CRASS

ASYLUM
DO THEY OWE US A LIVING?
END RESULT
THEY'VE GOT A BOMB
PUNK IS DEAD
REJECT OF SOCIETY
GENERAL BACARDI
BANNED FROM THE ROXY
G'S SONG
FIGHT WAR, NOT WARS
WOMEN
SECURIOR
SUCKS
YOU PAY
ANGELS
WHAT A SHAME
SO WHAT


CRASS:
Steve Ignorant / lead vocals
Eve Libertine / voice on Asylum
Joy De Vivre / voice on Women
Phil Free / lead guitar / backing vocals
Pete Wright / bass / vocals on Securicor / Sucks / You Pay
Penny Rimbaud / drums / radio
G. / Artwork


ASYLUM

I am no feeble Christ not me. He hangs in glib delight upon his cross, above my body. Christ forgive. FORGIVE? I vomit for you Jesu. Shit forgive. Down from your cross. Down from your papal heights, from that churlish suicide petulant child. Down from those pious heights, royal flag bearer, goat, billy. I vomit for you. Forgive? Shit he forgives. He hangs in crucified delight nailed to the extent of his vision, his cross, his manhood, violence, guilt, sin. He would nail my body upon his cross, suicide visionary, death reveller, rake, rapist, lifefucker, Jesu, earthmover Christus, gravedigger, you dug the graves of Auschwitz, the soil of Treblinka is your guilt, your sin, master, master of gore, enigma. You carry the standard of your oppression. Enola is your gaiety. The bodies of Hiroshima are your delight the nails are your only trinity, hold them in your corpsey gracelessness, the image I have had to suffer. The cross is the virgin body of womanhood that you defile. You nail yourself to your own sin. Lame arse Jesus calls me sister there are no words for my contempt, every woman is a cross in his filthy theology, his arrogant delight. He turns his back upon me in his fear, he dare not face me. Fearfucker. Share nothing you Christ, sterile, impotent, fucklove prophet of death. You are the ultimate pornography, in your cuntfear, cockfear, manfear, womanfear, unfair warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare. JESUS DIED FOR HIS OWN SINGS, NOT MINE


DO THEY OWE US A LIVING?

Fuck the politically minded, here's something I want to say, about the state of the nation, the way it treats us today. At school they give you shit, drop you in the pit, you 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.
Do they owe us a living? Of course they do, of course they do.
Do they ow us a living? OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO.

They don't want me anymore, cos I threw it on the floor. They used to call me sweet thing but 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.

Chorus
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 ain't done, they'll make you an epitome of everything that's wrong

Chorus
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 what to hear it they'll say you're full of vice.

Chorus


END RESULT

I am a product. I am a symbol, of endless, hopeless, fruitless, aimless games.

I'm a glossy package on the supermarket shelf. My contents aren't fit for human consumption. My ingredients will seize up your body's function. I am the dirt that everyone walks on. I am the orphan nobody wants. I am the staircarpet everyone walks on. I am the leper nobody wants to touch ......... much.

I am a sample. I am a scapegoat of useless, futureless, endless, mindless ideas.

I am a number on the paper you file away. I'm a portfolio you stick in the drawer. I'm the fool you try to scare when you say, "We know all about you, of that you can be sure," well, I don't want your crazy system, I don't want to be on your files. Your temptations I try to resist them cos I know what hides beneath your smiles, it's ....... E.S.T.

I am a subject. I am a topic for useless, futureless, endless, mindless debates.

You think up ways that you can hide me from the naive eyes of your figurehead, but don't you find that it ain't easy? Wouldn't you love to see me dead? Your answer is to give me treatment for crying out when you give me pain, leave me with no possible remnant, you poke your knives into my brain, you send me insane.

I'm an example. I'm no hero of the great, intelligent, magnificent, human race.

