Artyści na literę:
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Utwory na literę:
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Utwory na literę:
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Nineteen Eighty Bore
- wykonawca: Crass
who needs lobotomy when they?ve got the ITV?
who needs ECT when there?s good old BBC?
switch on the set, light up the screen
fantasise and dream about what you might have been
who needs controlling when they?ve got the cathode ray?
they?ve got your fucking soul, now they?ll fuse your brains away
mindless fucking morons sit before the set
being fed the mindless rubbish that they deserve to get
can?t switch off big brother, they?ve lost all will to act
lost in drab confusion, was it fiction? was it fact?
another plastic bullet stuns another irish child
but no-one?s really bothered, no the telly keeps them mild
they?ve lost all sense of feeling to the ever hungry glow
drained of any substance by the vicious telly blow
no longer know what?s real or ain?t, slowly going blind
they stare into the goggle-box while the world goes by, behind
the angels are on tv tonight, grey puke fucking shit
the army occupy ireland, but the boot will never fit
was it coronation street? or was it londonderry?
oh it doesn?t fucking matter, paul daniels?ll keep us merry.
yes i?ve heard of bobby sands, wasn?t it emmerdale farm?
yes, that?s right, he was kicked by a cow, i hope it didn?t do him no harm
and wasn?t holocaust terrible, a good thing it wasn?t for real
of course i?ve heard of h-block, it?s the baccy man appeal
deeper and deeper and deeper, layer upon layer
illusion, confusion, is there anyone left who can care?
yes, the abbey national cares for you. nat west and securicor
well brings out the branston bren-guns, let?s spice it up some more
the sweeney are cruising brixton, they?ve created another belfast
and j.r.?s advising thatcher on lighting, make up and cast
a thousand camera lenses point at the people?s pain
as millions of fucking morons watch the action replay again
softly, softly, into your life, you?re held in it?s brilliant glow
softly, softly, feeding itself on the you you?ll never know
you?re life?s reduced to nothing, but an empty media game
big brother ain?t watching you mate, you?re fucking watching him.
who needs lobotomy when they?ve got the ITV?
who needs ECT when there?s good old BBC?
switch on the set, light up the screen
fantasise and dream about what you might have been
who needs controlling when they?ve got the cathode ray?
they?ve got your fucking soul, now they?ll fuse your brains away
mindless fucking morons sit before the set
being fed the mindless rubbish that they deserve to get
can?t switch off big brother, they?ve lost all will to act
lost in drab confusion, was it fiction? was it fact?
another plastic bullet stuns another irish child
but no-one?s really bothered, no the telly keeps them mild
they?ve lost all sense of feeling to the ever hungry glow
drained of any substance by the vicious telly blow
no longer know what?s real or ain?t, slowly going blind
they stare into the goggle-box while the world goes by, behind
the angels are on tv tonight, grey puke fucking shit
the army occupy ireland, but the boot will never fit
was it coronation street? or was it londonderry?
oh it doesn?t fucking matter, paul daniels?ll keep us merry.
yes i?ve heard of bobby sands, wasn?t it emmerdale farm?
yes, that?s right, he was kicked by a cow, i hope it didn?t do him no harm
and wasn?t holocaust terrible, a good thing it wasn?t for real
of course i?ve heard of h-block, it?s the baccy man appeal
deeper and deeper and deeper, layer upon layer
illusion, confusion, is there anyone left who can care?
yes, the abbey national cares for you. nat west and securicor
well brings out the branston bren-guns, let?s spice it up some more
the sweeney are cruising brixton, they?ve created another belfast
and j.r.?s advising thatcher on lighting, make up and cast
a thousand camera lenses point at the people?s pain
as millions of fucking morons watch the action replay again
softly, softly, into your life, you?re held in it?s brilliant glow
softly, softly, feeding itself on the you you?ll never know
you?re life?s reduced to nothing, but an empty media game
big brother ain?t watching you mate, you?re fucking watching him.