. . .
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An' I wanna move the town to the Clash City Rockers
You need a little jump of electrical shockers
You better leave town if you only wanna knock us
(same)
Nothing stands the pressure of the Clash City Rockers
You see the rate they come down the escalator
Now listen to the tube train accelerator
Then you realise that you got to have a purpose
Or this place is gonna knock you out sooner or later
So don't complain about your useless employment
Jack it in forever tonight
(same)
Or shut your mouth and pretend you enjoy it
Think of all the money you've got
And I wanna liquefy everybody gone dry
Or plug into the aerials that poke up in the sky
Or burn down the suburbs with the half-closed eyes
You won't succeed unless you try
You owe me a move say the bells of St. Groove
Come on and show me say the bells of old Bowie
When I am fitter say the bells of Gary Glitter
No one but you and I say the bells of Prince Far-I
No one but you and I say the bells of Prince Far-I
An' I wanna more the town to the Clash City Rockers
You need a little jump of electrical shockers
You better leave town if you only wanna knock us
Nothing stands the pressure of the Clash City Rockers
Rock Rock Clash City Rockers
. . .
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*Left Channel*
Make sure!
Taking cover in the bunker tonight
Waiting for Bo Diddley's headlights
I feel alright
Gotta Fender Stratosphere
I can do anything tonight
It's in neon lights an' global rights
Frank? He's on the phone
There ain't no German girl outside
But who cares when its warm inside?
With music
Special mystery of music tragically
Exchanging slaves for majesties
Modern waves of tragedy
Packing a to pience colt pair of shoots
A shiny grey mexican suit
The blue eyed traffic can sashay by
'Cos tonight the sailor boys have hit Shanghai
The kick-out traffic goes creaking by
I smash my glass and shout shanghi
My drummer friend comes shooting by
He said Errol Flynn will never die
Oh no! Who am I to question why?
And are you lonesome tonight
And do ya need a country cowboy
Who's just thin and tight in those
Brrrr bus depot jeans
With a squirt resistant stud stud
Hey stoner
Get over there in the spliffbunker one
Becos London Bridge was sold somehow
But it was too old anyhow
When Uncle Sam has broken down
We'll make him down in old Japan
Say yeee
Well there ain't no better blend
Than Joe Ely and his Texas Men
Where the wind blows
I ain't seen none like that scenery
You can see from a bus if you pay the price
Wave my arms around
Flag one of those taxi's maybe
I saw a girl somewhere somehow
Forever sticks in my mind somehow
I've just got three lines
And a pair of two's
Like a lucky roll of dice that you
You cast
*Right Channel*
If music could talk!
Which means
Whatever your mind can bring
Likethe apple fell off the tree
Pah! Fell right on his head
Yeah many years ago
There was a man who said
I am a shaman
A voodoo shaman
Got in trouble so he's going out
Mixing up and Haiti! Oh!
And the crickets
Buddy Holly said it was
Brrr Brrr yiii!
If music could talk you know
I feel kinda lonely
Standing out on the floor
Of Electric Ladyland...
Cos this is a good question Samson
Are you partly Arabic?
Chi man! Whatcho all about
I don't want to I can't hope to
Say it all in one go
Occasionally once or twice
A day I feel alive enough to say
Let's hear what the drummerman's
Got to say about
He said is it Errol Flynn's birthday or not?
Sept 12 until October
If they pack 2 piece
Colt pair of shoots
We got the shiny grey Mexican suits
I'm just wasting a great big
Corporation and the entire fund
The girders of Wall Street
And thetemples of money
And the high priests
Of the expense account
And Im wasting the whole thing
I come down in Yamaha-ha
They make the best pianos-time to step-up
. . .
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The Clash
Remote Control
(Strummer/Jones)
Who needs remote control
From the Civic Hall
Push a button
Activate
You gotta work an' you're late
It's so grey in London town
With a panda car crawling around
Here it comes
Eleven o'clock
Where can we go now?
Can't make a noise
Can't get no gear
Can't make no money
Can't get outta here
Big business it don't like you
It don't like the things you do
You got no money
So you got no power
They think you're useless
An' so you are - puuuuuuunnnnnk!
They had a meeting in Mayfair
They got you down an'
They wanna keep you there
It makes them worried
Their bank accounts
That's all that matters
And you don't count
Can't make no progress
Can't get ahead
Can't stop the regress
Don't wanna be dead
Look out' those rules and regulations
Who needs the Parliament
Sitting making laws all day
They're all fat and old
Queuing for the House of Lords
Repression - gonna start on Tuesday
Repression - gonna be a Dalek
Repression - I am a robot
Repression - I obey
. . .