I'm part of the race that kills for possessions, part of the race that's wiping itself out. I'm part of the race that's got crazy obsessions like locking people up, not letting them out. I hate the living dead and their work in factories. They go like sheep to their production lines. They live on illusions, don't face the realities, all they live for is that big blue sign, it says...Ford. I'M BORED, BORED, BORED.


THEY'VE GOT A BOMB

They won't destroy the world, no, they're not that crazy. You're not dealing with the town hall. They're not crazy. No political solution so why should we bother? Well whose fucking head do you think they're holding it over?

FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.

They can't wait to use it. They can't wait to use it. They can't wait to try it out. They can't wait to use it. They've got a bomb. They've got a bomb and they can't wait to use it on me.

Twenty odd years now waiting for the flash, all of the oddballs thinking we'll be ash. Well the four minute warning has run on into years, are we waiting for them to confirm our fears?

FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.

Chorus
They can build them small, call it tactical. Stop the fallout, make it practical to smash the misfits who foul up their scene with the practical, tactical, killing machine.

FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. FIRE.

Chorus


PUNK IS DEAD

Yes that's right, punk is dead, it's just another cheap product for the consumer's head. Bubblegum rock on plastic transistors, schoolboy sedition backed by big time promoters. CBS promote the Clash, but it ain't for revolution, it's just for cash. Punk became a fashion just like hippy used to be and it ain't got a thing to do with you or me.

Movements are systems and systems kill. Movements are expressions of the public will. Punk became a movement cos we all felt lost, but the leaders sold out and now we all pay the cost. Punk narcissism was a social napalm, Steve Jones started doing real harm. Preaching revolution, anarchy and change as he sucked from the system that had given him his name.

Well I'm tired of looking through shit stained glass, tired of staring up a superstar's arse, I've got an arse and crap and a name, I'm just waiting for my fifteen minutes fame. Steve Jones you're napalm, if you're so pretty why do you smarm? Patti Smith, you're napalm, you write with you're hand but it's Rimbaud's arm.

And me, yes, I, do I want to burn? Is there something I can learn? Do I need a business man to promote my angle? Can I resist the carrots that fame and fortune dangle? I see the velvet zippies in their bondage gear, the social elite with safetypins in their ear, I watch and understand that it don't mean a thing, the scorpions might attack, but the system's stole the sting.

PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD.


REJECT OF SOCIETY

Not for me the factory floor sweeping up from nine to four. Not for me the silly rat race, I don't see the point in anycase. People ask me why I say what I do, I say to them, "Well wouldn't you?" if you were fucked up just like me, a reject of society. They say I dig a hole and jump right in, well I don't give a shit about anything, I don't comply to their silly rules, all they are is hypocritical fools.

You give us conscience money, now you start to worry. The Frankenstein monster you created has turned against you now you're hated.

They tell me I'm not what they'd like me to be, it's their fault, you can't blame me. They fucking tricked me half the time now they've got to stand in line. They don't like it when they see me have fun, they turn around and then they run. The don't listen to what I say, I'm a reject of society.

Chorus


GENERAL BACARDI

I've see it all before, revolution at my back door, well whose to say it won't happen all again. The Generals sip bacardi, while the privates feel the pain.

They talk from the screen and T.V. tube, they talk revolution like it's processed food. They talk anarchy from music hall stages, look for change in colour supplement pages. They think that by talking from some distant tower, that something might change in the structure of power. They dream, they dream, never walk on the street. They dream, they dream, never stand on their feet.

Chorus

Alternative values were a con, a fucking con. They never really meant it when they said "Get it on." They really meant, "Mine, that's mine," can't you see? They stamped on our heads so that they could be free. They formed little groups, like rich man's ghettoes, tending their goats and organic tomatoes. While the world was being fucked by fascist regimes, they talked of windmills and psychedelic dreams.

