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Lyrics and production by Jister
Mixed by Harbour Master
Looking for culture? There is no culture,
Just getting pissed going to work and voting for vultures,
And being confused but acting like you're not,
Pretending you've got the clue nobody's got.
And getting offended about people getting offended,
More than the people you say are getting offended,
We've gone too far right and what's left are snobs,
Spell women with an x you're probably a knob.
There's too much noise when there needs to be silence,
Contemplation between ambulance sirens,
Open-mindedness and honest reflection,
But we've gone too far in the wrong direction,
Substandard standards laughed at and left stranded,
The state of this island but I see no any anger,
Well, there's anger it's just misdirected and disjointed,
I would go on, it just feels a bit pointless...
It's. an. absolute bananabomb of confident idiocy,
Corruption and cronyism a lack of proficiency,
There's a bit of efficiency something they do well,
Stab you in the back and then point at someone else,
Fuck a youth club give us cuts and massive abandonment,
Clap for the NHS and then vote to dismantle it,
We're through the looking glass calling nurses amazing,
But when it comes to paying em? Spit in their faces.
Psychopathic natured fake smiles and statements,
Descendants of slavers lawbreakers are makers,
They do what they want cause they know that they can,
In the palm of a wrinkled hand the gormless class.
Gods are rags and you repeat what you read,
Don't consider the source just compose a tweet,
It's all been designed around your worst side,
And you're so well trained that it works every time.
Get your hands up in the class if you've got any class,
There's a deafening silence a distinct lack of hands,
Pathetic with the sedatives embarrassing predators,
Disingenuous degenerates and various etceteras,
I think we lost the battle of bitterness and sourness,
Blaming other people for shortcomings that are ours,
The bloke with the matches is blaming the one on fire,
As we sharpen the pitchforks as if we're not all just tired,
Content with mediocrity confidently complacent,
As nationalism notches up another battered nation,
And we look out at the world from this sad lonely basement,
Short man syndrome on a national basis,
The snake-oil salesman he calls it a day,
As he packs away the cure to what's made you insane,
Target sedated with a plague of hatred,
Funnelled into a collective consciousness that's vacant.
We followed the sirens now we're stuck on this island,
There's no rationalising it or chance of surviving,
Understandably upset but the pains self-inflicted,
Walking talking boring contradictions.
Bow down to the overlords the Eton massive,
Who in any other school would get absolutely battered,
But you followed 'em anyway spouting a narrative,
A narrative you didn't even form you just parroted.
It's proper embarrassing but it's where we're at,
Gone too far right and what's left is mad,
Orchestrated violence police state but proud of it,
Racist, sexist foundation that's floundering,
It's all gone a bit mental as I make plans to bail,
With a last look at a frail nation that's failed,
I pack my bags prep the cat for flying,
And wave from the last plane off normal island.
released July 5, 2021
Lyrics - Jister
Production - Jister
Vocal Mix - Harbour Master