Crass - Stations Of The Cr@ssSTATIONS OF THE CR@SS


Mother? Mother? Mother? Chorus: She's the anti mother, mother is that you? She's the anti mother, mother, mother is that you?
It's Myra Hindley on the cover your very own sweet anti mother. There she is on the pages the Star, ain't that just the place you wish you were? Let her rot, let her starve, you'd see her dead. Let her out but don't forget to tell you where she is, the chance to screw her is a chance you wouldn't miss. Let her suffer, give her pain is the verdict you gave, you just can't wait piss on her grave. You pretend that you're horrified, make out that you care, but really you wish that you had been there. You say you can't bear the thought of what she did, but you'd it to her, you'd see her dead. Tell me, what is the difference between her and you? You say that you would kill her, well, what else would you do? Don't you see that violence has no end? Isn't limited by rules? Don't you see as angel preaching you're nothing but the fools? Fools step in, where angels fear to tread, you see, to kill others is the ethic of the dead.
That single mug shot from the past ensures your fantasy can last and last. It gives you the chance to air your hate because she got there f i rst, you were too I late. Hyndleys ' crime was to do what others think, took her anger and her prejudice and pushed it to the brink. Then you goodly christian people, with your sickly mask of love, would tear that woman limb from limb, you never get enough. So you keep the story alive, so you can make yourselves believe, that you are so much better than her. But you aren't, that's YOUR GUILT laying there.


They said that we were trash, well the name is crass, not clash. They can stuff their punk credentials cause it's them that take the cash. They won't change nothing with their fashionable talk, their RAR badges and their protest walk, thousands of white men standing in a park, objecting to racism's like a candle in the dark. Black man's got his problems and his way to deal with it, so don't fool yourself you 're helping wi th your white liberal shit. If you care to take a closer look at the way things really stand, you'd see we're all just niggers to the rulers of this land. Punk was once an answer to years of crap, a way of saying no where we'd always said yep. But the moment we found a way to be free they invented a dividing line, street credibility. The qualifying factors are politics and class, left wing macho street fighters willing to kick arse. They said because of racism they'd come out on the street. It was just a form of fascism for the socialist elite. Bigotry and blindness, a marxist con, another clever trick to keep us all in line. Neat little labels to keep us all apart, to keep us al1 divided when the troubles start. Pogo on a nazi, spit upon a jew, vicious mindless violence that offers nothing new. Left wing violence, right wing violence, all seems much the same, bully boys out fighting, it's just the same old game. Boring fucking politics that'll get us all shot, left wing, right wing, you can stuff the lot. Keep your petty prejudice, I don't see the point, ANARCHY AND FREEDOM IS WHAT I WANT.


Out of the chaos we divide, f ucked up, muddled up, looking for a side. Stay on the outside, don't go in, don't think that you can do it, if you sell out they win. It's not like that the changes are made, give in to them, your chances are delayed. You'll feed with your energies the the things that you hate, diluting your strength each time they say yes. Their hands are big, they've got big hands, big hands, big hands etc. You're talking with sounds they don't understand, big hands etc. They've got big mouths to shout demands, big hands etc. They'll let you past a couple of times, big hands etc. You think you're getting somewhere, you're fucking blind big hands etc. This structure stretches, it'll bend, but not break, big hands etc. This system channels any threat that you make, big hands etc. It will do almost anything to accomodate, accomodate you and your 1iberal ideas. You're the child in their garden, the dog on their lead their token to changes that are never made. Can't you see that for centuries it's been the same, plenty like you been seduced to the game. The chain ' s still as tight, won't let in the light, can you tell me what's different? Whose hopes you will feed? Will you feed their arses, will you feed their hands? Big hands etc.


They sell us 1ove as divinity, when i t's only a social obscenity. Underneath we're all lovable
Chorus: Hello hero, hero hello. Hello hero, hello hello. Hello hero, hero hello. Hello hero, hero hello. Hello, hello, hello, hello.
Obscene sentimental, hero hello.
Obsession, obsession, hello, hello.
Desire for protection, hero hello.
Protect your possession, Enola hello.
Possession, possession, hero hello.
Protect your obsession, hero hello.
Obsession, obsession, hello, hello.
Obscene sentimental hero hello.
Obscene sentimental, obsession obsession.
Desire for protection, protect your possession.
Possession, possession, protect your obsession.
Obsession, obsession, obscene sentimental.
Protection, protection.


