world hates you when you’re seventeen.
Walls fall down when you reach seventeen
And it’s cold in summer – the seasons change their minds.
Cold in summer – and this age feels like scapegoat time.
Things disarray and fall unchanged – it’s the time when records break
Sometimes the breaking goes too far to contemplate.
And new mutations are the rage, and your best friend owns a car,
And that first flirt is ever sacred…
Cold in summer…cold in summer.
Records are sacred when you’re seventeen.
Night is your best friend when you’re seventeen
And it’s cold in summer – the seasons change their minds.
When it’s cold in summer – no-one cares so you don’t mind.
Things fall disgraced and lie insane – it’s the time when fakers fake
Sometimes the faking goes too far for comfort’s sake.
And new mutations are the rage, but you’re still out of work
And that first job is ever sacred until the next scheme,
Until the next scheme comes.
Until the next scheme, until the next scheme comes.
Until the next scheme, until the next scheme comes.
Until the next scheme, until the next scheme comes.
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4. |
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And so there’ll be no respite here,
Where the concrete is cold and grey year upon beer.
ln sun-weathered front-rooms with shadows to match.
Is Knowledge power? Will my meal last?
Those are willing hands, my son,
And you’re desperate for market now that Puberty’s come –
That Clumsy Careerer’s putting hairs on your chest
(CONDITIONED TO WORK!)
Sitting here between Autumn and Spring
The chill in the air-resonates to the scene of Professional Queueing –
“Is my bus late again? Will my bus come at all?”
One ambition is to get one back and serve my cap upon your lap…
Self-respect, I claim thee now
From the cut in my wages to the sweat on my brow!
Tired, white knuckles can’t prevent his drain -
Is ignorance catching?
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5. |
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“Who could rip up the treaties?”
Who COULD rip up the treaties?
Who holds the KEY?
Who WILL suckle the needy?
WHO will tackle the feeding from the surpluses in the warehouse?
As millions starve in the Conscience of Europe
And over-production’s but a plane-load away
Our militant leaders dance the military two-step
Extension of Arms whilst the body decays
And in Britain (the home of social deprivation)
There are buildings FULL of beef, milk and cereal
Produced by subsidies and then squandered
For while the Market/market nosedives, then THE PRICE IS (NOT) RIGHT .. .
So create that umbilical cord, create that umbilical cord
Open the doors, break down the doors
Encompass the stores and empty the floors
Who WILL suckle the needy?
WHO will tackle the feeding from the surpluses in the warehouse?
Encompass the stores and empty the floors
Of this surplus in the warehouse, baby..
Here’s the living proof from the E.E.C.
That profit neglects human dignity
Create that umbilical cord
Create that humane umbilical cord.
And if the cupboard’s not full of forbidden food then it’s crammed with other countries’ weapons
Here are mouths deprived by stalling techniques yet it’s full steam ahead to extermination…
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6. |
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This is a ballad for the young at heart
A ballad for the young in mind
“Do I have the strength? Do I have the will?”
As the poet said when he failed his quill – yet again.
So here’s a ballad for the sullen world
But especially for my Brazen Pearl
“I will save the Earth with my Dutch Courage”
Or so the liar claimed as he faked his rage – yet again.
“Would you like some coffee?
Would you like a mug or would you prefer a cup?”
If this mug made an apology would you sit back and lap it up?
I’m told it hurts so much to be cast in bliss
But I’m happy to be plastered in my lover’s hips, yeah .. .
Save me! Save me for the millionth time
From the desperations of this modern life
And although our assets accumulate to less than none
I think the groundwork’s laid for better things to come.
And on that note I’ll wait up for you
Safe in the knowledge.
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7. |
My Grandfather's Cluck
03:46
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Well, nothing drastic has been done
The Year of Peace became the Year of the Gun
With military spending still second to none
Giving National Debts the size of Generals’ pensions.
Social priorities take second place
Pounding my pocket to spit in my face
Where’s the logic of spending such sums on “defence”
When there’ll be nothing worth defending?
Is this the queue for The Hospital Bed?
I fought for my country – now I’m old and discarded
The hole in my shoes goes with the hole in my head
Through which strangers only see profit.
So here we are tonight, my love,
Bombarded with terror, smothered in fright
Thanks to those who’re in the business of war
Why should and how could I write love songs?
“Action produces hope, and inaction produces despair.”
Nothing matters very much
And very few things matter at all.
Ha ha ha ha.
“Don’t be afraid of change – it’s right to rebel.”
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8. |
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I will tip my hat unto the King as he passes through our grimy realm,
But I will not cheer or bow head down
For I demand my share of this nation’s wealth,
Stored in those top hats and within the crown
To where the sun never shines but where its never allowed to go down.
Ah, the sun’ll never set as it hasn’t yet as long as we tug our forelocks.
I will keep astride of the regal coach and I will stay the pace
For as long as your nose fails to recognise my desperate need,
So here’s an inverted cap and not subservient tweed,
Oh Master, Keeper, Holder of the Reigns I toiled for your spoils ‑
Why give me contempt and distain ?
Ah, the sun’ll never set as it hasn’t yet as long as we tug our forelocks.
For these are my mountains, and this is my glen.
The place of my childhood will know me again.
I will tip my hat unto the King as he passes through our grimy realm,
But I will not cheer or bow head down for I demand my share of Nature’s wealth!
I will tip my hat unto the King and I will lose my jacket as the bobbies encroach,
But I will stoke their shame and their embarrassment
Stored in those top hats and in those well-padded coats.
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9. |
The Nose Of The King
04:34
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“Compromise, compromise, that’s the way for you to rise.”
- “Theer, look at that – that’s wrong!
What’s wrong? The houses are fit to live in aren’t they?
They’re not condemned are they?
The kids look happy enough?
- Aye, but they SHOULDN’T be! But they SHOULDN’T be!”
“You get 16 tons, and whatd’ya get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
St Peter don’t call me cos I can’t go –
I owe my soul to the company store.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.”
I will….
For these are my mountains, and this is my glen.
The place of my childhood will know me again.
Ah, the sun’ll never set as it hasn’t yet as long as we tug our forelocks.
“The kids look happy enough.
- Aye, but they SHOULDN’T be!”
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10. |
Bereavement Of Speech
03:36
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The Great Leap Forward
The Great Leap Forward (1986-?) is the very long term solo project of Alan Brown - former member of John Peel favourites
bIG*fLAME, A Witness, Inca Babies, Sarandon.
Incisive political and social commentary layered on top of sharp yet melodic guitar pop music.
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