THE FEEDING OF THE 5000THE FEEDING OF THE 5000
The original release of "The Feeding Of The 5000" was on Small Wonder records and the first track "Asylum" was dropped and a silent track was put in its place called "The Sounds Of Free Speech".
ASYLUM
I am no feeble Christ, not me. He hangs in glib delight upon his cross,
above my body. Christ forgive. FORGIVE? I vomit for you Jesu. Shit forgive.
Down now from your cross. Down now from your papal heights from that churlish
suicide, petulant child Down from those pious heights, royal flag bearer,
goat, billy. I vomit for you. Forgive? Shit he forgives. He hangs in crucified
delight nailed to the extent of his vision, his cross, his manhood, violence,
guilt, sin. He would nail my body upon his cross, suicide visionary, death
reveller, rake, rapist, lifefucker, Jesu, earthmover Christus, gravedigger,
you dug the graves of Auschwitz, the soil of Treblinka is your guilt, your
sin, master, master of gore, enigma. Your carry the standard of your oppression.
Enola is your gaiety. The bodies of Hiroshima are your delight the nails
are your only trinity, hold them in your corpsey gracelessness, the image
I have had to suffer. The cross is the virgin body of womanhood that your
defile. You nail yourself to your own sin. Lamearse Jesus calls me sister
there are no words for my contempt, every woman is a cross in his filthy
theology, his arrogant delight. He turns his back upon me in his fear,
he dare not face me. Fearfucker. Share nothing you christ, sterile, impotent,
fucklove prophet of death. You are the ultimate pornography, in your cuntfear,
cockfear, manfear, womanfear, unfair warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare,
warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare.
JESUS DIED FOR HIS OWN SINS, NOT MINE.
Fuck the politically minded, here's something I want to say, about the
state of the nation, the way it treats us today. At school they give you
shit, drop you in the pit, you try and try and try to get out, but you
can't because they've fucked you about. Then you're a prime example, of
how they must not be, this is just a sample of what they've done to you
and me.
Do they owe us a living?
Of course they do, of course they do.
Do they owe us a living?
Of course they do, of course they do.
Do they owe us a living?
OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO.
They don't want me anymore, cos I threw it on the floor. They used to call
me sweet thing but I'm nobodys plaything, and now that I am different,
they'd love to bust my head, they'd love to see me cop out, they'd love
to see me dead.
CHORUS.
The living that is owed to me I'm never going to get, buggered this old
world up, up to their necks in debt. They'd give you a lobotomy for something
you ain't done, they'll make you an epitomy of everything that's wrong.
CHORUS.
Don't take any notice of what the public think, they're so hyped up with
t.v., they just don't want to think. They'll use you as a target for demands
and for advice, when you don't want to hear it they'll say you're full
of vice.
CHORUS.
I am product. I am a symbol, of endless, hopeless, fruitless. aimless
games.
I'm a glossy package on the supermarket shelf. My contents aren't fit for
human consumption. I could tragically injure your perfect health. My ingredients
will seize up your bodys function. I am the dirt that everyone walks on.
I am the orphan nobody wants. I am the staircarpet everyone walks on. I
am the leper nobody wants to touch........much.
I am a sample. I am a scapegoat of useless, futureless, endless, mindless
ideas.
I am a number on the paper you file away. I'm a portfolio you stick in
the drawer. I'm the fool you try to scare when you say "We know all
about you, of that you can be sure" well, I don't want your crazy
system, I don't want to be on your files. Your temptations I try to resist
them cos I know what hides beneath your smiles, its..........EST.
I am a subject. I am a topic of useless, futureless, endless, mindless
debates.
You think up ways that you can hide me from the naive eyes of your figurehead,
but don't you find that it ain't easy? Wouldn't you love to see me dead?
Your answer is to give me treatment for crying out when you give me pain,
leaves me with no possible remnant, you poke your knives into my brain,
you send me insane.
I'm an example. I'm no hero of the great, intelligent, magnificent, human
race.