You can swear by who the fuck you like, but you're still on the roof. I'm not gonna change the system, they're not gonna change the system, we're not gonna change the system, where does that leave you? Where does that leave me? Jumping up and down to a bunch of tools, the organisation treat us like fools. They can't he1p it, they didn't make the rules, it's just the system again, BOLLOCKS. Bind us round with ignorance, fit us up with a petty stance. Fill us up with cheap romance, leave no option, no chance. What've they got? Fuck all? NO. What've they got? A swimming pool. Where did they get it? Follow the rules. System, system, system. Keeping their fingers on the breaks, down the ladders, up the snakes. Buy the band and call the tune, nah.

Crass - Station Of The Cr@ss


They're telling you to do it, grow up and tow the line, they tell you if you do it, everything will turn out fine. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, what a wonderful life, god,queen, country, colour telly car and wife. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, what a wonderful life, god, queen, country, colour telly car and wife. It's great if you can do it, it doesn't take a lot, just means you must destroy what sensitivity you've got. Well, that's an easy bargain for the things you're going to get, you can treat the wife like shit, own a car, a telly set. Slip off in the evenings for a little on the sly, and if the wife complains, fuck her first, then black her eye. There's lot of worthwhile jobs for the lad who wants to know, lorry driving's fun, you're always on the go. One hand on the wheel, the other up some cunt, or jerking off to penthouse with the motorway up front. The police force offers chances for a bright intelligent lad, to interfere with anyone cos they're there just to be had. lt offers q u i t e a range for aggression and for spite, to take out your frustrations in a justifiable light. It's a mans' life in the army, good pay and lots of fun, you can stab them with your bayonet, fuck them with your gun. Look smart in your uniform, that always pul1s the skirt, then when you've fucked them good and proper, tel1 them they're just dirt. Cos man is spelt big M.A.N. it's the letters of the law. Man i s spelt big M.A.N. that's who the 1aw is for. You see there's lots of chances in this 1and of hope and glory, try and make your own rules, that's a different story. If you're a man, you'd better act like one, develope your muscles, use your prick like a gun. Fuck anything that moves, but never pay the price, steal, fuck, slaughter, that's their advice. Are you a man enough? Ask the posters on the walls, have you got what it takes? Guts and balls? Keep your myth of manhood, it's been going on too long, a history of slaughter is the proof that it is wrong. Big man, big M.A.N. Big man, big M.A.N. Big wrong. Big man, big M.A.N. big man, big M.A.N. Big man J.O.K.E. big man, what a fuckin g joke.

HURRY UP GARRY (the parsons farted)

The bastards, what are they playing at? Don't like the music, don't like the words, don't like the sentiments, well keep it for the bi rds and bees, boys, bastards. Yes, that's right, I stepped out of line, what do you want? What do you want? As long as I play it moderate, that's fine, well, fuck off runt, fuck off runt. Pick your nose with your ball pen, stick your snot in sounds, back to your play pen with your street cred minds. You whimper and whine from the pages of the press, ridicule and criticise those that want to change this mess. There's people out here who are trying to live, people who care, now, what do you give? So many parasites living off our sweat, so many fuckers in for what they can get, punk ain't about your standards and your rules, the fools. You sit behind your typewriters shovelling shit, rotting in the decadence of your crap lined pit, waiting for the action so you can grab a part, but it stinks so bad where you come from, who's going to smell your fart?
piss of, you fucking stink.


