The Style Council

The Style Council - A Gospel songtekst

Je score:


Handed down from fathers to sons

Was the hatred of weakness and the love of guns

A talk of peace but not in our time

To save our souls and stop the crime

Onwards and upwards but going nowhere

So how many now truthfully swear

That they do no evil - see no wrong

The ad-mass agents, the writers of song

The bankers, the poets, the modern day seers

Clouding an issue that was never quite clear



Sent through the ages of boy to man

The living testament of making a stand

Killing the wicked then raising the dead

Eating propaganda and shit spoon fed

Grasping for wisdom, but thick all the same

So how many innocents now can claim

That they play with fire - and get burnt

And through the same mistakes never get learnt

Hoping for a time it will fall to place

Faith shall show as our saving grace



Handed down from God with love

Was the whole wide world and some above

But not content to share the land

Greed was shown the winning hand

And those whose greed was the strongest of all

Took upon themselves to lead the call

That some must work while other rest

Without the question of what is best

The leaders, the losers and the kings

Pass the rifle butt that tyranny brings



Passed on over to the chosen few



Was the promise of freedom with a breadline queue

Ghetto's, gateaux and eating it too

Forcing it all down with a cola brew

The first amendment and the hunt for reds

A conscious contradiction with something said

That they see no evil - with eyes shut tight

A cocaine culture that offers no fight

Dragged from birth - drugged to death

The common excuse is 'just being yourself'



Hand us down before it's too late

The strength and wisdom to change our state

Governed by evil and all it will bring

I can't wait for the day they do the lamppost swing

And no mercy should they be shown

For you cannot reason with the devil's own

They say, they hear no evil - hands clasped tight

To shut out the victims' screams of ol' Uncle Sam fights

He sweats and he strains as his boney frame comes -





into the womb of an innocent one
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Taal: Engels

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