John Cooper Clarke Album

Read the paper - humdrum
Henley Regatta - page one
Eat die - ho hum
Page three - big bum
Giving a lunatic a loaded gun
He walks - others run
Thirty dead - no fun
Foreigners feature as figures of fun
Do something destructive chum

Sit right down - write a letter to the Sun
Say... "Bring back hangin' for everyone"

The took my advice - they brought it back
National costume was all-over-black
There were corpses in the avenues and cul-de-sacs
Piled up neatly in six-man stacks
Hanging from the traffic lights and specially made racks
They'd hang you for incontinence and fiddling your tax
Failure to hang yourself justified the axe
A deedely dee, a deedely dum
Looks like they brought back hangin' for everyone

The novelty's gone - it's hell
This place is a - death cell
The constant clang of the funeral bells
Those who aren't hanging are hanging someone else
The peoples pay - the paper sells
It's plug ugly - sub-animal yells
Death is unsightly - death smells
Swingin' Britain - don't put me on
They're gonna bring back the rope for everyone

I never broke your windows
I never broke your rules
I never took to your tender ventetta
I didn't touch you family jewels
Revenge is a strong emotion
Friction is the mother of pearl
It's a disapproving, disappointing, disappearing world

Now what's this...

I didn't burn your house down
I didn't break your hearts
I never tried to steal your car
I wouldn't know where to start
Don't blame me if your life's a bore
Not gonna look at your curves
Don't point your finger anymore
You're getting on my nerves

Your tepid shallows of a failing brain...

Innocents
...last of the wholly innocents
Innocents
...last of the wholly innocents
Innocents
...last of the holy in a sense

I never broke your windows
I never broke your rules
I never took to your tender ventetta
Didn't touch you family jewels
Revenge is a strong emotion
Friction is the mother of pearl
It's a disapproving, disappointing, disappearing world

Who is if I'm not to blame...

Innocents
...last of the wholly innocents
Innocents
...last of the wholly innocents
Innocents
...last of the holy in a sense

I didn't run to your rescue
I didn't hear you scream
Citizen's arrest
You've got to give Joe Public his cream
Murder is a powerful picture
It's food for the famished mass
But I didn't do your meter's
I'd never do things like that

In the who's who of capital gains....

Innocents
...last of the wholly innocents
Innocents
...last of the wholly innocents
Innocents
...last of the holy in a sense

PART ONE..........

This disc concerns those those pouting prima-donnas
Found within the swelling J. Arthur Ranks of the sexational psycle sluts
Those nubile nihilists of the North Circular
The lean leonine leatherette lovelies of the Leeds intersection
Luftwaffe angels locked in a pagan paradise

No cash
A passion for trash
The tough madonna whose cro-magnon face and crab nebular curves haunt the highways of the UK
Whose harsh credo captures the collective libido like lariats
Their lips pushed in a neon-arc of dodgems
Delightfully disciplined, dumb but deluxe
Deliciously deliciously deranged

Twin-wheeled existentialists steeped in the sterile excrements of a doomed democracy
Whose post-nietzschean sensibilities reject the bovine gregariousness of a senile oligarchy
Whose god is below zero, whose hero is a dead boy
Condemned to drift like forgotten sputniks in the fool's orbit bound for a victim's future
In the pleasure dromes and ersatz bodega bars of the free world
The mechanics of love grind like organs of iron to a standstill

Hands behind your backs
In a noxious gas of cheek to cheek totalitarianism
Hail the psycle sluts

Go go the gland gringos
For the gonad a-go-go age of compulsory cunnilingusa


PART TWO...........

The dirty thirty
The naughty forty
The shifty fifty
Tthe filthy five
Zips, clips, whips and chains
Wait for you to arrive
Hell's Angels by the busload
Stoned stupid, how they strut
Smoked woodbines till they're banjoed
And smirk at the Swedish smut

Life on the straight and narrow path
Drives you off your nut
By day you are psycopath
By night you're a psycle slut

On a BSA with two bald tires
You drove a million miles
You cut your hair with rusty pliers
And you suffer with the pillion piles
You got built in obsolescence
Oh you got guts
But you don't reach adolescence
Slow down psycle sluts

Motor cycle Michael
Wants to buy a tank
Only twenty-nine years old
And he's learning how to wank
Yesterday he was in the groove
Today he's in a rut
My how the moments move
Brut fun psycle sluts

He cacks on your originals
He peepees on his boots
He makes love like a footballer
He dribbles before he shoots
The goings on at the gang-bang ball
Made the citizen's tut-tut-tut
But, what do you care, piss all
You tell 'em psycle sluts

Now your boyfriend burned his jacket
Ticket expired
Tyres are knackered
Knackers are tired

You can tell your tale to the gutter press
Get paid to peddle smut
Now you've ridden the road of excess
That leads to the psycle sluts

Or you can dine and whine on stuff that's bound to give you boils
Hot dogs direct from cruft's
Done in diesel oil
Or the burger joint around the bend
Where the meals thank christ are skimpy
For you that's how the world could end
Not with a bang but a Wimpy.