Chorus


BANNED FROM THE ROXY

Banned from the Roxy... O.K. I never much liked playing there anyway. They said they only wanted well behaved boys, do they think guitars and microphones are just fucking toys? Fuck them, I've chosen to make my stand, against what I feel is wrong with this land. They just sit there on their overfed arses, feeding off the sweat of less fortunate classes. They keep their fucking power 'cause their finger's on the button, they've got control and won't let it be forgotten. The truth of their reality is at the wrong end of a gun, the proof of that is Belfast and that's no fucking fun. Seeing the squaddy lying in the front yard, seeing the machine guns resting on the fence. Finding the entrance to your own front door is barred and they've got the fucking nerve to call it defence. Seems their defence is just the threat of strength, protection for the privileged at any length. The government protecting their profits from the poor, the rich and the fortunate chaining up the door. Afraid that the people may ask for a little more that the shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. The shit they get. DEFENCE? SHIT, IT'S NOTHING LESS THAN WAR AND NO ONE BUT THE GOVERNMENT KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK IT'S FOR. Oh yes they say it's defence, they say it's decency, Mai lai, Hiroshima, know what I mean? The same fucking lies with depressing frequency, they say "We had to do it to keep our lives clean." Well whose life? Whose fucking life? Who the fuck are they talking to? Whose life? Whose fucking life? I tell you one thing, it ain't me and you. And their systems, christ, they're everywhere, school, army, church, the corporation deal. A fucked up reality based on fear, a fucking conspiracy to stop you feeling real. Well they're wrong, ain't got me, I'd say they're fucking wrong, I ain't quite ready with my gun, but I've got my song...Banned from the Roxy, well O.K. I never much liked playing there anyway. GUNS.


G'S SONG

This country tells us that we're down and out, got you thinking that we're through. Got to suffer to get them moving, say it's up to me and you. Well, look around and you'll see who gets the goods, not you and me. 'Cause they ain't suffering, no, not for us, they're masquerading like pissers must. They abuse us, keep us right underfoot, with the illusion of contentment and good. Well it's not over, war's still around and they've got no problem when you're underground.


FIGHT WAR, NOT WARS

Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars.
Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars. Fight wars, not wars.
Fight wars, not wars. FIGHT WAR, NOT WARS.


WOMEN

Fuck is women's money. We pay with our bodies. There is no purity in our love. No beauty. Just bribery. It's all the fucking same. We make soldiers with our submission. Wars with our isolation Fuck is women's money. We pay with our bodies. There is no purity in motherhood. No beauty. Just bribery. It's all the fucking same. We are all salves to sexual histories. Our awareness of whoredom can be a release.
War is men's money. They pay with their bodies. There is no purity in that game, only blood, death and bribery. It's still the fucking same. But we have all got the power. Don't just stand there and take submission on the strength of fear. FIGHT WAR, NOT WARS.


SECURIOR

I'm a private in a private army, I'm a private in a private army.

I am a working for securicor, take the money and come back for more. I want to do it 'cause I know I should, for the customer and the common good.

I walk around with a big alsation, he'll rearrange you with no provocation, and I'm the bugger who has got the lead, you'll have to be bright if you want to get at me.

Securicor cares. Securicor cares. Securicor scares the shit out of you, do you want to come closer?

I block the pavement with my club and hat, I deal in money that you can't get at. You want to use me 'cause I'm up for rent, tough shit, 'cause I'm really busy.

You ought to know me cause I've been a cop, out of the army where I learned a lot. Some kids still chuckle when they see my van, but it's not all money sonny, you want to come closer?

Securicor cares. Securicor cares. Securicor scares the shit out of you. Do you want to come closer? DO YOU WANT TO COME CLOSER?

I'm a private in a private army, I'm a private in a private army, I'm a private in a private army.


SUCKS

Do you really believe in Buddha? Buddha sucks.
Do you really believe in Jesus? Jesus fucks.
Is it alright really? Is it alright really? Is it working?
So you really believe in Marx? Marx fucks.
Do you really believe in Thatcher? Maggie sucks
.
Chorus
Do you really believe in the system? Well o.k.
I BELIEVE IN ANARCHY IN THE U.K.

