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Warriors of Style

Warriors!
"Yeah!"
Do you like fashion?
"Yeah!"
Do you like bombs?
"No!"
We are warriors and fashion, not bombs, is our weapons!
"Yeah!"

All behold the warriors going off to war
Sailing down your fantasies in a great big golden gondola
We charge into pop history with battle in our hearts
We are the best and we will not rest till we dominate the singles chart
We don't carry rifles or bullets or swords
The sharpest thing that we possess is our dress sense of course

We are warriors and fashion is our weapons
Tear your t-shirt off and throw it to the lions

Onward, upward, sideways, down to the record company
We rip the gold discs from the walls and melt them down for jewellery
Fascistic guards in horrendous clothes eject us through the door
Wise men say we should leave it there, but we've got to fight this bloody war
Heroes are sleeping, maidens are weeping
Robots are beeping in this world I've made up

We are warriors and fashion is our weapons
Tear your t-shirt off and throw it to the lions

And even though you fool your mates
That you don't like what you see
Down below that plain white vest
You're a dandy just like me

Don't cut off a warrior's head, it won't kill him, you know
He'll still be alive for an hour or so
Like the proverbial chicken, he's gonna give you a kickin'
And you are gonna be lickin' your wounds

Don't cut off a warrior's head, cos he'll still run around
He's gonna dance to the rhythm of the warrior sound
Don't giggle at the way he's got his wardrobe arranged
Because there's nothing Le Funny about Gary Le Strange

We are warriors and fashion is our weapons
Tear your t-shirt off and throw it to the lions

Wise men say that when all's said and done
You can't get any higher than Number One
But when the war is over and the battle's been fought
This record's gonna get to Number Nought

Doo diddle doodle diddle quacka wacka doo dum
Doo diddle doodle diddle quacka wacka doo dum



What Love Is

Imagine if I was an alien
Sent down from Outer Space to judge you all
Well, it's a good job I'm not
All I would see would be a load of wars
Disease and poverty and worst of all
This irritating, strange thing called love

I just don't understand what love is
I've heard about it but it doesn't really make any sense
I just don't understand what love is
Why don't you write me a guide?
I bet you can't if you tried
Many philosophers have struggled with it vainly and died

The truth is, love is just an evil lie
Perpetuated by the Government
It doesn't really exist
Society's completely full of fools
Who make us follow all these stupid rules
Like having girlfriends and children and picnics in the park
And singing silly little love songs, la-di-da, da-di-da

I just don't understand what love is
It sounds like just a load of compromise and shouting to me
I just don't understand what love is

It's just a horrible con
To make us all get along
Why don't we join as one and realise it's totally wrong?

I just don't understand what love is
I've never done it, but I'm sure it can't be good for your skin
I just don't understand what love is

I hope you all understand
If everything goes as planned
When I'm Prime Minister, I'm gonna have it totally banned

And if all the world was a slice of birthday cake
Then I'd be a solitary candle on its crust
Flame flickering in the winter wind
A wind so harsh that it blows the cake
Off the table top into a waiting bin
Then the council take the bin away
And fling its contents on a great big fire

I just don't understand what love is
I've thought about it every day for over 32 years
I just don't understand what love is

I don't think I wanna know
It's really causing me woe
I don't know really why you'd bother with it honestly though

I just don't understand what love is
This isn't bitterness, it's merely philosophical doubt
I just don't understand what love is
I think this topic is dead
I am not interested
I'm gonna go and read some comics and watch telly instead

Don't wanna know
Don't wanna know



Metal Boy

Robot! Robot!

I bought you from a bloke
I bought you from a bloke
He said you'd do the washing up, well that's a bloody joke

The minute you got wet
You bust your neural net
It blew up half the house and I was really quite upset

I ought to take you back
I ought to take you back
And ram you up his ass so hard, he has a heart attack

But every time I try
I cannot find that guy
Why did he sell you to me? Why?

You look just like a kid
You look just like a kid
Except you're made of metal and your head's a dustbin lid

You do not even work
You rusty little jerk
Come on and do the washing up, you stupid metal berk

You used to look so flash
But you're just a waste of cash
That's why I took your top off and I fill you with my trash

I beat you every day
I beat you every day
I smack you with a hammer but you still won't do it my way

Work! Work! Come on, work now
Work! Work! Or I'll beat you up
Work! Work! Come on, you lazy bugger
Work! Work! Little metal boy

I am the puppet master
You are my slave
I pull the strings and nothing happens
They're broken, you can't dance

I want to kill you
Except you're not alive
I want to put a brain inside you
So you can feel me hurting you

I don't feel bad about it
You silly little punk
You rotten heap of junk
You metal monkey
You smelly skunk

I ought to throw you in a skip
Or on a tip
Smash you into teeny-weeny bits
Or swap you for a bag of chips

Work! Work! Come on, damn you
Work! Work! Or I'll kick your ass

I remember when we used to run around and play
Hide and seek and table tennis in the garden
Sometimes you would bleep and in response I would say bloop
Then we'd feel a little daft and crack up laughing

How I wish we could have stayed that way
But something changed in you one day
So now I beat you up

My sleep is full of nightmares
I don't know why
I dream that you and all your mates
Are chasing me around my mansion

I try to hide
But no escaping
Your special heat-seeking radar
Finding me in every nook and cranny

You metal fanny
Leave me alone
What have I ever done to you
Pick on someone new

You used to be so quiet
Now you won't shut up
Always booping and ba-beeping
Ba-da-beep-beep-ba-ba-bo

It must have been the batteries
Maybe I forgot to plug you in
I feel a little foolish now
But it's much too late

Now you won't shut up
I can't sleep at night
No, you won't shut up
I can't sleep at night

Shut up!
I can't hear myself think any more!
Shut up, you stupid idiot!
You'll wake the neighbours!
Shut your face!