Maybe you think it's the new new wave, when all it is is just another rave. Maybe it looks like the writing on the wall, but you've seen it before, it's another death pall. So somebody's coming with the answer to the crap, well it's just bad rock and roll chivvied up a bit. Someone's looking after it, there's time for a laugh, but you're leading yourself up another garden path. A million people are sitting of work, I never wanted in, I'm treated as a shirk. Who's the fool in the Irish joke when the say you've got is your stupid vote. It's all very comfy while they keep the war vocal the bombs in Belfast are comi ng down your local. I wanna know how much you can take, cos you've taken it all, and that 's just great. Go and see a band and it's another fucking bore, another bunch of jerks are chitting on the poor. Or you might just get the adrenalin rush, or the jock rot heavy metal leg iron gush. Ave fucking maria is what I say, she's still going strong and it won't go away. You can run religion on a football chant, or the other way around if that's what you want. You can get anyone crawling through shit, skivvying their lives away, slaving in the pit. All you need is to have the right key, comfort and justice and liberty. Hi mum, hi dad, family life, 'til your heart blows up from those shitty 1ies. Have some fun while you're young, son, fun while you're young. Fun fun fun, it's gonna go on etc.


Don ' t want to bury my head in the crutch of society, perverted parent that takes my energy, sucking me dry with your morals, your threats, christ, your queen, your politics. Fucking hypersensitive, super realist humanity, l'm one of your super hybred community. Commutes the arsehole of the economy. Watch out, watch out, it's all about, reversion's setting in, and I can see you, staring at me with your seizured brain, trying to put me down the drain again. Well you're too smart, right from the start, I learned it well that the truth will tell and you're done for, it's what the son's for, that's what the gun's for, it's what I come for, you better run bore, you better run bore.


I ve heard too much about the people in the ghetto, heard too much about the working class motto. How you don't know life if you ain't seen the street, racialist poor against the racialist elite. A million people in factory and office, aware there's something missing, but living with their losses. There's no fight to get where they'd rather be, only the accepting of dependency. Wait in the shop, for what you ain't got, lyi ng on the beaches for the social elite. Working 9 to 4, revolved round more, fear, guilt, abuse, love and moral truth. War in your bedroom, bodies in your fridge, domestic violence, the tomb you dig. Rules for survival, rules that they wrote, thinking it's your freedom when it's rammed down your throat. Choose your family, on the boundary, choose what school, no choice at all. Choose what church, it allows you to hurt, choose your power, is choosing your hour.

Crass - Station Of The Cr@ss


Tiring moments, fucked up minds, empty faces, eyes that are blind. Flick through the papers, car crash, death, vacant pages offer no breath. Of hope, future, possibility, to those fucked up mindless people who haven't got the eyes to see that the pages of the guardian or the pages of the sun, are just a load of fucki ng lies, are just a fucking con. Why do they us rubbish? Why do they feed us shit? Is this really what they think we want? Scrapings from the pit? Why don't they give us something which isn't just their lies, their own particular angle from their own unseeing eyes? I'm the chairman of the bored, and I'm asking for some truth. I'm the chairman of the bored, and I'm looking for some proof, that there's something more than their fucked up game, that their mindless lives and mine aren't the same. I'm looki ng for something that I can call my own, which ain't a ford cortina or a mortgage on a home. I 'm the chairman of the bored, and I ' m asking for some truth. I'm the chairman of the bored, and I'm looking for some proof.


What do you want? What do you want? I'm tired of adrenalin soaked fools, tired of idiots playing with the rules, know it's not a thing that a man would do, but you get the same rush by jumping a bus queue. Tired of bully boys looking for a fight, I'm not a hard nut, so stuff it, right? They really got you in a down trodden state, hopelessley, endlessly, heavily, totally straight. What do you want? What do you want? I'm tired of playing with vice, tired of hash heads trying to be nice. Do you feel insulted when they pull out the dope? Synthetic togetherness, token for a toke. Do you get a buzz when you reminisce? "Too much man, it was better than this," I don't want a relativity talk, if that's the bus ride, I think I'd rather walk. What do you want? What do you want? I don't want it you can take it back, I don't want to face another attack, shits al1 running round looking for a crack, wannanother corpse to put on the stack. What do you want? What do you want?

WALLS (fun in the oven)

Desires, desire, desire, desire, describe desire defile,deny. Defile cesire, deny, desire, describe, describe, describe, describe. No air to breathe inside your walls, left to dream inside your walls. Left us in a wilderness, well I can make my paradise. Without your walls I am alive, no body I, in rank and file. Girl and boy and man wife, flesh you measure with a smile. Have and hold and hold and have, have and hold and hold and have. Desire, deny, deny, desire, have a child to justify. Images that you apply, I won't bow my head in shame. I won't play the game the same, without your walls I am alive. Without your walls we al survive, without your walls no guilt to bear. Without your love, our love to share, without your wal1s I am alive. Without your walls I am alive.


