The Ballad of Seamus Finnan

Well there was a young man, Seamus Finnan by name,
Who went off to war, O, to play the great game.
Now it wasn't the blood and it wasn't the fire,
But his heart it was broke by a night on the wire.

Well, it wasn't for Belgium, it wasn't for France.
It wasn't for England he entered that dance.
It was all for the love of a sweet Irish lass,
That he marched through the muck and the guns and the gas.

Tis a hard thing is life, tis a hard thing indeed.
And it's easy to die, cause it's sorer to bleed.
But tis hardest of all for the last man to stand,
Looking down at yer pal's all across No Man's Land.

See, Anna his sweet had a brother called Tom,
And he tapped his feet to the beat of the drum.
With his Trinity pals he got wild in the pub.
And they took the King's Shilling and signed with the Dub's.

Now Seamus was hurt to see Anna so sad,
So he swore to her then to look after the lad.
And he picked up his kit and he followed young Tom.
Yes, he followed the boy all the way to the Somme.

Tis a hard thing is life, tis a hard thing indeed.
And it's easy to die, cause it's sorer to bleed.
But tis hardest of all for the last man to stand,
Looking down at yer pal's all across No Man's Land.

O, Tommy’s heart shook to the sound of the guns
Yes, they rattled his soul, and so Thomas he runs
But the young English captain -- they called him Mad Jack --
Well he sends out the redcaps to drag the boy back.

Through the muck and the mire, and the blood and the tears
They brought him to Seamus to settle his fears
So he tried as he might to knock sense in the lad
But the guns carried on and poor Tom was still mad

Tis a hard thing is life, tis a hard thing indeed.
And it's easy to die, cause it's sorer to bleed.
But tis hardest of all for the last man to stand,
Looking down at yer pal's all across No Man's Land.

O, Seamus, says Tom, I have seen what’s beyond.
There’s a river that runs clear and deep through the Somme,
And across that wide river, the wonders I’ve seen,
For across that wide river the grass is so green.

Then Seamus he pleaded as hard as he grieved,
But the captain said no, there would be no reprieve.
So the pals they drew straws and they blindfolded Tom,
Then they took that young lad and they shot him at dawn

Tis a hard thing is life, tis a hard thing indeed.
And it's easy to die, cause it's sorer to bleed.
But tis hardest of all for the last man to stand,
Looking down at yer pal's all across No Man's Land.

Now whisky and sorrow, they go hand-in-hand
A fire in your guts that can force you to stand
As Seamus he did then, with Tom’s own tin mug
Pouring out for the lads from the captain’s own jug

He roared of MacDonough and he roared of MacBride,
And of how many more Irish sons were to die,
For the freedom of nations as small as their own,
For the glory of England, the crown and the throne?

Tis a hard thing is life, tis a hard thing indeed.
And it's easy to die, cause it's sorer to bleed.
But tis hardest of all for the last man to stand,
Looking down at yer pal's all across No Man's Land.

O, he woke up in irons, all black and all blue
Where the redcaps had beat him for speaking the truth.
With a curse in his mouth for the violence and might,
Well, Seamus he swore then, no more would he fight

‘Ah but England forgives you this drunken mistake’
Says the captain to Seamus, but it’s not why he breaks.
No fear of the bullet, no fear of the drop,
But tomorrow the boys will go over the top.

Tis a hard thing is life, tis a hard thing indeed.
And it's easy to die, cause it's sorer to bleed.
But tis hardest of all for the last man to stand,
Looking down at yer pal's all across No Man's Land.

Then the guns they fell quiet and the pistol it spoke,
And together they charged full of fear and of hope,
And Seamus there with them, as they fell one by one,
In a battle he knew that could never be won.

O, he thought he was blessed as he walked through the fire.
But Seamus was cursed to get caught on the wire,
All twisted and turned to see what lay below
O, the lads and their limbs, O, the corpses and crows

Tis a hard thing is life, tis a hard thing indeed.
And it's easy to die, cause it's sorer to bleed.
But tis hardest of all for the last man to stand,
Looking down at yer pal's all across No Man's Land.

