Friday, October 05, 2007

Jeffrey Lewis & Helen Schreiner Cheer Us All Up



A wonderful reminder of Crass's near-adolescent contempt for ordinary folk.

Still, what great fucking songs.



"Do They Owe Us A Living? (Well?...Do They?)"

One - Two - Three - Four

Fuck the politically minded, here's something I want to say,
About the state of nation, the way it treats us today.
At school they give you shit, drop you in the pit,
You try and try and try to get out, but you can't because they've fucked you about.
Then you're a prime example of how they must not be,
This is just a sample of what they've done to you and me.

Do they owe us a living?
Of course they do, of course they do.
Owe us a living?
Of course they do, of course they do.
Owe us a living?
OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO.

Don't want me anymore, cos I threw it on the floor.
They used to call me sweet thing, I'm nobody's plaything,
And now that I am different, they'd love to bust my head,
They'd love to see me cop-out, they'd love to see me dead.

Do they owe us a living?
Of course they do, of course they do.
Owe us a living?
Of course they do, of course they do.
Owe us a living?
OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO.

The living that is owed to me I'm never going to get,
They've buggered this old world up, up to their necks in debt.
They'd give you a lobotomy for something you aint done,
They'll make you an epitomy of everything that's wrong.

Do they owe us a living?
Of course they do, of course they do.
Owe us a living?
Of course they do, of course they do.
Owe us a living?
OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO.

Don't take any notice of what the public think,
They're so hyped up with T.V., they just don't want to think.
They'll use you as a target for demands and for advice,
When you don't want to hear it they'll say you're full of vice.

Do they owe us a living?
Of course they do, of course they do.
Owe us a living?
Of course they do, of course they do.
Owe us a living?
OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO.



"Systematic Death"

System, system, system.
Death in life.
System, system, system.
The surgeon's knife.
System, system, system.
Hacking at the cord.
System, system, system.
A child is born.

Poor little fucker, poor little kid,
Never asked for life, no she never did.
Poor little baby, poor little mite,
Crying out for food as her parents fight.
Crying out for food as her parents fight.

System, system, system.
Send him to school.
System, system, system.
Force him to crawl.
System, system, system.
Teach him how to cheat.
System, system, system.
Kick him off his feet.

Poor little schoolboy, poor little lad,
They'll pat him if he's good and they'll beat him if he's bad.
Poor little kiddy, poor little chap,
They'll force feed his mind with their useless crap.
They'll force feed his mind with their useless crap.

System, system, system.
They'll teach her how to cook.
System, system, system.
Teach her how to look.
System, system, system.
They'll teach her all the tricks,
System, system, system.
Create another victim for their greasy pricks.

Poor little girly, poor little wench,
Another little object to prod and pinch.
Poor little sweety, poor little filly,
They'll fuck her mind so they can fuck her silly.
They'll fuck her mind so they can fuck her silly.

System, system, system.
He's grown to be a man.
System, system, system.
Taugh to fit the plan.
System, system, system.
Forty years of jobs.
System, system, system.
Pushing little buttons, pulling little knobs.

Poor fucking worker, poor little serf,
Working like a mule for half of what he's worth.
Poor fucking grafter, poor little gent,
Working for the cash that he's already spent.
Working for the cash that he's already spent.

He's selling his life,
She's his loyal wife,
Timid as a mouse,
She's got her little house,
He's got his little car,
And they share the cocktail bar
She likes to cook his meals,
You know, something that appeals.
Sometimes he works til late
So his supper has to wait,
But she doesn't really mind
Cos he's getting overtime.
He likes to put a bit away
Just for that rainy day,
Cos every little counts
As the cost of living mounts.
They do the pools each week
Hoping for that lucky break.
Then they'd take a trip abroad,
Do all the things they can't afford.
She'd really like to have a fur,
He's like a bigger car.
They could buy a bungalow,
With a Georgian door for show.
He might think of leaving work,
But no, he wouldn't like a shirk.
He'd much prefer to stay
And get his honest day's pay.
He's got a life of work ahead,
There's no rest for the dead.
She's tried to make it nice,
He's said thank-you once or twice.

System, system, system.
Deprived of any hope.
System, system, system.
Taught they couldn't cope.
System, system, system.
Slaves right from the start.
System, system, system.
Til death do them part.

Poor little fuckers, what a sorry pair,
Had their lives stolen, but they didn't really care.
Poor little darlings, just your ordinary folks,
Victims of the system and its cruel jokes.
Victims of the system and its cruel jokes.

The couple views the wreckage
And dreams of home sweet home,
They'd almost paid the mortgage,
Then the system dropped its bomb.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

If they had real jobs...mutter mutter...

For those of us who have vivid memories of passing through squats in Stoke Newington in the late 1980s that brings back quite a few memories. And the contempt was a characterisation of there too. For a fairly straight line euro-communist like myself it caused a certain cognitive dissonance...

Kudos incidentally to whoever transcribed the lyrics in the first place too...

John said...

Or Kennington and Brixton in the early 1980s. Indeed, that's how the John and Martin elements of this blog go tto know the Josep and Jordi elements. A couple of gigs at the cricketers (Eddie and the Hot Rods, Wild Willy Barrett, and That Petrol Emotion) and a few pints of Newcastle Brown in the bar of the Oval, if I remember correctly.

Anonymous said...

Them were the days. Many pints of Newcastle Brown. And the soundtrack... ah well..