Thursday, 23 April 2009

St. Georges Day Song

O'er grassy dale, and lowland scene
Come see, come hear, the English Scheme.
The lower-class, want brass, bad chests, scrounge fags.
The clever ones tend to emigrate
Like your psychotic big brother, who left home
For jobs in Holland, Munich, Rome
He's thick but he struck it rich, switch
The commune crap, camp bop, middle-class, flip-flop
Guess that's why they end up in bands
He's the green piece in us all
He's the creep-creep in us all
Condescends to black men
Very nice to them
They talk of Chile while driving through Haslingdon
You got sixty hour weeks, and stone stone toilet back-gardens
Peter Cook's jokes, bad dope, check shirts, lousy groups
Point their fingers at America
Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge
Cycles our distant spastic heritage
Its a gay red, roundhead, army career, grim head
If we was smart we'd emigrate


Joppa Road said...

I once did the sound check and lighting for a Fall gig. Have to say Mark E Smith lived up to his reputation of being a miserable c**t.

Platonic_ said...

haha he's quality. did he give you shit?

it sounds a good story, you should blog about it.

anneli said...

the great platonic how are you?

which site are you playing and whats your new alias?

i miss you kind sir.

please post

houchen1 said...

lorin yell would be a good salesman for sleeping pills.

what a boring cunt he is.

worse than kollega

king plat is my god


1out1der said...

no insane chat


bumhunter from brighton said...

where were u on webcam last night Railings1?thought we had an arrangement

or were u leadin me on?are u a straightlord?

railings1 (captain gay team) said...

no im a blouselifter.

she aint heavy shes my brother


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