Chorus


YOU PAY

You're paying for prisons. You're paying for war. You're paying for lobotomies. You're paying for law. You're paying for their order. You're paying for their murder. You're paying for your ticket to watch the farce. Knowing you've made your contribution to the system's fucked solution, to their political pollution. No chance of revolution. No chance of change. You've got no range.

Don't just take it. Don't take their shit. Don't play their game. Don't take their blame. USE YOUR OWN HEAD. Your turn instead.

It's economise. It's not apologise. It's not make do. It's not pull through. It's not take it. It's not make it. It's not just you. It's not madmen. It's not difficult. It's not behave. It's not, oh well, just this once. It's fucking impossible. It's fucking unbearable. It's fucking stupid. IT'S FUCKING STUPID.


ANGELS

The angels are on T. V. tonight, grey puke, cellulois shit. The army have sent a mission to Ireland, just to see to it. Kojak is on the T.V. streets again, grey puke, fucking shit. They army say they seek peace in Ireland an that they'll see to it.

That they keep in line, horizontal hold. Keep in line, vertical hold. Keep in line, brightness. Keep in line, contrast. Keep in line, VISION ON.

Coronation Street is on twice a week, grey puke, fucking shit. The army say that they seek peace in Ireland and that they'll see to it. The army are on the news report. WARS. BULLETS. DEATH.
They're beating the fuck out of someone just to see to it.

Chorus

VISION OFF.


WHAT A SHAME

It doesn't take much to bring you down. There are plenty of people standing 'round. They wait till you slacken off just a bit.
They they fill you up with passive bullshit.

It's too good. It can't last. What a shame.

Watch out for the quiet ones at the back. All they want is the smallest crack. Everything's happening down the front. Innocent bystander you're the biggest runt.

Fuck the punks, Punks are fucked. It's too loud. Awful row. They can't play. They'll give up. In the end. What a shame. Oh what a shame it's still the same.


SO WHAT

They ask me why I'm hateful, why I'm bad. They tell me I got things they never had. They tell me go to church and see the light. 'Cos the good lord's always right.

Well, so what, so what

So what if Jesus died on the cross. So what about the fucker, I don't give a toss. So what if the master walked on the water. I don't see him trying to stop the slaughter.

They say I wouldn't have to live from bins. If I would go along, confess my sins. They say I shouldn't commit no crime. Cos Jesus Christ is watching all the time.
v
So what, so what. So what if he's always over my shoulder. I realise the truth as I get older. I get to see what a con it is. Because it's my life, mine not his.

We'll they say they're going to send me away. Said they're going to make me pay. We're sorry but you have to go. You were naughty, you said 'NO'.

So what, so what.

So what if I see through the lies. So what if the people I despise twist my arm and make me work, I'm no deaf, dumb fucking Jerk. I'm no spastic lying in the street. I'm no superstar elite. I'm just a person, a human being.

NO YOU'RE NOT YOU'RE A PART OF OUR MACHINE.

You're a part of our machine because we want you to be. We've got you now and you'll never be free. We can even have your body after you're dead. We can take the eyes out of your fucking head. Yes we'll take them out, use them again. We can do it you know cos we've got your brain. We'll crucify you like we crucified him. We'll make you obey our every whim. We got the power, the power and the glory. I've heard that before in a different story. But the story I heard covered up the truth, didn't touch on the actual factual proof. Didn't say about the bodies in the concentration camps, didn't say about the surgeon knives underneath the lamps, doesn't say that the ovens are still warm, doesn't say that this wretched little form is a human being who wants to live but not in the snot and shit they give.

They say that I had better keep quiet or they're gonna douse my light. Jesus Christ can save my life, but I can always use my knife.

So what, so what, so what, so what, so what, so what, SO WHAT