1. |
Nora
05:13
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Words:
Narcissistic, psychopathic, antisocial, borderline
Narcissistic, psychopathic, antisocial, borderline
Narcissistic, psychopathic
Narcissistic… narcissistic
What are you hiding from me, Nora?
Is that a personality disorder?
Because though nothing’s diagnosed
Check out the hair; just dig the clothes
And yours must be the shrillest voice
I think I’ve ever heard
Audible beyond the grave
Or halfway round the world
Good morning, Sydney. Good morning, Bondi Beach.
Good morning, Bondi Beach.
Passive… aggressive…
Narcissistic, psychopathic, antisocial, borderline
Histrionic, schizotypal, unstable, doing fine…
Narcissistic, psychopathic
Narcissistic... doin’ fine.
Is that a film you’re shooting, Nora?
Don’t point that Arriflex at me, I do implore you
In your house, you’re actor and director
But it would be our house as well if we just let you
And we know how your movie ends
Although you’ve just begun
It’s a desolate dystopia of
Needles, pills and tommy guns
Bang, bang, bang, bang… you’re dead.
Bang, bang – you’re dead.
Narcissistic, psychopathic, antisocial, borderline
Histrionic, schizotypal, unstable, doing fine…
Narcissistic, psychopathic
Antisocial, borderline
Is that another baby, Nora?
I guess you hope that this one will adore you
A miniature facsimile of you
A scared, bewildered Nora Mk 2
And while it’s sad they take away
The babies that go wrong
I guess there’ll be another
On the way before too long
Congratulations, Nora! It’s a girl. Another girl.
Narcissistic, psychopathic, antisocial, borderline
Histrionic, schizotypal, unstable, doing fine…
Narcissistic, psychopathic, antisocial, borderline
Histrionic, schizotypal, unstable, doing fine…
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2. |
Ugly Pop Stars
03:26
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Words:
In the great socialist state
For which I patiently wait
There will be many more ugly pop stars
And that glorious day
For which I ardently pray
Will bring forth legions of ugly pop stars
And when the cistern of humanity empties
There’ll be a tidal wave nothing can stop
And there’ll be many more ugly pop stars
But so much fragile, dangerous, wretched, infected, infectious, delicious, vicious and beautiful pop.
Nothing cute or sweet or cuddly
Just poor and sick and old and ugly
Strangely real and strangely lovely
To me
Well, we’ll all hear what we’ve missed
From the shamefully unkissed
Lips of those ugly pop stars
And we’ll all copy the moves
From the battered and bruised
Hips of those ugly pop stars
And they will have our hearts enslaved
The moment the needle is dropped
Those beaten and broken pop stars
And their agonised, tortured, limping, crippled, precious, pathetic, poetic and beautiful pop
unconstrained, dangerous, contaminated,
I’ll storm pop’s Winter Palace
With ugly Alan and fat Alice
They’ve seen life from the shadows
They’re bringing sticks and arrows
Guns and bombs and no tomorrows
And the masses will swarm
To the mangroves that spawned
This epidemic of ugly pop stars
And they will clog up the charts
With their unspeakable art
Those gorgeously ugly pop stars
And we’ll march in a hit parade
Of songs that will make your heart stop
From those pitifully ugly pop stars
And their deviant, demanding, tempting, terrified, terrifying, difficult, drop-dead-fuck-off-beautiful pop
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3. |
2 Sweet 4 Words
04:21
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Words:
You won’t touch the hard stuff
‘Cos you’re scared you’ll lose control
Well, that’s so sweet
So sweet, so sweet, too sweet for words
You’re dozing in the back seat
But still think you’re at the wheel
Well, that’s so neat
So neat, so neat, too neat for words
In the new world order
Every night is Halloween
Mark Zuckerberg goes door to door
Demanding trick or treat
There’s Bilderberg svengalis
Pushing cricket, tits and oil
Recalibrating nations
With rock’n’roll
And product placement
But you won’t touch the hard stuff
‘Cos you’re scared you’ll lose control
Well, that’s so sweet
So sweet, so sweet, too sweet for words
You’re dozing in the back seat
But still think you’re at the wheel
Well, that’s so neat
So neat, so neat, too neat for words
You’re wearing Vladimir’s bandana
You’ve caught Vladimir’s cold
You’re lining up to take the shot
But Vladimir’s in goal
You’re watching Vladimir’s pornography
On Vladimir’s TV
Just to keep the lights on
In the land of the free
So you won’t touch the hard stuff
‘Cos you’re scared you’ll lose control
Well, that’s so sweet