O, there was a young man, Seamus Finnan by name,
Who went off to war, O, to play the great game.
And it wasn't the fire and it wasn't the blood,
But his heart it was broke by what lay in the mud.

Tis a hard thing is life, tis a hard thing indeed.
And it's easy to die, cause it's sorer to bleed.
But tis hardest of all for the last man to stand,
Looking down at yer pal's all across No Man's Land.

Beautiful Sin

Do ya feel it? Do you feel it tonight?
And do ya feel me? Oh do you feel me inside?
And can ya see me? Can you see in this light?
And can ya taste me? O-whoa, can you feel the bite.

Cause the inside is the outside
And the outside is the in
And the flesh is my word
And the word is my flesh is a sin

It's a beautiful sin
It's a beautiful sin
It's a beautiful sin
It’s a beautiful sin
Well alright!

Do ya feel it? Do you feel it today?
In the evening? In the morning? In shades of grey?
Do ya hear me? Do you hear what I pray?
And can ya hold me? Can you hold me at bay?

Cause the inside is the outside
And the outside is the in
And the flesh is my word
And the word is my flesh is a sin

It's a beautiful sin
It's a beautiful sin
It's a beautiful sin
It’s a beautiful sin
Well alright!

Slut

He's the queen of the scene
In his tight white jeans
Baby Joe (makes ya proud)
And we've all seen him learn
How to twist, how to turn
Don't ya know (how to pout)

Now you can call him a hustler
You can call him a slag
But a pretty little poor boy
Well that's just a drag
So he got a sugardaddy, and Papa…
Got a brand new fag

He’s a slut (x4)

He's old and he's fat
And he's got a big 'tache
Daddy Bear (Daddy Bore!)
And he's sure fucking ugly
But he's got the cash
So who cares? (Not Joe)

Well you can call him a hustler
You can call him a slag
But it drives him so wild
O that e-type jag
So he got his mony mony, and Papa…
Got a brand new fag

He's a slut
He's a slut
He's a slut
You can fuck him, you can suck him
If you got the dough
He's a slapper with the clap uh huh
He's a whore
But he knows what he's at, so Papa…
Got a brand new fag

Papa got a brand new fag
Wears him like a new handbag
Papa got a brand new fag
And baby got some new gladrags

Dolce and Gabana, honey!

Gimme Space

You're just another breeder
A fuckin bottom-feeder
I don't care what you say
How can I explain this?
Honey, suicide is painless
So get out my fuckin way
It's the 21st Century
It's the Year of the Freak
So fuck yer "Home of the Free"
Just get off of my case
And gimme space

Gimme space
Gimme space, get outta my face
Gimme space
Gimme space, who gives a fuck about yer rat-race?

You're losing your direction
Baby, losing your erection
It's all a bit too much
Cause life is so confusing
Stuck in self-delusion
They kicked away your crutch
Well, it's the 21st Century
It's the Kali Yuga, baby
It's a good time to be
So just get with the plan
Or be damned

Gimme space
Gimme space, get outta my face
Gimme space
Gimme space, get off of my case
Gimme space
Gimme space, get outta my face
Gimme space
Gimme space, who gives a fuck about yer rat-race?

You're livin in the past, yeah
Future's gonna blast ya
Right between the eyes
If you don't wanna fall, boy
If you don't got the balls, boy
You better step aside
Cause it's the 21st Century
The future is here, boy
The future is me
So back away from yer guns
Here I come

Gimme space
Gimme space, get outta my face
Gimme space
Gimme space, get off of my case
Gimme space
Gimme space, get outta my face
Gimme space
Gimme space, who gives a fuck about yer fuckin rat-race?

