1. |
Hobbled
03:23
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Words:
You children of the seventies
Your dreams of peace and plenty
Are just quaint relics of the past
Crude sixties propaganda
From which you won’t recover
Guess we didn’t build you guys to last
We had you hobbled from the start
We put our bar code on your heart
We had you hobbled from the start
You children of the eighties
My God, you poor, poor babies
Never have a home to call your own
Weak bones and self-obsession
A half-baked education
I somehow feel responsible
We had you hobbled from the start
We put our bar code on your heart
We had you hobbled from the start
You children of the nineties
You shake your skinny heinies
Hoping the world will love you more
But our new technology
Stole all your creativity
Tell me what’s left to love you for?
We had you hobbled from the start
We put our bar code on your heart
We had you hobbled from the start
We shattered both your ankles
We bound you up in shackles
We had you hobbled from the start
It will not happen in our lifetime
Nothing ever does
God bless the children
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2. |
He's Not Coming Back
05:20
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Words:
A thief awoke me in the dead hours of the night
I struggled blindly and I killed him in my fright
I phoned a friend of mine who deals with murdered thieves
But back in the bedroom, my eyes could not believe
The body had just disappeared
The hands, the feet, the halo and the beard
Mardi Gras in San Sebastian
He’s not coming back
All across this green and pleasant land
He’s not coming back
I climbed a tree and reached out for the stars
He’s not coming back
And if they ever do find life on Mars
He’s not coming back
I rushed to the balcony and peered into the dark
I searched the street outside, the school yard and the park
Called all the hospitals, the airport and police
Spoke to the BBC and wrote a press release
They said ‘Once round the block is all you get
Don’t fill your life with vain regret.’
From Medina to the Bataclan
He’s not coming back
In the caverns of the Vatican
He’s not coming back
He cut off his hair and got a job
He’s not coming back
Selling Belgian lager to the mob
He’s not coming back
There were no footprints in the sand
No perforations in his hands
No one there to roll away the stone
He’s not coming back
Selling relics of the dusty bones
He’s not coming back
Take another Hallmark holiday
He’s not coming back
Canterbury, then off to the Crusades
He’s not coming back
And if he showed his face round here
We’d cut his throat from ear to ear
There won’t be a prize for everyone
He’s not coming back
Jam tomorrow, then Jerusalem
He’s not coming back
We’re just ripples in the cosmic pond
He’s not coming back
Skimming stones into the great beyond
He’s not coming back
Hey, he’s come back
But he don’t look the way he should
Hey, he’s come back
But he don’t sound the way he should
Hey, he’s come back
But he don’t act the way he should... etc., etc., etc...
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3. |
Your Generation
05:32
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Words:
People try to put us down
Just because we own this town
Your generation
Thinks it invented having sex
But we invented sex
Back in my day
It was back in ’83
We found a magazine
You can guess what happened next
And that’s how we invented sex
And your generation
Thinks it invented Camden Town
But we invented Camden
In my day
We found an A-Z
And sure as eggs is eggs
We put the word around
And soon invented Camden Town
Don’t feel sad…
…just ’cos we got there first
Don’t get mad…
…just ’cos we got there first
Don’t feel bad…
…just ’cos we got there first
Your generation
Thinks it invented skinny jeans
But we invented them
Back in my day
We had fantastic legs
But really drastic kecks
So back in ‘83
We invented skinny jeans
Your generation
Thinks it invented feeling numb
But we were pretty numb
Back in my day
I was anaesthetised
Way back in 85
I still cannot feel my thumbs
Yeah, I invented feeling numb
Don’t feel sad…
…just ’cos we got there first
Don’t get mad…
…just ’cos we got there first
Don’t feel bad…
…just ’cos we got there first
You don’t know who your enemy is
You don’t know who your enemy is
You don’t know who your enemy is
But it’s not me
Your generation
Thinks it invented facial hair
But we had facial hair
Back in my day
First it was just here and there
Then it was everywhere
We all looked like polar bears
Yeah, we invented facial hair
Your generation
Thinks it invented suicide
But we all killed ourselves
Back in my day
Life was a living hell
So we all offed ourselves
We couldn’t stand to be alive
Yeah, we invented suicide
Don’t feel sad…
…just ’cos we got there first
Don’t get mad…
…just ’cos we got there first
Don’t feel bad…
…just ’cos we got there first
People try to put us down
Just because we own this town
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4. |
I Live In A City
04:14
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Words:
I live in a city
The sort of city you could write a song about
I live in a city
The kind that makes you want to get the big guns out
I live in a city
I live in a city that’s a dirty bomb
I live in a city