I'm part of the race that kills for possessions part of the race that that's
wiping itself out. I'm part of the race that's got crazy obsessions like
locking people up, not letting them out. I hate the living dead and their
work in factories. They go like sheep to their production lines. They live
on illusions, don't face the realities, all they live for is that big blue
sign It says, it says........
I'M BORED, BORED, BORED.
THEY'VE
GOT A BOMB
They won't destroy the world, no, they're not that crazy. You're not
dealing with the town hall. They're not crazy. No political solution so
why should we bother? Well whose fucking head do you think they're holding
it over?
FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.
They can't wait to use it They can't wait to use it. They can't wait to
try it out. They can't wait to use it. They've got a bomb. They've got
a bomb and they can't wait to use it on me.
Twenty odd years now waiting for the flash, all of the oddballs thinking
we'll be ash. Well four minute warning has run on into years, are we waiting
for them to confirm our fears?
FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.
CHORUS.
They can build them small, call it tactical. Stop the fallout, make it
practical to smash the misfits who foul up their scene with the practical,
tactical, killing machine.
FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.
CHORUS.
Yes that's right, punk is dead, it's just another cheap product for
the consumers head. Bubblegum rock on plastic transistors, schoolboy sedition
backed by big time promoters. CBS promote the Clash, but ain't for revolution,
it's just for cash. Punk became a fashion just like hippy used to be and
it ain't got a thing to do with your or me.
Movements are systems and systems kill. Movements are expressions of the
public will. Punk became a movement cos we all felt lost, but the leaders
sold out and now we all pay the cost. Punk narcissism was a social napalm,
Steve Jones started doing real harm. Preaching revolution, anarchy and
change as he sucked from the system that had given him his name.
Well I'm tired of looking through shit stained glass, tired of staring
up a superstars arse, I've got an arse and crap and a name, I'm just waiting
for my fifteen minutes fame.Steve Jones you're napalm, if you're so pretty
why do you smarm? Patti Smith, you're napalm, your write with your hand
but it's Rimbaud's arm.
And me, yes, I, do I want to burn? Is there something I can learn? Do I
need a business man to promote my angle? Can I resist the carrots that
fame and fortune dangle? I see the velvet zippies in their bondage gear,
the social elite with safetypins in their ear, I watch and understand that
it don't mean a thing, the scorpions might attack, but the systems stole
the sting.
PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD.
Not for me the factory floor sweeping up from nine to four. Not for
me the silly rat race, I don't see the point in anycase. People ask me
why I say what I do, I say to them, "Well wouldn't you?" if you
were fucked up just like me, a reject of society.
They say I dig a hole and jump right in, well I don't give a shit about
anything, I don't comply to their silly rules, all they are is hypocritical
fools.
You give us conscience money, now you start to worry. The Frankenstein
monster you created has turned against you now you're hated.
They tell me I'm not what they'd like me to be, it's their fault, you can't
blame me. They fucking tricked me half the time now they've got to stand
in line. They don't like it when they see me have fun, they turn around
and then they run. They don't listen to what I say, I'm a reject of society.
CHORUS.
I've seen it all before, revolution at my back door, well whose to say
it won't happen all again. The Generals sip bacardi, while the privates
feel the pain.
They talk from the screen and T.V. tube, they talk revolution like it's
processed food. They talk anarchy from music hall stages, look for change
in colour supplement pages. They think that by talking from some distant
tower, that something might change in the structure of power. They dream,
they dream, never walk on the street. They dream, they dream, never stand
on their feet.
CHORUS.
Alternative values were a con, a fucking con. They never really meant it
when they said "Get it on". They really meant, "Mine, that's
mine" can't you see? They stamped on our head so that they could be
free. They formed little groups, like rich mans ghettoes, tending their
goats and organic tomatoes. While the world was being fucked by fascist
regimes, they talked of windmills and psychedelic dreams.
CHORUS.