Skin Deep

So no-one told you 'bout the Man on the Moon, baby?
Were you too busy playing down in the dunes?
Sand in your shoes, yeah, stars in your eyes
Just a pity you got nothing inside

You're skin deep, skin deep, skin deep
You're skin deep, skin deep, skin deep
Skin deep, skin deep, skin deep
And I'm bored with you

Well, pretty baby, all the labels you wear
They kinda tell me that you don't really care
You got a style that you picked from the shelf
And all it says is you can't think for yourself

You're skin deep, skin deep, skin deep
You're skin deep, skin deep, skin deep
Skin deep, skin deep, skin deep
And I'm bored with you

You like your magazines and your soaps
Without the gossip, baby, how would you cope?
A fucking junky for the media lies
The world is burning and you just bat your eyes

You're skin deep
Bright and breezy like the air in your head
Skin deep
TV Weekly was the last thing you read
Skin deep
"No, really! Is that what the bitch said?"
Skin deep
Two brains cells, honey, and there's one of them dead.
Skin deep
Tell me, baby, is your blood even red?
Skin deep, skin deep, skin deep
And I'm bored with you

1971

Nineteen seventy one (x4)

Nineteen seventy one
Second son of a second son
Midnight on a twenty-one ten
My Lai and Pnomh Pen

Born under a bad moon rising
Born under a bad sign,
Born to lose
Born to the blues
Born under a bad moon rising
Born under a bad sign,
Born to be wild
Rosemary's child.

Nineteen seventy one (x4)

Nineteen seventy one
Mister Manson had his fun
Helter Skelter, red right hand
Hear the words of the Son of Man:

Mr and Mrs America, you are wrong.
I am not the King of the Jews,
Nor am I a hippie cult leader.
I am what you have made me
And the mad dog killer fiend leper
Is a reflection of your society.
Whatever the outcome of this madness
That you call Christian justice,
You can know this:

In my mind's eye, my thoughts light fires in your cities

Nineteen seventy one (x4)

Born under a bad moon rising
Born under a bad sign,
Born to lose
Born to the blues
Born under a bad moon rising
Born under a bad sign,
Born to be wild
Rosemary's child.

Born to defile!

Son Of The Gun

Baby, I been crawling the road of all dust,
Trawling the river of souls as I must,
Gathering winnings in houses of fun.
I’m a son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch, and a son of the gun.

Gamblers and hookers and thieves are my friends.
Damned, doomed and lost, I may yet make amends.
But I know I will suffer for what I have done.
I’m a son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch, and a son of the gun.

Sleeping under the stars, in the bars of nine states,
Homeless and free in the land of the great,
A pilgrim, a prophet, a prodigal son,
I’m a son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch, and a son of the gun.

I hold in my right hand the book of the law,
The other hand pointing, a two-fingered claw.
But the weapon I wield is the lash of my tongue.
I’m a son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch, and a son of the gun.

Father-forsaken, but made in his light,
A lone star to guide me through my endless night,
Where wisdom and justice and mercy are done,
By the son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch… son of the gun.

You judges and sherriffs may gather your men,
But I serve a power that’s greater than them,
And the forces I marshall will stand when you run
From the a son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch, and the son of the gun.

Drunken and drowning, I still stagger on,
Dead to the world in the first light of dawn.
But a dead man is free from the past he would shun,
As a son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch, and a son of the gun.

O Father, forgive thee; I wish that I could,
But I still remember the nail in the wood,
And the hammer that fell, and the end it begun
For a son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch, and a son of the gun.

There’s a wounded and wasted boy waiting for me,
Hanging down by the crossroads and under the tree.
And they say that his brother one day will return,
That son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch… that son of the gun.

O Mother, you tried, but his fist was too tight.
I remember your face and the knuckles so white.
And the scarlet and purple you wore for your young.
For the sons of a preacher-man, sons of a bitch, sons of the gun.

Branded and bound with a curse for a name,
Haunted and hounded, I carry the blame
For the earth stained with blood of an innocent son…
Son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch… son of the gun.

O Brother, the choice that I made wasn’t mine.
Crows in the cornfield and blood on the vine.
I’ll carry your soul till there’s nowhere to run.
For a son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch, and a son of the gun.

I know that one day I will see them once more -
My father the judge and my mother the whore –
And the earth will be scorched by a terrible sun…
By the son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch, and the son of the gun.

