1. |
The King Vs. The Fuzz
04:37
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It was only when they got a little closer I could see it in their eyes
Swaggering like sailors, rolling shoulders, it’s a spider and fly
Pushed against the wall and then relieved of both my wallet and pride
We are here for your protection, sir
An arrangement we advise you swiftly learn
Smiler said to Scowler shall we do him for his packet of herbs?
We’ll take a little something for our trouble and the hour after work
No one believe you, son; believe me, that’s just one of the perks
Our lives are ugly and our pleasures small
And who could blame the soldiers for the war?
All the big piggies lied; try and act surprised
When they hang all the little piggies out to dry.
Too crooked to lay straight in bed
And the accusatory dead
Are circling above like vultures
Above like vultures (We're here for your protection, sir)
Above like vultures (This we advise you swiftly learn)
Above like vultures (Imperious, we yearn)
Above like vultures and down in the mud like worms
All the big piggies lied; try and act surprised
When they hang all the little piggies out to dry.
Too crooked to lay straight in bed
And the accusatory dead
Are circling above like vultures
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2. |
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A word for pompous fools in London Town:
You grew up drinking bolly and saying “Yah!” in stately grounds
You spent our hard-earned pay on hookers and cocaine
Now you fuckers want us to pay when you’ve let us down!
No way, no how
Oh, the playing fields of Eton
Are where the dream was beaten
Oh, the playing fields of Eton
Well, pardon my profanity
But it means the fucking world to me
I was always taught that I was free
But this is nothing like democracy
You’re no kind of expert on my life
I’d like to spend the evening with your wife
If you’ve never missed a meal
And you’ve never had to steal
And you’ve never ever seen the world
Come crashing down around your ears
Then you can’t speak for me
Oh, the playing fields of Eton
Are where the dream was beaten
Oh, the playing fields of Eton
Well, pardon my profanity
But it means the fucking world to me
I was always taught that I was free
But this is nothing like democracy
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3. |
Midnight Trudger
03:02
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Whither goest thou, oh Midnight Trudger?
Do you walk towards a dealer or a lover?
Are you counting off the steps unto another?
Or marching for the glory of the night?
Are you tired of underpasses?
Tired of the taxi'd masses?
Why do they need to hurry?
Cos they're the last to know but the first to worry
What's in that bag you carry, Midnight Trudger?
Provisions for the journey or just drugs, yeah?
Are you eluding justice at a strut there?
Or working for a family sleeping sound?
Are you tired of petrol stations?
Tired of suspicious faces?
Life, I have discovered
Is first one foot, man, then the other
Where ends the road you travel, Midnight Trudger?
In victory or the workhouse or the gutter?
Secrets in the deeps between two lovers
Caught between the devil and the dawn
Are you tired of the dead-eyed captured?
Tired of the rain-soaked raptures?
I am not your brother
I'm just passing through - I'm the Midnight Trudger
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4. |
Pretty Words
04:38
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Father came home late from work today
Soaking wet and with a gaze as grey as slate
I watched the raindrops and the tears run down his face
And we both gave thanks for rain
It was the winter of the disconnect
When angry voices set the parliament aflame
The inner-cities felt the power of disdain
And we all fall down again
I’ve been dying to meet you
I’ve been dying to set things right
Don’t worry about it!
I got this whole thing figured out
Cross my palm with dirty silver
Lock the door on your way out
I got the union leader waiting
I got the army on my side
I got the generals in my pockets
Just face the hellish grind
Mother stares at empty shelves again
An outward calm belies a heart that’s full of lead
In secret moments she pretends that she is dead
But this life goes on instead
It was the summer that the harvest died
And hungry faces stalked the barren country lanes
I’m not a cynic but these stories end the same
Because we all are puppets made
I’ve been dying to meet you
I’ve been dying to set things right
Don’t worry about it!
I got this whole thing figured out
Cross my palm with dirty silver
Lock the door on your way out
I got the union leader waiting
I got the army on my side
I got the generals in my pockets
Just face the hellish grind
Alright?
You got yours and I got mine
So I pound the cobblestones alone
And curse the force of pretty words
They won’t fool everyone
Don't think about it
Just talk about it
The force of pretty words
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King Goon Swansea, UK
"Hailing from various far-flung outposts of the South Wales valleys and beyond, King Goon play a lunatic and frenetic mixture of ska, punk, folk and noisy rock and roll, that's guaranteed to wear some tread off your dancing shoes."
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