So sweet, so sweet, too sweet for words
You’re dozing in the back seat
But still think you’re at the wheel
Well, that’s so neat
So neat, so neat, too neat for words
Somewhere beyond satire
Is a bunker in a swamp
Where billionaire demagogues
Tell the world they’re Forrest Gump
But you won’t raise a hand
To the alleged Illuminati
They may be evil lizards
But they sure can throw a party
So you won’t touch the hard stuff
‘Cos you’re scared you’ll lose control
Well, that’s so sweet
So sweet, so sweet, too sweet for words
You’re dozing in the back seat
But still think you’re at the wheel
Well, that’s so neat
So neat, so neat, too neat for words
You’re so plain
You probably don’t think this song is about you
But this song is about you
This song is about you
You won’t touch the hard stuff
‘Cos you’re scared you’ll lose control
Well, that’s so sweet
So sweet, so sweet, too sweet for words
You’re dozing in the back seat
But still think you’re at the wheel
Well, that’s so neat
So neat, so neat, too neat for words
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4. |
Out With Sweetness..!!
03:51
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Words:
Sometimes I think that pity is an under-rated virtue
It makes you warm inside and just a little cannot hurt you
And if you were to pity me you’d see me really bloom
’Til my flowers burst with joy and shoot like rockets round the room
But late-Renaissance leather girls have always been my weakness
Those cigarillo feather girls have always been my weakness
Ambitious weather girls have always been my weakness
They look so self-sufficient but their eyes cry out with sweetness
Out with sweetness
Superficial charm is such a harmless little vice
It’s addictive as cocaine and just a fraction of the price
And I’d walk a thousand miles to hear your low-down southern drawl
And I’d stick to you like Velcro™ if you’d just pin me to your wall
But flaky now-or-never girls have always been my weakness
Broken stake-and-tether girls have always been my weakness
Get-your-junk-together girls have always been my weakness
They look so self-sufficient but their eyes cry out with sweetness
Out with sweetness
It’s arrogance, not love, that sends us crashing to the ground
It’s self-loathing, not love, that really makes the sweetest sound
It is courtesy, not love, that really makes the world go round
And if you’d do me the courtesy then it would mean the world to me
And you could be the girl for me
My amnesia was something that I’d hoped that I’d forget
But now I pass each year with almost nothing to regret
And Edith Piaf calls for coffee twenty times a day
And still we’re never stuck for fascinating things to say
But late-Renaissance leather girls have always been my weakness
Those cigarillo feather girls have always been my weakness
Ambitious weather girls have always been my weakness
They look so self-sufficient but their eyes cry out with sweetness
Out with sweetness
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5. |
||||
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Words:
Please don’t touch the walrus
Or sit on the iceberg
See the girth of the tusk
And the glittering slush
And keep your hands to yourself
They say we’re all made
From the same filth and clay
But you just feel different
So tragic and gifted
Can’t imagine your death
Fundamentally flawed
Temperamentally bored
Existentially yours
And out of my face
Too many miles on the clock
Gone off half-cocked
Dethroned and defrocked
And going to waste
Could be that there is comet
And it’s got your name on it
The punishment’s fine
Keeps the bad boys in line
It’s their passport to heaven
But if there’s no karma
Maybe God’s got amnesia
He’s wiped the slate clean
For everyone
For ever and ever
Fundamentally flawed
Temperamentally bored
Existentially yours
And out of His face
Too many miles on the clock
Gone off half-cocked
Dethroned and defrocked
And going to waste
And going to waste
And going to waste
Looks like you’ve caught a stray shot
And the claret won’t clot
But sometimes the wine
That rots on the vine
Is the one that tastes sweetest
And as they lower you down
Into the indolent ground
Don’t let the laughter of Freud
In that beckoning void
Make you feel defeatist
Fundamentally flawed
Temperamentally bored
Existentially yours
And out of my face
Too many miles on the clock
Gone off half-cocked
Dethroned and defrocked
And going to waste
And going to waste
So please don’t touch the walrus
No, please don’t touch the walrus
Or sit on the iceberg
Please don’t touch the walrus
Or sit on the iceberg
Don’t sit on the iceberg
No, don’t sit on the iceberg...