A city that doesn’t care where you come from
Or what you’ve done
And every day the grand parade
And every day a star is made
And every day a prize for everyone
And every night we paint the town
And every night the stars come down
And every night an ambulance for one
I live in a city
I live in a city where we know the score
I live in a city
A city with a story it cannot recall
I live in a city
I live in a city in the best of health
I live in a city
A city that doesn’t want to know itself
Thinks it’s something else
And every day our daily bread
And every day a cigarette
And every day don’t call us, we’ll call you
And every night we take the pill
And every night we shoot to kill
And every night a smiling new recruit
I live in a city
A city that knows it’s going to get its cut
I live in a city
That will not be forgotten when it’s all shared out
I live in a city
I live in a city built on sticks and stones
I live in a city
A city that feels autumn coming in its bones
And winter soon
And every day the landlord calls
And every day a wrecking ball
And every day we calculate the cost
And every night we knock it down
And every night rebuild the town
And every night we don’t know what we’ve lost
I live in a city
I live in a city that was never there
I live in a city
I live in a city that will not be spared
I live in a city
I live in a city that is not alright
I live in a city
A city that might not make it through the night
It threw the fight
And every day we sell ourselves
And every day a pound of flesh
And every day the wolf comes to the door
And every night it comes again
And every night we let it in
And every night we let it in
And every night we let it in
And I live in a city.
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5. |
Drunk
03:52
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Words:
I’ll have a Boston beer
I’ll have a Belgian beer
I’ll have a French beer
Another French beer
If I was in Paris I’d be drunk
If I was in Munich I’d be drunk
Fly me to Madrid and I’ll drink
If I was in Paris I’d be drunk
Flower buds grow from my fingertips, I touch your lips
And I’m drunk
I’ll have a Danish beer
I’ll have a Turkish beer
I’ll have a French beer
And an Egyptian beer
If I didn’t have to drive I’d drink
When I can’t live with my thoughts no more I’ll drink
When I can’t live with this world at war, I’ll drink
If I wasn’t sober I’d be drunk
The bomb goes off behind my eyes, clouds smudge the skies, and to my surprise
I’m drunk
I’ll have a London beer
I’ll have an Afghan beer
I’ll have a Spanish beer
I’ll have a German beer
The streets ring with fanatic cries, we’re paralysed, the debris flies
And I’m drunk
I’ll have a Syrian beer
And a Tunisian beer
I’ll have a French beer
Another French beer
And when they slam the shelter door
Where there’s no room for one more
Makes no odds which side you’re on
Names and passports, dead and gone
When there’s static on the radio
Nowhere left for us to go
Take me to the late, late show
I’ll be drunk
Sous les pavés, c’est la plage
And I’m drunk
I’ll have a German beer
A Bangladeshi beer
I’ll have a Yorkshire beer
I’ll have a Flemish beer
If I was in London I’d be drunk
If I was in Luton I’d be drunk
Is there anywhere in Helmand you can drink?
It’s hard to follow orders when you’re drunk
I love the world and it loves me, its joy and its stupidity
When I’m drunk
I’ll have an Aussie beer
And an Iraqi beer
I’ll have a French beer
Another French beer
So when they ring the bell for time
I’ll have Malibu and lime
Je suis Charlie, je suis seul
They’ll cut our throats for rock and roll
Or it could be the labour pains
As history is born again
Blood and beer flow down Brick Lane
And I’m drunk
Liberté, egalité…
And I’m drunk
I’ll have a French beer
Another French beer
Another French beer
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6. |
Monsters
04:04
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Words:
The children of the rich are monsters
Often the children of the poor are monsters too
Now there’s something growing inside me that feels monstrous
And I’m starting to wonder about you
Monsters just can’t hear the difference vinyl makes
Monsters cannot change their tone of voice
Monsters are far too fond of football
Monsters have really got no choice
Monsters need fun, clean air and exercise
Monsters have their own monster religion
Monsters have got great legal people
Monsters can always be forgiven
Monsters know the value of good product
Monsters know how to work a look
Monsters know where to get the good shit
Monsters prefer their meat uncooked
Monsters have firm and hairless genitals
Monsters like to be the best at sex
Monsters like to blow all of the candles out
Monsters just can’t keep it in their kecks
Monsters have quite expensive problems
Monsters are more complex than you think
Monsters have issues they can’t talk about
Monsters have a weakness for the drink
Monsters walk the streets at all hours
Monsters like to watch you while you sleep
Monsters will have our sort for breakfast
Monsters will be the death of me
They’ll be the death of me
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7. |
John Denver
05:58
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Words:
'You like John Denver. You love him...'