BANNED
FROM THE ROXY
Banned from the Roxy...O.K. I never much liked playing there anyway. They said they only wanted well behaved boys, do they think guitars and microphones are just fucking toys? Fuck them, I've chosen to make my stand, against what I feel is wrong with this land. They just sit there on their overfed arses, feeding off the sweat of less fortunate classes. They keep their fucking power cause their finger's on the button, they've got control and won't let it be forgotten. The truth of their reality is at the wrong end of a gun, the proof of that is Belfast and that's no fucking fun. Seeing the squaddy lying in the front yard, seeing the machine guns resting on the fence. Finding the entrance to your own front door is barred and they've got the fucking nerve to call it defence. Seems their defence is a just the threat of strength, protection for the privileged at any length. The government protecting their profits from the poor, the rich and the fortunate chaining up the door. Afraid that the people may ask for a little more than the shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. DEFENCE? SHIT, IT'S NOTHING LESS THAN WAR AND NO ONE BUT THE GOVERNMENT KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK IT'S FOR. Oh yes they say it's defence, they say it's decency, Mai Lai, Hiroshima, know what I mean? The same fucking lies with depressing frequency, they say "We had to do it to keep our lives clean" Well whose life? Whose fucking life? Who the fuck are they talking to? Whose life? Whose fucking life? I'll tell you one thing, it ain't me and you. And their systems, christ, they're everywhere, school, army, church, the corporation deal. A fucked up reality based on fear, a fucking conspiracy to stop you feeling real. Well they're wrong, ain't got me, I'd say they're fucking wrong, I ain't quite ready with my gun, but I've got me song... Banned from the Roxy, well O.K. never much liked playing there anyways. GUNS.
G'S
SONG
This country tell us that we're down and out, got you thinking that we're through. Got to suffer to get them moving, say it's up to me and you. Well, look around and you'll see who gets the goods, not you and me. Cause they ain't suffering, no, not for us, they're masquerading like pissers must. They abuse us, keep us right underfoot, with the illusion of contentment and good. Well it's not over, war's still around and they've got no problem when you're underground.
Fight war, not wars. Fight war, not wars. Fight war, not wars. Fight war, not wars. Fight war, not wars. Fight war, not wars. Fight war, not wars. FIGGHT WAR, NOT WARS.
Fuck is womens money. We pay with our bodies. There is no purity in
our love. No beauty.
Just bribery. It's all the fucking same.
We make soldiers with our submission.
Wars with our isolation.
Fuck is womens money. We pay with our bodies. There is no purity in motherhood. No
beauty. Just bribery. It's all the fucking same.
We are all slaves to sexual histories.
Our awareness of whoredom can be a release. War is mens money. They pay
with their bodies. There is no purity in that game, only blood, death and
bribery. It's still the fucking same. But we have all got the power. Don't
just stand there and take submission on the strength of fear. FIGHT WAR,
NOT WARS
SECURICOR
I'm a private in a private army, I'm a private in a privzte army.
I am a working for securicor, take the money and come back for more. I
want to do it cause I know I should, for the customer and the common good.
I walk around with a big alsation, he'll re arrange you with no provocation,
and I'm the bugger who has got the lead, you'll have to be bright if you
want to get at me. Securicor cares. Securicor cares. Securicor scares the
shit out of you, do you want to come closer?
I block the pavement with my club and hat, I deal in money that you can't
get at. You want to use me cause I'm up for rent, tough shit, cause I'm
really busy.
You ought to know me cause I've been a cop, out of the army where I learned
a lot. Some kids still chuckle when they see my van, but it's not all money
sonny, you want to come closer?
Securicor cares. Securicor cares.
Securicor scares the shit out of you.
Do you want to come closer?
DO YOU WANT TO COME CLOSER?
I'm a private in a private army, I'm a private in a private army, I'm a
private in a private army.
Do you really believe in Buddha? Buddha sucks.
Do you really believe in Jesus? Jesus fucks
Is it alright really? Is it alright really? Is it working?
Do you really believe in Marx? Marx fucks.
Do you really believe in Thatcher? Maggie sucks.
CHORUS.
Do you really believe in the system? Well o.k.
I BELIEVE IN ANARCHY IN THE UK
CHORUS.
YOU
PAY
You're paying for prisons. You're paying for war. You're paying for
lobotomies. You're paying for law.