I have been crawling the road of all dust,
Trawling the river of souls as I must,
Calling in debts on the lives I have won,
This son of a preacher-man, son of a bitch… this son…
Of the gun.

Soldiers Of The Empire

If England is dreaming, then Scotland's just asleep
Call ourselves a nation, we're a nation of sheep
Just another fuckin motherfuckin gun for hire
That's what we are
Soldiers of the Empire
Soldiers of the Empire

Souls bought and sold, born into a scheme
Loyal to a nation that sold its fuckin dreams
All around the world we hold the flag up higher
But we're down on our knees
Soldiers of the Empire

Hear the pipes, hear the drums
See the flags, see the guns
Flower of Scotland, Scotland the Slave
Caledonia screaming from foreign graves

The poverty that made you's a poverty of thought
You pray you can escape it before you fucking rot
So you join the army, see the world, see it on fire
Might is right
For soldiers of the Empire
Soldiers of the Empire

Daddy's Little Trooper, Little Mama's Boy
Mother's Little Helper, Sugardaddy's Toy
All these uniforms of thought, these uniform desires
The regimental colours
Of soldiers of the Empire

Hear the pipes, hear the drums
See the flags, see the guns
Flower of Scotland, Scotland the Slave
Caledonia screaming from foreign graves

The Empire never ended, the Empire's in your head
Fight it you become it; surrender and you're dead
What's the fucking point? If you deny it, you're a liar
That's what we are
Soldiers of the Empire
Soldiers of the Empire
Soldiers of the Empire
Soldiers of the Empire

Hear the pipes, hear the drums
See the flags, see the guns
Flower of Scotland, Scotland the Slave
Caledonia screaming from foreign graves

Soldiers of the Empire [x4]

This Hollow Child

Under the dark son’s / Quiet and calm, run / Voices like streams.
Rivers of fire, white / Heat of desire, might / Waken his dreams
Shadows and shapes drift / Soft in his thoughts, shift / Under his skin
Burning inside, he’ll / Soon show society / What lies within

This hollow child
This empty skin suit of a soul
This hollow child
With vacant eyes like bulletholes
His heart is cold
His eyes are old
His blood is wild
This hollow child

Down in the schoolyard / Children are cruel, hard / Luck if you’re weak
A lesson that you’ll learn: / Only a fool turns / The other cheek.
Buried, the fire burns / Secret, the heart yearns / For release
Under the sheer weight / Feel the heart break, / And see him unleashed

This hollow child
This empty skin suit of a soul
This hollow child
With vacant eyes like bulletholes
His heart is cold
His eyes are old
His blood is wild
This hollow child

Under the full moon / Howling his own tune / Cut from the pack
Lost in his own world / Like a fist curled / Armoured in black
Drowning in voices / Out of choices / He’ll answer their call
See his dead eyes / See the gun rise / See him fall

This hollow child
This empty skin suit of a soul
This hollow child
With vacant eyes like bulletholes
His heart is cold
His eyes are old
His blood is wild
This hollow child

My One Night Stand

When we were young, you stayed away from me,
I stayed away from you.
I always thought that we should fight or fuck.
If I only knew.
Seems the lie you lived was getting all too hard to take.
I hope you’re happy now.
I hope you’re happy when you wake.

Cause I’m a straight arrow, gay blade,
Young gun, self-made.
And you can take me any day
In hand-to-hand.
But I know I can take you too,
My one night stand.

Well if you made my life a misery,
At least you made me strong.
And if you never showed me mercy,
Least you showed me right from wrong.
And if the lie you live is something you are glad to take.
I hope you’re happy now.
I hope you’re happy when you wake.

Cause I’m a straight arrow, gay blade,
Young gun, self-made.
And you can take me any day
In hand-to-hand.
But I know I can take you too,
My one night stand.

You called me ‘faggot’ and it only
Made me want to fuck a jock.
And you don’t even recognise me now,
Sucking on my cock.
And if the lie you live is something you are glad to take.
I hope you’re happy now.
I hope you’re happy when you wake.
And if the lie you live is something you find hard to take.
I hope you’re happy now.
I hope you’re happy when you break.