You have this life what for? Tel I me. Spend it on shit, your ignorance appals me. You serve me your morals, changed for a fiver, upright citizen, penthouse subscriber. You won't print the word, but you'11 beat up the wife, in your ignorant, arrogant, terminal 1ife. You have this life, you deprive me of mine, with your twisted, imbalanced idea of sin. That revolves around money; how much are you bought for? A tenners, a fiver, is that what you're caught for? I'm sick your pride, you think you can rule me, with crappy judgements from your respectable majority. Majority of what? You self oppressed idiot, I'm not going to carry you, I'm no compatriot. How many times do I excuse and forgive the damage inflicted by the way that you live? I hold my vision against your agression, your final defence, your only possession. I'll show you the blood, but you still point the gun, if the money's enough, or can you show you're a man? To your submissive wife, desperate whore; home loving, mothering, stifling bore. You have this life, you twist and abuse it, morals and money and media controls it. Can't you see the dead children, blood in the street? Every fist that you raise is a corpse at your feet. Every time you are bought, I don't care the amount, you are the rapist, dealing in death count. And you do this with mercenary morals, you shit, oh, you've been told about dignity down in the pit. Respectable working man, horourable wife? A waste of energy and an insult to life.


What will you do when the gas taps turn? Where wi11 you be when the bodies burn? Will you just watch as the cattle trucks roll by? Pretend it isn't happening? Turn a blind eye? Have you seen the army convoys quietly passing by? Heard the helicopters in your little bit of sky? Have you seen the squad cars packed with boys in blue? Have you ever wondered what they're there to do? Pictures in the papers of soldiers in the street, pictures in the history books of rotting human meat. Auschwitz's now a tourist spot for the goggle eyed to pry, still in working order for you and I. Photos of the victims, of gas, of gun, of bomb, inheritance of violence in the bookshelves of your home. Don't wait for it to come to you, cos come it surely will, the guardians of the state are trained to search, destroy and kill. There's people sitting at this moment, fingers on the trigger, there's loyalty and royalty to make their violence figure. Allegiance to the flag, they say, as they lock the prison door, allegiance to normality, that's what lobotomies are for. God, queen and country, they say we've got the choice, free speech for all if you've got no voice. Propoganda on the airwaves, here's the way to live, it's not for you and me the alternative. They look for peace in Ireland with a thousand squaddy boys, torture in their mental homes is another of their ploys. They'll keep us all in line, by christ, they'll keep us on our toes, but if we stand against their power we'll see how violence grows. Read it in the paper about rebelious youth, but it's them that are so violent, it's them that hide the truth. Stay in line, or pay the cost, do you think they care when another life's lost? To ashes at auschwitz it's just a small leap, from coshes at southall, life is cheap. Don't think that they won't do it, cos they already do, but this time round the pawns are me and you.


I am not he, nor master, nor lord, no crown to wear, no cross to bear, in stations. I am not he, nor shall be, warlord of nations. These heroes have run before me, now dead upon the flesh piles, see? Waiting for their promised resurrection, there is none. Nothing but the marker, crown or cross, in stone upon these graves. Promise of the ribbon was all it took, where only the strap would leave it's mark upon these slaves. What flag to thrust into this flesh, rag, bandage, mop in their flowing death. Taken aside, they were pointed a way, for god, queen and country, now in silence they lie. They ran before these masters, children of sorrow, as slaves to that trilogy they had no future. They believed in democracy, freedom of speech, yet dead on the flesh piles I hear no breath, I hear no hope, no whisper of faith from those that have died for some others' privilege. Out from your palaces, princes and queens, out from your churches, you clergy, you christs, I'll neither live nor die for your dreams. I'll make no subscription to your paradise.


