Three days

Three months

Three days

Three months

A treatise

A treatise

To explain these

First was cash 'n' carry house dance

In Lancashire they're A

In King Nat Ltd. empire

Kwik Save is there

The scene started here

Then was America







Then was America

We went there

Big A&M Herb was there**

His offices had fresh air

But his rota was mediocre

US purge, rock 'n' pop filth

Their material's filched

And the secret of their lives

Is...







All the English groups

Act like peasants with free milk

On a route

On a route to the loot

To candy mountain

Five wacky English proletariat idiots

Californians always think of sex

Or think of death

Five hundred girl deaths

A Mexico revenge, it's stolen land

They really get it off on

"Don't hurt me please"

Rapist fill the TVs

And the secret of their lives

Is S.E.X..







I have dreams, I can see

Carloads of negro Nazis

Like Faust with beards

Hydrochloric shaved weirds







[Applause from audience at Cyprus Tavern ]







This was going to be called crap rap fourteen,

but it's now Stop Mithering.

The things that drain you off and drive you off the hinge.

Boils, dirty socks, the ceilings collapse.

The Sunday morning loud lawn mower,

the upstairs Jewish girl damn hoovering every thirty minutes, 

from valium cig withdrawal.

She wants communal, fluent flat household.

I want privacy.

The bastard dentist doctors surgery,

Clip, clop, ring, knock, ring

Stop mithering***







The estates stick up like stacks

The estates stick up like stacks

The residents keep wild dogs

And on that father's bedroom closet top,

electric blanket boxes

Surplus jonnies, demob pictures

To their children they sing

Stop mithering







You think you've got it bad with thin ties,

miserable songs synthesized, or circles with A in the middle.

Make joke records, hang out with Gary Bushell,

Join round table. "I like your single yer great!"

A circle of low IQ's.

There are three rules of audience.

My journalist acquaintances, go soft, go places,

on record company expenses.

I lose humor, manners become bog writers, don't know it.

The smart hedonists, same as last verse, allusions with

H in electronics, on stage false histrionics,

Corpse mauling dicks, pose through a good film, him, him

Stop mithering







I'm not joining conventional rock band.

The conventional is experimental, the conventional is now

experimental,

And is no way noble, and I'm no chock stock thing.

So stop mithering.

Engineers save up for cars.

I try to let down their tyres with matches to make them molten.

Ouch! Ouch!

They say I rip off Johnny Rotten

They always strike for more pay.

They say "See yer mate..Yeh...see yer mate"

To their mothers they sing

Stop mithering







He even did fail the penile tissue test.

He hangs out for sex.

He enters magazine contest.

White tan horror in the mirror.

Spotty exterior hides a spotty interior.

He's not your enemy.

He's not your enemy, his name is not Harry.

The secret of Cash and Carry.