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They said release Remote Control
But we didn't want it on the label
They said fly to Amsterdam
The people laughed but the press went mad
Ooh oooh oohh someone's really smart
Ooh oohh oohh complete control that's a laugh
On the last tour my mates couldn't get in
I'd open up the back door but they'd get run out again
At every hotel we were met by the law
Come for the party come to make sure
Ooh oohh oohh have we done something wrong?
Oohh oohh oohh complete control even over this song
They said we'd be artistically free
When we signed that bit of paper
They meant let's make a lots a money
An' worry about it later
Oohh oohh oohh I'll never understand
Oohh oohh oohh complete control
Lemme see your other hand
I don't trust you
Why should you trust me …huh
All over the news spread fast
They're filthy, they're dirty
They ain't gonna last
This is Joe Public speaking
I'm controlled in the body
Controlled in the mind
Total
Control, complete control..
That means you!
. . .
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White riot (I wanna riot)
White riot (a riot of my own)
White riot (I wanna riot)
White riot (a riot of my own)
Black people gotta lot a problems
But they don't mind throwing a brick
White people go to school
Where they teach you how to be thick
An' everybody's doing
Just what they're told to
An' nobody wants
To go to jail!
All the power's in the hands
Of people rich enough to buy it
While we walk the street
Too chicken to even try it
Everybody's doing
Just what they're told to
Nobody wants
To go to jail!
Are you taking over
or are you taking orders?
Are you going backwards
Or are you going forwards?
. . .
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Midnight to six man
For the first time from Jamaica
Dillinger and Leroy Smart
Delroy Wilson, your cool operator
Ken Boothe for UK pop reggae
With backing bands sound systems
And if they've got anything to say
There's many black ears here to listen
But it was Four Tops all night with encores from stage right
Charging from the bass knives to the treble
But onstage they ain't got no roots rock rebel
Onstage they ain't got no...roots rock rebel
Dress back jump back this is a bluebeat attack
'Cos it won't get you anywhere
Fooling with your guns
The British Army is waiting out there
An' it weighs fifteen hundred tons
White youth, black youth
Better find another solution
Why not phone up Robin Hood
And ask him for some wealth distribution
Punk rockers in the UK
They won't notice anyway
They're all too busy fighting
For a good place under the lighting
The new groups are not concerned
With what there is to be learned
They got Burton suits, ha you think it's funny
Turning rebellion into money
All over people changing their votes
Along with their overcoats
If Adolf Hitler flew in today
They'd send a limousine anyway
I'm the all night drug-prowling wolf
Who looks so sick in the sun
I'm the white man in the Palais
Just lookin' for fun
I'm only
Looking for fun
. . .
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All across the town
All across the night
Everbody's driving with full head-lights
Black or white you turn it on
And face the new religion
Everbody's sitting round watching television!
London's Burning (with boredom now)
London's Burning (dial 9-9-9-9-9)
London's Burning (with boredom now)
London's Burning (dial 9-9-9-9-9)
I'm up and down the Westway
In and out the lights
What a great traffic system
It's so bright
I can't think of a better way to spend the night
Than speeding around underneath the yellow lights!
London's Burning (with boredom now)
London's Burning (dial 9-9-9-9-9)
London's Burning (with boredom now)
London's Burning (dial 9-9-9-9-9)
. . .
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Breakin' rocks in the hot sun
I fought the law and the law won (x2)
I needed money 'cause I had none
I fought the law and the law won (x2)
I left my baby and it feels so bad
Guess my race is run
she's the best girl that I ever had
I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the
Robbin' people with a six-gun
I fought the law and the law won (x2)
I lost my girl and i lost my fun
I fought the law and the law won (x2)
I left my baby and it feels so bad
Guess my race is run
She's the best girl that I ever had
I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the
I fought the law and the law won (x7)
I fought the law and the law
. . .
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He's in love with rock'n'roll woaahh
He's in love with gettin' stoned woaahh
He's in love with Janie Jones
But he don't like his boring job, no...
An' he knows what he's got to do
So he knows he's gonna have fun with you
You lucky lady!
An' he knows when the evening comes
When his job is done he'll be over in his car for you
An' in the in-tray lots of work
But the boss at the firm always thinks he shirks
But he's just like everyone, he's got a Ford Cortina
That just won't run without fuel
Fill her up, Jacko!