HOME

Modern Disguise

My legs are wheels
My arms are doors
My head's a sunroof
When I'm in my modern disguise

I've got the names
"Julie" and "Chris"
Written on my face
And I've got headlights for eyes

You wouldn't recognise me
You wouldn't recognise me
If you could see me bombing up and down the M63

I stand in the car park
Waiting for drivers
But no one wants to climb inside

I am refused entry to pubs
Because I don't fit through the door
I'm too wide

But you can come inside me
Yes, you can come inside me
Please take your boots off, will you?
I just paid to have it all cleaned

Keep your feet off my upholstery
Keep your feet off my upholstery

People victimise me
Joyride and vandalise me
Good job I'm wearing my protective armour-plated windscreen

There's a radio in my brain
I can pick the cops up on it
They tell me I can do whatever I please

I can drive on the right hand side
I can smash through the front of the supermarket
I can do whatever I like
I'm a car, not a boat or a plane or a bike

So you better fill me up with petrol
I don't run on steam, you know
Just strap your belt on and we'll go, go, go

We're gonna bomb around town
Knocking everybody down
I'm a massive limousine
I'm a killing machine

My legs are bombs
My arms are guns
My head's a bread knife
And my brain is made of grenades

I've got the words
"Satan" and "Shit"
Written on my bonnet
When I'm in my modern disguise


Photocopier

I trudge wearily down the endless, dank, musty corridor
To the photocopying machine,
The foetid stench of old filing cabinets and stale, cheap coffee
Permeating through the lining of my nostrils.
Carefully I lift the machine's heavy lid,
Press the green copy button
And gaze through the murky, transparent glass
Into the blinding, ever-shifting light.
The paper feeds into the plastic tray
And, as I hold it up to my scrutinising eye
I see the distinct, carbon-copied outline
Of my face

I am a dreary office clerk
At the end of a weary day at work
5.30 - got to run
But the boss wants some photocopying done

Take the documents to the machine
Lay them on the transparent screen
When it's done, I turn it off
But the photocopying will not stop

Pha-pha-pha photocopier
At the end of the gloomy corridor
Churning out facsimiles
Filling the world with paper paper

Photocopies all it sees
Sheep and cows and birds and bees
Even copies human beings
Till we all are paper

Got to run - see you later
Jump on the escalator
Which one's which? - oh no
These flimsy paper stairs won't go

Copies people, copies shops
Trees and cars and stars of pop
Boys and girls and crows and babies
Prints of the laughing sounds of ladies

Pha-pha photocopier
At the end of the gloomy corridor
When it's done, it does some more
Churning out p-paper pee-p-people

We lament all that it brings
For it only copies rubbish things
Like TV formats, mobile rings
And tasteless, trashy records

Load/Scan/Copy/Print

And, as the dark and dreadful days went by,
The photocopier grew in size
Until it was bigger than a football pitch
It copied everything - the walls, the floors,
The street outside, even me
I tried to flee, but everywhere I went,
Photocopies of people I used to know sprang up in front of me

And when the machine had copied everything on Earth
A million, zillion times
still it grew, until it was bigger than Saturn
And it photocopied the Universe so many times
Nobody could tell which was which

Pha-pha-pha photocopier
At the distant edge of Outer Space
Doesn't care about our fate
Churning out loads of universes

Someone stop this block of hate
It's bigger than the Empire State
Get Tom Baker on the case
But even he can't save us

And so we arrive at the end of our chilling story of the photocopier
You may sit there in your comfy armchair and scoff
But don't you see?
The photocopier is a metaphor for our corrupt consumer society
Which insatiably regurgitates the same old trash over and over again
While feebly trying to convince us
That everything we see and hear and taste is new
Don't you see?
You fool!
I'm Gary Le Strange and I'm glad I'm cleverer than you



Heart of Tears

I met a girl, she said her name was Mary
She was a veterinary secretary
She spent all day listening to meows, barks and croaks
Then spent all night dancing for money with blokes

She's really pushy when she's out on the pull
Her poison arrow shooting right through the bull
Like Jocky Wilson and Darth Vader combined
She threw a treble twenty into my mind

When love appears
Between the theres and heres

Beneath the sniggers and sneers
Scratch away the veneers
She got a heart of tears

Well, she was strictly of the sex persuasion
3 into 1, I second that equation
She played the nurse and I the evil doctor
Connected her to a machine and shocked her

Helped her fulfil the wet American dream
Smothered her in Mom's apple pie and whipped cream
She said she liked it but you never can tell
She liked embroidery and cooking as well

Love interferes
After one or two beers
And when the sedative clears
It can ruin careers
She got a heart of tears

Good God!
Bless my soul!

I'm always crying
And lying
And sighing
And dying
I'm dead

And then one day when it was bright and sunny
I won the pools and got a load of money
Gave her my heart with chips and peas on a plate
She scoffed it all and ran away with my mate

I got so mad I punched a hole in the dog
I flushed my golden lame suit down the bog
Got me a load of smack and Charlie and weed
And then I took it all at once and OD'd

Love disappears
In a couple of years
No souvenirs
On the beaches and piers
I got a heart of…

Well, you don't always have to judge by the book
You never always have to leap when you look
Don't count the crannies when you can't see the nook
Don't count the broth it takes to ruin the cook

What are words worth when they cannot speak?
What are birds worth when they don't have a beak?
Ah well, I shot myself in one foot and the other's in the grave
Think of the nines we'll save

 

 



Lyrics by Waen Shepherd 2003-2004
Copyright Control

 

 

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