Sex on the porchHe shoots and scores
Kids 'round the way sulk with hands in their pockets
A nation stares
Too bored to care
Here in the suburbs
It's the pulse of the new breed
Bookish and smart
Majored in art
Stillborn and swearing
They won't take what's on offer
She's dressed in black
Certainly scorned
Here in the clubs
It's the birth of a riot
We are the scene
The new disease
Glitter and sweatervests are suddenly in vogue
We are the scene in magazines
This is the sound of your radio on fire
We are the scene on T.Vscreens
Glitter and sweatervests are suddenly in vogue
We are the scene
The new regime
Pissing in streets
Sleep in stained sheets
No talk of peace
All we want is disruption
Burn down the shopping malls
We'll feast on the rich kids
Restless and bored
We're the bane of your household
Your only choice
Your last resort
Put on your makeup
Lose yourself in the dark lights
Nirvana's dead
Pop music's dead
Your home sweet home
It's the death of a riot
Don't need to know
Don't need to care
About the sound of noise we're making
You're being warned
You've been warned
This time of being boring has ended
Don't talk of scenes
There's no scene
Pathetic rejects in their armchairs
Take back the night
Bring back the sound
This is the sound of your culture at war