Cause I’m a straight arrow, gay blade,
Young gun, self-made.
And you can take me any day
In hand-to-hand.
But I know I can take you too,
My one night stand.

[guitar solo]

You had so much to prove, so much to lose,
You had to pray,
You didn’t give yourself away,
Watching every word you say.
You had so much to give, so much to live,
You threw it all away.
You couldn’t give yourself away.
Tomorrow is another day-ay-ay.

Be a straight arrow, gay blade,
Young gun, self-made.
And you can take me any day
Hand-in-hand.
And I can take you any way,
And we will make a stand.

And if the lie you live is something you find hard to take.
You can be happy now.
You can be happy when you wake.
And if you’ve realised the life you lived was a mistake.
You can be happy now.
You can be happy when you wake.

You can be happy when you wake.

You can be happy when you wake.

For Kit Marlowe

Ye can keep yer Pope. Ye can keep yer Queen.
Ye can keep yer fucking God.
Cause he never done a thing for me
And he's just a fucking fraud.
Cause Jesus was a bastard and His mother was a whore,
And John the Baptist lay with Him and fucked Him on the floor -
2! 3! 4!

The Boy With Green Hair

I saw him skating in the park.
He made me wanna bark out loud.
I had to pull my chain and stop right there.
No tee-shirt, phat jeans,
Suggesting thoughts obscene,
With the F.U.C.K. on his underwear,
That boy with green hair.

And he was falling off his board
I was laying on the grass.
He just took my breath away.
What a beautiful ass.
Wonder if I got a chance.
Do we listen to the same bands?
Have I got a prayer
With that boy with green hair.

But there’s nothing about him that says he is gay.
No, there’s nothing about him that gives it away.
If he’s queer, if he’s straight,
I could not estimate,
But I know that at least he ain’t square,
That boy with green hair.

I saw him at the gig, he
Was dancing just like Iggy.
I wanna be your dog-boy, I declare.
Like a character from a Manga,
Animated fist-of-anger,
In the mosh-pit, jumping up and punching air,
That boy with green hair.

And he was dancing like a fiend,
Soaked in sweat, and so was I.
He just took my breath away,
When he caught my eye.
Then he asked me for a smoke,
So I offered him a toke.
Not the only thing I’d share
With that boy with green hair.

But there’s nothing about him that says he is gay.
No, there’s nothing about him that gives it away.
If he’s queer, if he’s straight,
I could not estimate,
But I know that at least he ain’t square,
That boy with green hair.

I saw him drinking with a dude,
Being loud and being lewd,
Bonding in a game of Truth or Dare.
Then the question came his way:
“Would you fuck a guy for pay?”
And he looked right at me, I would swear,
That boy with green hair.

Then he was taking off his shoes,
Taking off his shirt and pants,
Standing up among the booze.
And he started to dance.
And as the bouncer dragged him out.
He let off a drunken shout:
“I would fuck whatever. I don’t care.”
My boy with green hair.

Well there’s something about you that’s definitely queer.
But are you a faggot, or just fucking weird.
With your choke-chain and wrist-band,
How far do you twist? And
Just give me the word – I’ll be there.
My boy with green hair.

They say bisexuality’s six drinks away.
Let me buy you a drink, let me lead you astray.
Maybe we could meet later,
My little punk skater,
Go out on a date, or
Just mutually masturbate.

That boy with green hair.

The Best Days Of My Death

When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I needed help, and I mean in a psychiatric way.
I bouced around the padded cell that was inside my head.
But then I found the cure for everything… is being fucking dead.

And so I took myself inside and had a suicide of mind.
Ripped out every little scrap of life and soul that I could find.
I killed myself when I lost my heart.
But one poor boy’s end is someone else’s start.
Live fast, die young, I said.
And my last word on my last breath
Is: These are the best days of my death.