Go to the seaside
Take all your problems with you
Head down to Brighton
Before winter comes
Go to the seaside
We’ll drive you to the station
What’s left for you in Luton
Now all’s been said and done?
Go to the seaside
And take your demons with you
Head down to Brighton
And set your demons free
And if you are your problems
Or if you are your demons
Then you must take those demons
And drown them in the sea
Go to the seaside
A world of bed and breakfast
Head down to Brighton
For a life of social care
Forget your medication
Just walk into the water
The waters close above you
Like you were never there
Like you were never there
Like you were never there
Hats off to the invisible man
A big hand for the invisible man
High five to the invisible man...
...and on, and on, and on, ad infinitum...
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8. |
The Rest Is History
05:02
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Words:
Dear Mr Wilberforce, I pray
Should you return to Earth one day
Then do not visit London
’Less you want your heart broken
Put out the word across the sea
Along the Effra and the Lee
That though the harbour lights are shining
It’s so dark down in the briny
And though the cliffs of Dover are white as any bone
Nothing will be picked so bare as the place that you’ll call
The place that you’ll call home
You won’t go home
She drives the blue Bavarian
Down streets she wouldn’t walk alone
She only gets that special feeling
From German engineering
They’re all digging cellars in this town
The only way to go is down
It’s where they took my sister
The Kensington militia
And the future giants of Albion are sighing in their sleep
They don’t feel the cold north wind or hear the city
Hear the city weep
The cuts are deep
It’s just two buses and a Tube
From New Cross Gate to Gloucester Road
But the advice they gave to me
Was in a language I don’t speak
We only want to be like you
You should be flattered that we do
One day I’m gonna change my surname
So you don’t think I’m vermin
“Progress through technology” and “work will make you free”
They were the lessons of the late-lamented
Twentieth century
The rest is history
The rest is history
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9. |
||||
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Words:
The cat likes a good box set
He likes it best when we don’t move around too much
He likes it best when we’re all in it together
Prefers cotton to cold leather
The cat likes a good box set
Except sometimes when it’s late summer
He likes some company in the garden
A warm car that he can sit on
The cat likes a good box set
He likes a yarn with unexpected twists
A tale with a strong resolution
Something he can get his teeth stuck in
The cat likes a good box set
The cat likes a long weekend
The cat likes a day in bed
The cat likes a good box set
The wife likes a home-cooked meal
She likes it best when the cat has a little
She thinks the weekends just aren’t long enough
For taking photographs and making stuff
I like the wife and the cat
There’s fish, too, but they’re a different gang
None of us are fans of mindless violence
We like the closeness and we like the silence
And we all like a good box set
We all like a long weekend
We all like a day in bed
We all like a good box set
The cat doesn’t like Philip Green
He don’t care for gentlemen with sticky fingers
The cat’s choosy about the places he feeds
The cat don’t take any more than he needs
The cat don’t care for Marine Le Pen
He don’t care for ladies with blood on their hands
There’s something sweet about his catty breath
But none of us cares for the stench of death
But the cat likes a good box set
The cat likes a long weekend
The cat likes a day in bed
The cat likes a good box set
Six Feet Under or Twin Peaks, Happy Valley and Cold Feet
The Sopranos, Life On Mars, Game of Thrones and House of Cards
Luther, Fargo, Frasier, Cheers, The Simpsons and the Wonder Years
Happiness and Breaking Bad, Mongrels and the Likely Lads
This is England, Father Ted… Auf Wiedersehen, Pet… and the cat likes a good box set.
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10. |
Poets' Day
03:10
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Words:
You’re dead now, I suppose
But that won’t stop me writing
Until I’ve ticked your cold coffee
Memo in the morning
And if they ask, then I’ll say
“He’s not gone away
He just left before the boss
It’s poets’ day.”
And ten years down the road
The best motel in Kansas
You’re pouring cold cherry cola from the bottle
And when the check comes I’ll say
“What he owes, I’ll pay
He’s just one step ahead
It’s poets’ day.”
I’m dead now, I suppose
It hasn’t stopped me writing
And now I’ve filed your cold coffee
Memo in the morning
And when they ask, then please say
I’ve not gone away
I just couldn’t stand no more
It’s poets’ day.
I got the last stage out of Dodge
It’s poets’ day
I just had some place to be
It’s poets’ day
I just took an early bath
It’s poets’ day
We just skipped to the last page
It’s poets’ day
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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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