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6. |
||||
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Words:
All the midwives squinted down at what they were paid
Most skipped town for Glasgow or Adelaide
The teachers went to Swansea and the bus drivers too
And the youth workers trailed them with the ambulance crews
But all the damaged people love the bright, bright lights
And the ravaged people love the bright, bright lights
All the savage people love the bright, bright lights
Do you, do you, do you, do you, cos…
London has nothing to say
(Nobody’s listening anyway…)
London has nothing to say
London has nothing to say
(Nobody’s listening anyway…)
London has nothing to say
Do you..?
Do you..?
All the burnt-out nurses packed their bags and went home
To Inverness, Wallasey or Rotherham
The lollipop ladies and the riot police
Put their names down for allotments in the Vale of Neath
But all ambitious people love the bright, bright lights
All delicious people love the bright, bright lights
All the vicious people love the bright, bright lights
Do you, do you, do you, do you, cos…
London has nothing to say
(Nobody’s listening anyway…)
London has nothing to say
London has nothing to say
(Nobody’s listening anyway…)
London has nothing to say
Do you..?
Do you..?
The health care workers caught a train up to Hull
Where owning your own drum is not impossible
The social workers quit en masse and left for the coast
And the Chelsea postal workers all gave up their post
But all the needy people love the bright, bright lights
All the greedy people love the bright, bright lights
All the seedy people love the bright, bright lights
Do you, do you, do you, do you, cos…
London has nothing to say
(Nobody’s listening anyway…)
London has nothing to say
London has nothing to say
(Nobody’s listening anyway…)
London has nothing to say
Do you..?
Do you..?
And the rubbish piles up in the streets of Chelsea
And the buses don’t run in the streets of Chelsea
And the kids can’t play out in the streets of Chelsea
And your money’s no good in the streets of Chelsea
Let me take you the throat and lead you through
The streets of London
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7. |
Supermarket Sushi
01:50
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Words:
Sometimes I miss smoking
Especially when the road is long
And the road is always very long
These days
Sometimes I miss Jesus
But the nerve has gone
And it’s time to sing a different song
These days
So it’s supermarket sushi
And it’s Henlow dogs on Sunday
And where did we leave the kids?
So it’s Christmas in October
And we’ll work ’til we fall over
And what can we leave the kids?
They won’t forgive us for what we did.
Sometimes I miss smoking
Especially when the road is long
And the road is always long
These days
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8. |
1988
03:24
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Words:
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
There’s no escape from nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
There’s no escape from nineteen eighty-eight
Another Martin Amis moment
An itch that someone’s got to scratch
Pouring petrol on your neighbours
Praying someone’s got a match
Sometimes it taps you on shoulder
Sometimes smacks you in the face
Feel its hot breath on your neck
It’s nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
There’s no escape from nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Another hot date with nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
There’s no escape from nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
There’s no escape from nineteen eighty-eight
Well, you pretended to be Buddhists
A classic Portobello scam
Then you pretended to be poor
A joke that ran and ran and ran
You called tax a Ponzi scheme
Putting knickers on the nanny state
Oh! The tales you told yourself
In nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
There’s no escape from nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Another hot date with nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
You can’t escape from nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
There’s no escape from nineteen eighty-eight
And in the office of statistics
A great new cancer tops the charts
We’re putting twelve per cent on biscuits
So we can slash the price of art
And if we like your chequered cheekbones
We might hang you in the Tate
Let’s kick this mother into life
It’s nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
There’s no escape from nineteen eighty-eight
Nineteen eighty-eight
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9. |
Camber Sands
04:46
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Words:
If the eyes are telling lies
What’s this haircut say to you?