Chorus: Cause a disturbance, don't let this slide by, do you want to end up a macdonalds french fry? Atomic power, atomic power, death shower, maggies power.
The dust is settling, ticking in your brain, ain't imagination gonna blow you away. Who cares a fuck as it's work for the people? Compromised labour you build your death with. Cheaper goodies, more time with the family, don't be fooled with their gesture of equality. The only thing that's equal is your own rotting corpse, staring at each other to see who'll make it first.
She holds i t over you, you won't hear a thi ng, no great contender to help the people win. Another white paper gets waved in the air, a victory for the modern world, but you won't be there. Are you gonna let it shower over you? The new great energy that sucks off yours, giving all you wanted as it settles in your pores, make it known just this once that people ain't toys. Cause a disturbance, cause a fucking noise, atomic power is just another of their ploys, to build their firepower and defend the nation, they expose us to contamination. Contamination etc. Contains the nation, that old sensation. Contamination etc. Cause a disturbance , cause a f ucking noise, atomic power is just another of their ploys. TO BLOW YOU RIGHT AWAY.


They're using skateboards as spastic chairs for the leg1ess fuckers who fought your affairs, they're moulding babies' dummies with a permanent smile to put the bleeders early in rank and file. They're giving you a chance to be a plastic wrap, around the doggies' meat can, full of fucking crap. They're making little dollies, they tell you "it's a boy," Baby brother tender love to bring you lots of joy. They're making plastic families, all neighbourly folk, so she can wash and dress them, what a fucking joke. They're teaching little johnny to shoot the gun, "a terrific way," says father, "to get to know your son." Spare parts, body parts, I'm somebody. Ever seen the arms and legs of some poor squaddy? There's signs in the food stores, advertising meat, beef blade, chuck roast, last you all the week. They're telling you you like it, you're saying that you do, they don't have to force it and tell you how to chew. You swallow it whole, without a fucking squeak, sitting there quietly and up they creep. You think you're fucking different, you think it's you and them, if they asked you a question you'd ask them when. You think you're hard done by, but you just want the same, chicken thighs, human thighs, it's all the same old game. Well, you made the choice, money, sex and crime, tight little egos asking for the time. Well I ain't got it, you can sit in your pit, middle class, working class, it's all a load of shit.


Chorus: Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Well I've got it all up here, see? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? When they think they've got it all out there, see? They can fuck off, they ain't got me, they can't buy my dignity, oh yeah, oh yeah, let me tell you, I've got it up here, see?
They tried to get me with a t.v. show, but I wouldn't have none of it, no, no, no. Standards and values on a black and white screen, sarah farah fawcett acting mean. She's got the lot, that's what they want you to think, but read between the lines, you'll see the missing link. She's just a fucking puppet in their indocrination plan, "be like me girls, become a real man," live to the full, always act flash, don't use your brains when the body makes the splash.
They tried to get me in the supermarket store, bought what I wanted, then they said "buy more." Mountains of crap that nobody really needs, gaily coloured wrappers to suit assorted greeds. They've got the lot, that's what they want you to think, read between the lines, you'll see the missing link. Buy this product pay for the crap, a quarter for the product, three quarters for the wrap. Be a happy family, like the people on the pack, pay up to the profit markers, you'll never look back.
They tried to get me with their learning and their books, deep understanding and intelligent looks, but all of the time, they never saw me, they were just looking for what they wanted to see. They've got the lot, that's what they want you to think, read between the lines, you'll see the missing link. The books are easy backs for what they want to do to you, bind you up in slavery for the privileged few, they'll prove their lies with history, say "that's the way it always was, accept the shit and serfdom, be one of us."
They tried to get me with religion and with christ, said I'd get to heaven if I acted real nice, but they were just preparing a crucifix for me, a life of quilt, of sin, of pain, of holy misery. They've got the lot, that's what they want you to think, read between the lines, you'll see the missing link. The bible's just a blue print of their morality scene, just another load of shit on how it's never been. They stand there in the pulpit, doling out their lies, offering forgiveness, then they talk of eyes for eyes.
They try to get me, but I won't be got, they say I'm a misfit, I say I'm not, I never set out to prof it from another, those smarmy bastards would steal from their mother. They've got the lot, that's what they want you to think, read between the lines, you'll see the missing link. They plundered and slaughtered in the name of truth, acceptance of normality is what they want from you as proof, they think they've got the answers, but there's one thing that they miss, their cup which overfloweth, is just FULL UP OF PISS.

Crass - Stations Of The Cr@ss

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