You're paying for their order. You're paying for their murder. You're paying
for your ticket to watch the farce.
Knowing you've made your contribution to the systems fucked solution, to
political pollution. No chance of revolution. No chance of change. You've
got no range. Don't just take it. Don't take their shit. Don't play their
game. Don't take their blame.
USE YOUR OWN HEAD. Your turn instead.
It's not economise. It's not apologise.
It's not make do. It's not pull through.
It's not take it. It's not make it.
It's not just you. It's not madmen.
It's not difficult. It's not behave.
It's not, oh well, just this once.
It's fucking impossible.
It's fucking unbearable.
It's fucking stupid. IT'S FUCKING STUPID.
ANGELS
The Angels are on T.V. tonight, grey puke, celluloid shit.
The army have sent a mission to Ireland, just to see to it.
Kojack is on the T.V. streets again, grey puke, fucking shit.
The army say they seek peace in Ireland and they'll see to it.
That they keep in line, horizontal hold. Keep in line, vertical hold. Keep
in line, brightness. Keep in line, contrast. Keep in line, VISION ON.
Coronation Street is on twice a week, grey puke, fucking shit.
The army say that they seek peace in Ireland and they'll see to it. The
army are on the news report WARS. BULLETS. DEATH.
They're beating fuck out of someone they caught Just to see to it.
CHORUS.
VISION OFF.
WHAT
A SHAME
Doesn't take much to bring you down.
There are plenty of people standing round.
They wait till you slacken off just a bit.
Then they fill you up with passive bullshit.
It's too good. It can't last. What a shame.
Watch out for the quiet ones at the back.
All they want is the smallest crack.
Everythings happening down the front.
Innocent bystander you're the biggest runt.
Fuck the punks. Punks are fucked. It's too loud. Awful row. They can't
play. They'll give up. In the end. What a shame Oh what a shame it's still
the same.
That's what you think.
Watch out for the quiet ones at the back.
All they want is the smallest crack.
Everything's happening down the front.
Innocent bystander, you're the biggest runt. We all know, it's so bad,
but we say so.
WHAT A SHAME
They ask me why I'm hateful, why I'm bad.
They tell me I got things they never had.
They tell me go to church and see the light.
Cos the good lord's always right.
Well, so what, so what.
So what if Jesus died on the cross.
So what about the fucker, I don't give a toss.
So what if the master walked on the water.
I don't see him trying to stop the slaughter.
They say I wouldn't have to live from bins.
If I would go along, confess my sins.
They say I shouldn't commit no crime.
Cos Jesus Christ is watching all the time.
So what, so what.
So what if he's always over my shoulder.
I realise the truth as I get older.
I get to see what a con it is.
Because it's my life, mine not his.
Well, they say they're going to send me away.
Said they're going to make me pay.
We're sorry but you have go.
You were naughty, you said 'NO'.
So what, so what.
So what if I see through the lies. So what if the people I despise twist
my arm and make me work, I'm no deaf, dumb, fucking jerk. I'm no spastic
lying in the street. I'm no superstar elite. I'm just a person, human being.
NO YOU'RE NOT YOU'RE A PART OF THE MACHINE. You're a part of our machine,
because we want you to be. We've got you now and you'll never be free.
We can even have your body after you're dead. We can take the eyes out
of your fucking head. Yes we'll take them out, use them again. We can do
it you know cos we've got your brain. We'll crucify you like we crucified
him. We'll make you obey our every whim. We got the power, the power and
the glory. I've heard that before in a different story. But the story I
heard covered up the truth, didn't touch on the actual, factual proof.
Didn't say about the bodies in the concentration camps, didn't say about
the surgeon knives underneath the lamps, doesn't say the ovens are still
warm, doesn't say this wretched little form is a human being who wants
to live but not in the snot and shit they give.
They say that I had better keep quiet or they're gonna douse my light.
Jesus Christ can save my life, but I can always use the knife.
So what, so what, so what, so what, so what, so what, so what, SO WHAT.
Lyrics same as "Do They Owe Us A Living".
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