If these scars don’t tell their story
Please refer to my tattoos
You don’t need to know my blood group
There’s no blood left anyway
Hit the kill switch…
Twenty-nine years after Dresden
Thirty-one before Shanghai
In that accidental moment
There lived you and I
In that accidental moment
We knew we’d probably fry
Hit the kill switch…
When they leaked the master plan
We swapped our home for krugerrands
And buried them in Camber Sands
And hit the kill switch
But we’ve still got our memories
Of pangolins and honey bees
And their unforgiving, evil queen
Who hit the kill switch
They’ll choose some Scottish island
Erase it from the maps
Stockpile insulin and cheap baked beans
And cigarettes and tractor parts
And we’ll murder our own parents
To get our names put in the hat
And then we’ll all be immigrants
Well, who’d have thought of that?
And we’ll horde that sweetest luxury
Old-fashioned pornography
Images of days gone by
Images of you and me
And we’ll shiver on the clifftops
With the sunset and the memories
And the kill switch
Raised on starvation rations
A new species will emerge
Part-human, part-locust
Destined to scour the earth
But on pound shop batteries
Nothing runs for very long
Hit the kill switch…
Buried miles inside the ground
The ancient servers make no sound
Not since the Nikkei ran aground
And they hit the kill switch
In caverns deep, devoid of light
We’re all scratched out in terabytes
That no device can read or write
And we hit the kill switch…
And that biometric lottery
That we all thought we’d won
‘Cos we were blonde and beautiful
The idle rich of Albion
Will spawn a new Olympus
And a pantheon of fools
Who tremble at the rain and snow
And marvel at the moon
And a generation down the line
They won’t need words no more
They’ll scavenge plastic bottles from
The place we called the seashore
The place we called the seashore
The place we called the seashore
The terrifying seashore
The place we called the seashore
Down at Camber Sands
Down at Camber Sands
The place we called
The seashore
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10. |
It's The Light
04:14
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Words:
Mister Thomas Edison, you’re dead
For every Frank Sinatra there’s a ballroom blitz
But nothing now will ever, ever end
Mister Thomas Edison, still pumping out the hits
Tygers, I’ve discovered, seldom just pop round for tea
They all work on commission and they’re techno-savvy guys
This one’s pushing laser surgery
Wants to sizzle out the tumours from behind my eyes
But it’s not the darkness that frightens me
Not the dark that puts my feet to flight
Not the darkness that burns my eyes
It’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light
It’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light
Mister Jimmy Saville, also dead
Glittering like Christmas through the north Atlantic night
Seeps on board like damp formaldehyde
Jimmy fucking Saville, still hiding in plain sight
Hey, even Adolf Hitler felt a warm glow for the kids
Just ask Bosch and Hugo Boss and Daimler-Benz
Obviously he messed up with the Guardian-reading yids
And copycat high spirits from his Facebook friends
But it’s not the darkness that frightens me
Not the dark that puts my feet to flight
Not the darkness that burns my eyes
It’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light
It’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light
Hey, Leni Riefenstahl!
It’s time for Donald’s close-up
Hey, Leni Riefenstahl!
Let’s see those pearly-whites
Hey, Leni Reifenstahl!
It’s time to put on music
Hey, Leni Reifenstahl!