An' the invoice it don't quite fit,
There's no payola in his alphabetical file
This time he's gonna really tell the boss
Gonna really let him know exactly how he feels
It's pretty bad!
Let them know - how you feel
. . .
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The offered me the office, offered me the
shop
They said I'd better take anything they'd got
Do you wanna make tea at the BBC?
Do you wanna be, do you really wanna be a cop?
Career opportunities are the ones that never knock
Every job they offer you is to keep you out the dock
Career opportunity, the ones that never knock
I hate the army an' I hate the R.A.F.
I don't wanna go fighting in the tropical heat
I hate the civil service rules
And I won't open letter bombs for you
Bus driver....ambulance man....ticket inspector
They're gonna have to introduce conscription
They're gonna have to take away my prescription
If they wanna get me making toys
If they wanna get me, well, I got no choice
Careers
Careers
Careers
Ain't never gonna knock
. . .
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What the hell is wrong with me? I'm not who I want to be
I tired spot cream an' I tried it all I'm crawling up the wall!
What's my name naaaame...naaaame....naaaame....
I tried to join a ping-pong club, sign on the door said all full up!
I got nicked, fighting in the road an' the judge didn't even know
What's my name
Dad got pissed so I got clocked
Couldn't hear the Tannoy so he lost the lot
Offers Mum a bribe through the letter box
Drives you fucking mad
What's my name
Now I'm round the back of your house at night
Peeping in the window - are you sleeping tight?
I laugh at your locks with my celloid strip
An' you won't know who came
What's my name
. . .
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Hate and war - the only things we got today
An' if I close my eyes
They will not go away
You have to deal with it
It is the currency
Hate...hate...hate...
The hate of a nation
A million miles from home
An' get war from the junkies
Who don't like my form
I'm gonna stay in the city
Even when the house fall down
I don't dream of a holiday
When hate an' war come around
Hate and war...
I have the will to survive
I cheat if I can't win
If someone locks me out
I kick my back in
An' if I get aggression
I give it to them two time back
Every day it's just the same
With hate an' war on my back
Hate and war - I hate all the English
Hate and war - they're just as bad as wops
Hate and war - I hate all the politeness
Hate and war - I hate all the cops
I wanna walk down any street
Looking like a creep
I don't care if I get beat up
By any Kebab Greek
. . .
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X2
[Police and thieves in the streets
Oh yeah!
Scaring the nation with their guns and ammunition
Police and thieves in the street
Oh yeah!
Fighting the nation with their guns and ammunition
From Genesis to Revelation
The next generation will be hear me
From Genesis to Revelation
The next generation will be hear me
And all the crowd comes in day by day
No one stop it in anyway
And all the peacemaker turn war officer
Hear what I say]
Police, police, police and thieves oh yeah
Police, police, police and thieves oh yeah
From Genesis oh yeah
Police, police, police, police, and thieves oh yeah
Scaring, fighting the nation
Shooting, shooting their guns, guns and ammunition
Police, police, police and thieves oh yeah
Police, police, police and thieves oh yeah
Here come, here come, here come
The station is bombed
Get out get out get out you people
If you don't wanna get blown up
. . .
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Let me tell you 'bout Wayne and his deals of cocaine
A little more every day
Holding for a friend till the band do well
Then the D.E.A. locked him away
Clang clang, go the jail guitar doors
Bang bang, go the boots on the floor
Cry cry, for your lonely mother's son
Clang clang, go the jail guitar doors
An' I'll tell you 'bout Pete, didn't want no fame
Gave all his money away
"Well there's something wrong, it'll be good for you, son"
And so they certified him insane
And then there's Keith, waiting for trial
Twenty-five thousand bail
If he goes down you won't hear his sound
But his friends carry on anyway
Fuck 'em!
Jail guitar doors
54/46 was my number
Jail guitar doors
Right now someone else has that number
. . .
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Back in the garage with my bullshit detector
Carbon monoxide making sure it's effective
People ringing up making offers for my life
But I just wanna stay in the garage all night
We're a garage band
We come from Garageland
Meanwhile things are hotting up in the West End alright
Contracts in the offices, groups in the night
My bummin' slummin' friends have all got new boots
An' someone just asked me if the
Group would wear suits
I don't wanna hear about what the rich are doing
I don't wanna go to where the rich are going
They think they're so clever, they think they're so right
But the truth is only known by guttersnipes
There's twenty-two singers! But one microphone
Back in the garage there's five guitar players
But one guitar, back in the garage
Complaints! Complaints! Wot an old bag
Back in the garage ...all night
. . .
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