When I was twenty-one, it wasn’t fun to be a schizo fag.
In a disco scene of beauty queens is really not my bag.
Hated everything I was and I just wanted it to end.
Then a little voice inside my head said Satan is your friend.

And so I sold my soul for scrap and threw a party on its grave.
Now I don’t need to take the crap, cause I was lost and now I’m saved.
If life’s a bitch, just put that bitch to sleep.
Don’t take their pitch, just take a fucking leap.
Live fast, die young, I said.
And my last word on my last breath
Is: These are the best days of my death.

And now I’m thirty years of age and all the cages I once made
Lie in the ruins of my rage, and in a past I blew away.
These are the days I thought I’d never see.
But now I’ve found that death can make you free.
Live fast, die young, I said.
And my last word on my last breath
Is: These are the best days of my death.

So kill all your dreams.
Kill all your lies.
Kill all your hopes
And you’ll soon realise
If there’s nothing to live for
There’s nothing to lose.
There’s nothing to hold you but you.

These are the best days of my death

Where's My Fucking Record Contract?

Abercrombie and Fitch
Gives me an itch
I want to scratch.
Corporation boy-bands
Give me a plan
I want to hatch
I would like to take you somewhere.
I would like to (Just don’t go there).
I would like to put my hands
Inside those low-slung cargo pants
And dance.

Shave a monkey and put it on a stage.
Manufacture adolescent rage.
Nu-metal. Nu-buck.
Why don’t you just take it out and fuck.

All the girls and boys,
They are just toys,
So squeaky clean.
All the boys and girls,
They don’t take pills
Or anything obscene.
I would like to change the station.
Radio Free Masturbation.
I would like to say right here
That N-Synch are all fucking queer
To me.

Shave a monkey and put it on a stage.
Manufacture adolescent rage.
Nu-metal. Nu-buck.
Why don’t you just take it out and fuck.

If I were pretty I would demonstrate,
But I’m no model and
The rest of them are straight.

Shave a monkey and put it on a stage.
Manufacture adolescent rage.
Nu-metal. Nu-buck.
Why don’t you just take it out and fuck.

Iggy Pop was there
In underwear
Ten years ago (and more).
G.G. Allen is gone
And still puts on
A more exciting show.
I would like to play with Hanson,
In a set with Charlie Manson.
I would make them understand
What makes a boy become a man.
(Nice tan.)

Shave a monkey and put it on a stage.
Manufacture adolescent rage.
Nu-metal. Nu-buck.
Why don’t you just take it out and...
Shave a monkey and put it on a stage.
Nice voice. Right age.
You’re Tom. I’m Huck.
Why don’t we just take it out and fuck.

Punk Music Makes Me Feel Big

She understands him when he’s pissed.
He understands her with his fist.
Hanging out with all the guys,
He’s a rapist in disguise.

Cause he’s such a frat-boy.
And he’s such a twat, boy.
Baseball cap on back to front
Doesn’t stop you being a cunt
-2! 3! 4!
Punk music makes me feel big, but
-1! 2! 3! 4!
When I’m old I’ll be a fucking pig.

He walks along an edge so straight,
Doesn’t even masturbate;
But he really likes to fight
Drunks and junkies every night.

Cause he’s such a frat-boy.
And he’s such a twat, boy.
If that’s your idea of fun
You’re a fascist and a hun
-2! 3! 4!
Punk music makes me feel big, but,
-1! 2! 3! 4!
When I’m old I’ll be a fucking pig.

Girlfriend couldn’t take no more,
So she split, so she’s a whore.
He’d go on a crying jag,
But that would make him such a fag.

Cause he’s such a frat-boy.
And he’s such a twat, boy.
Tell your mates that you’re OK
Sensitivity’s so gay
–ho! Let’s go!
Punk music makes me feel big, but,
-Hey-ho! Let’s go!
When I’m old I’ll be a fucking pig.

Got a flag he likes to wave.
He’s so earnest and so grave.
He’s a rebel to the core.
He’s a dreary little bore.