It’s time to light the lights
It’s time to light the lights
Mr Lemmy Motörhead
Quite recently deceased
You didn’t want to live forever - just as well
Maybe you just secretly craved peace
Eternity in heaven or a quiet night in hell
God’s eyes burn like searchlights from His watchtower above
Wipes out your firewall like a coffee ring
You could call it tyranny or you could call it love
Or a slightly creepy interest in absolutely everything
So it’s not the darkness that frightens me
Not the dark that puts my feet to flight
Not the darkness that burns my eyes
It’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light
It’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light, it’s the light
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11. |
My Baby Wants A Riot
03:07
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Words:
My baby wants a riot
Ask her – she won’t deny it
My baby wants a riot
She’s normally so quiet
My baby wants a riot
She’s cursing like a pirate
My baby wants a riot
It’s an urge and she won’t fight it
My baby pays her taxes
Sometimes she goes without
She don’t demand perfection
Quite rare she’ll scream or shout
When things don’t go her way
Not inclined to bitch or pout
’Til she heard about Jennifer Arcur(a)i
Pole-dancing for the Führer
Now my baby wants a riot
Want venom? She’ll supply it
My baby wants a riot
She’s normally quite quiet
But my baby wants a riot
Ask her, she won’t deny it now
My baby wants a riot
It’s an urge and she won’t fight it
I’ve tried to give her decaf
Cut back on her red meat
Took her away to Devon
Massaged her neck and feet
But she’s still got Radio 4
On all night and she can’t sleep
She threw away the telly
Now she’s quoting Machiavelli
So my baby wants a riot
She’s cursing like a pirate
My baby wants a riot
She’s normally quite quiet
My baby wants a riot
Ask her, she won’t deny it now
My baby wants a riot
It’s an urge and she won’t fight it
Grant Shapps stole away my lass (Grant Shapps..!!)
Kidnapped my sweet, sweet girl (Grant Shapps..!!)
Matt Hancock snatched away my princess (Grant Shapps..!!)
Left me with Lady Macbeth
It’s made me want a riot
I’m cursing like a pirate now
We want to go to London
Eviscerate those chinless wonders
My baby wants a riot
Stop her? Just you try it now
My baby wants a riot
It’s an urge and she shouldn’t fight it
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12. |
||||
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Words:
We’re making friends with our futures
We don’t give a fig for the past
We’re making friends with our futures
At last, at last, at last, at last
We’re done with caffeine and parties and staying up ’til dawn
There’ll be no laughing or Smarties or frolics on the lawn
We’re through with nylon and Night Nurse and non-organic cheese
No time for pylons or trans-fats or dodgy R&B
No heavy lifting or kissing or hand-rolled cigarettes
There’ll be no smoking or drinking or writing off bad debts
No time for Brighton or Luton or coming up for air
No need for fruitless emotions or knowing who you are
We’re making friends with our futures
We don’t give a fig for the past
We’re making friends with our futures
At last, at last, at last, at last
No more asbestos or Botox or sugar-coated pills
We’re done with diesel and sunshine and non-prescription thrills
We don’t need ringtones or caring or sticky little scenes
We don’t need pity or handshakes or saying what we mean
We’re done with cruising and boozing and aluminium pans
We’re done with gambling and sharing and all our flaky friends
There’ll be no surfing or cursing or Tuesday evening dates
We’re sick of verses and hooklines and pointless middle 8’s
We’re making friends with our futures
We don’t give a fig for the past
We’re making friends with our futures
At last, at last, at last, at last
Our bodies are going to be temples
Built on the outskirts of town
Mine is going to be rental
The kind that the council tears down
There’ll be no Vimto or funerals or unrequited lust
We’re done with babies and orgies and basic human trust
We’ve been through hubris and kindness, come out the other side
There’ll be no leaping or cheating the political divide
We’re done with rabies and maybes and putting out the bins
We’re through with Lenin and McCarthy atoning for our sins
We gave up smoking and drinking and fumbling in the dark
We’re done with voting and thinking and listening to our hearts
We’re making friends with our futures
We don’t give a fig for the past
We’re making friends with our futures
At last, at last, at last, at last
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The Chickpea Darlings Letchworth Garden City, UK
'Riot' has OFFICIALLY left the building. Thanks, Darrin.
The Darlings: Middle-aged bedroom
miserablists with C86-ish tendencies, The Chickpea Darlings have seen the future and don't care for the cut of its jib. Their dry-as-a-biscuit pop vignettes provide the perfect soundtrack for speculating on the madness to come. Viva Donald Trump, global warming & the death of democracy. Viva the Darlings.
... more
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