1. |
Lockdown
02:34
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Lockdown
Armed forces, flogging dead horses.
Tomato sauces, salute the pie.
Border pig fortress, inhumane tortures,
all your Labor votes bought yas - drones in the sky.
Dead end culture, circles like a fucken vulture.
Mad Max payin' off speeding fines.
Yeah it's less like prison, more like being in fucken primary school, for the rest of your life.
Payin' out the arse, livin' by the book.
Snitch phone hotline, ringin' off the fucken hook.
Don't think too hard, you earn enough.
Off to Bali every other month, with your spoiled rotten fucken children,
but how long will the money last?
Watch your kids growin' up getting given the shaft.
Yeah I reckon one day it'll go real fast.
(Good bye) - There goes the dole.
There goes the minimum wage. They gave it to you.
And they can take it away.
Armed forces, flogging dead horses.
It's lockdown. Fucken lockdown.
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2. |
Safe In The Bubble
02:14
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Safe In The Bubble
Hysterical, jargonistic fit.
Sanitized social circle bit.
Strapped down to the throne on which you sit.
And given praise for every dummy that you spit,
as you give the undesirables the flick.
Flick.
Because you're safe in the bubble. Safe in the bubble.
You don't wanna rock the boat, won't make any trouble.
With your dogmas collapsing, I wait for the rubble.
Watch you running and ducking for cover on the double, yeah.
Puritanical purge from the Left, is sure to only galvanise the Right.
But you go on mate, go and get it off your chest.
Sit back and wait for all the fish to bite.
It's what they'll do just to keep out your line of sight.
Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke. Pop.
Because you're safe in the bubble. Safe in the bubble.
You don't wanna rock the boat, won't make any trouble.
With your dogmas collapsing, I wait for the rubble.
Watch you pop, pop, pop, pop, pop there goes the bubble.
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3. |
A Minute's Silence
02:44
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A Minute's Silence
Chuck a piss up at grave site. Beach front offense.
Jaeger bombs scream over head, hear the sound of the jet ski corps.
Chip off the ol' block, gunning pushie through the grid.
Monoculture, servo sunnies, can of Monster, pack of durries, fucken little shit.
Remember the martyr, laid down his life at Gallipoli
For prepackaged communities, stretched out as far as the eye can see,
it's Chemist Warehouse and Michel's Patisserie,
rendered brick and tin roof, mate. Forever.
House party in the suburbs, busted up by the dogs.
Coppers on horseback, cunts chuckin' rocks, Public Order Response.
Rising cost of ciggies, got your heart full of dread.
Kids kickin' holes in the walls of a derelict Asbestos shed.
Remember the martyr, laid down his life at Gallipoli
For Drum 'n' Bass and Ecstasy, Britannia's dear memory,
yeah, now how's the serenity? We'll send the ships back to the sea,
Herald Sons and Daughters sing with me:
We got the officers at every traino, with a holding cell around the back.
And a camera on every street corner, yeah he died - he fucken died for that.
And the officers at every traino, with a holding cell around the back.
And a camera on every street corner, yeah he died, cunt, he fucken died for that.
He fucken died for that.
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4. |
I'm A Prick
01:20
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I'm a Prick
I made a promise early on never to hide my distain.
I spent most arvos hanging out and throwing rocks at the trains.
And everybody saw potential if I'd just use my brains,
instead of running my mouth, or fucken swing my fists.
So many ways I had it easy but to that I was blind,
'coz I was way too busy getting punched out time after time.
And every body all around me got a piece of my mind.
I was a nasty little fucker with a big axe to grind. Look out.
Nah, I wasn't nice to the girls either.
Yeah, kids are arseholes, and I was no different.
And sometimes now I can see the irony.
But the question that remains - did I really ever change?
What will it take, to make it stick?
I'm a prick.
I'm a prick.
I'm a prick.
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, I'm a prick.
I'm a prick.
God, I'm a prick.
Yeah I'm a fucken prick.
Yeah. Yeah.
Yeah, I'm a prick.
Get fucked.
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