Cause he’s such a frat-boy.
And he’s such a twat, boy.
Watch him throw a brick then run
Looking out for number one,
-2! 3! 4!
Punk music makes me feel big, but,
-1! 2! 3! 4!
When I’m old I’ll be a fucking pig.

Suicide Pact

I understand that you are insecure and kind of weedy.
Although I think you’re over-sensitive and too damn needy.
But I’m an understanding kind of guy,
And if you want it, I
Will show you what you’re after.

Suicide pact.
Contract with the master.
Suicide pact.
It’s a high school disaster.
Suicide pact.
And where is the laughter now?

The kids at Columbine were right, but they were dumb as fuck.
Life isn’t always light, but that’s just your dumb luck.
So everyone has an unanswered why?
Well if you want it, I
Will show you what you’re after.

Suicide pact.
So your life is a bastard.
Suicide pact.
Such an obvious answer.
Suicide pact.
Hey, there’s always an afterlife.

Some guys they play with guns when they should play with one another.
But what do I know? I’m the one who wants to fuck his brother.
Just seems a shame to lose someone so young,
Not even twenty-one,
And death is rather final.

Suicide pact.
It’s a youth carcinoma.
Suicide pact.
It’s a hard knocks diploma.
Suicide pact.
This is no fucking Troma film.

They try to program you that you are weak and you believe them.
You want to kill them all, when all you have to do is leave them.
So you say all you wanna do is die.
Well if you want it, I
Will show you what you’re after.

Suicide pact.
Kill your soul. Be a buddha
Suicide pact.
Deal with it. Be a dude.
Suicide pact.
But don’t listen to Judas Priest.

Believe me when I say I understand where you come from.
It’s not the kind of place where you and I feel we belong.
But there’s another place for you and me,
And if you wanna see
Nirvana, I can get there.
Five six seven.
Mosh pit heaven.

Suicide pact.
With a gun in your pocket.
Suicide pact.
Do ya want me to cock it.
Suicide pact.
Couldn’t you sublimate?
Suicide pact.
You could just masturbate.
Suicide pact.
Take a pill. It’s a gas.
Suicide pact.
Try to chill. Have a blast.
Suicide pact.
Try some zen dissolution.
Suicide pact.
It’s a mind revolution.
Suicide pact.
Fuck ‘em all, they can all go to hell.

Suck Me, Fuck Me, Chuck Me

1, 2, 3, 4.

I guess I don’t know anything about you.
But I’ve seen you and I’d like to.
Would you like to like to too.
Would you? Could you? Should you?

Suck me. Fuck me.
When you’re finished you can chuck me.
I’ll be – happy –
With just an hour or two or three.

Don’t want to waste time on infatuation,
But I’m tired of masturbation.
Would you like to like to be
With me, with you in me?

Suck me. Fuck me.
When you’re finished you can chuck me.
I’ll be – happy –
With just an hour or two or three.

Dicks, Pricks & Fucking Hicks

My town is a very shit town.
It’s designed to bring you down
And keep you down.
I hate my town.
Nothing to do to get your kicks,
Just dicks, pricks and fucking hicks

Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks
Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks
Fuck ‘em all. Kill ‘em all.
Screw ‘em all. They are all
Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks

Growing up on a housing scheme.
It’s designed to make you scream
Or make you dream.
Of gasoline,
Burning neds and heads on sticks,
Dead dicks, pricks and fucking hicks

Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks
Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks
Fuck ‘em all. Kill ‘em all.
Screw ‘em all. They are all
Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks

It’s so fucking civilised here.
God, it’s great to be a queer
And live in fear.
Pass me a beer.
I wanna drink cause I am sick,
Of dicks, pricks and fucking hicks

Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks
Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks
Fuck ‘em all. Kill ‘em all.
Screw ‘em all. They are all
Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks

My town is a very shit town.
If I lost the plot and shot
The fuckers down
Would anyone frown?
Don’t know why anyone would cry
For dicks, pricks and fucking hicks

Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks
Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks
Fuck ‘em all. Kill ‘em all.
Screw ‘em all. They are all
Dicks, pricks and fucking hicks