Grotesque

GROTESQUE (AFTER THE GRAMME)

Pay Your Rates - English Scheme - New Face In Hell - C'n'C-S Mithering - The Container Drivers - Impression of J. Temperance - In The Park - W.M.C.-Blob 59 - Gramme Friday - The N.W.R.A.

Bonus tracks on CD: How I Wrote 'Elastic Man' - City Hobgoblins - Totally Wired - Putta Block

PAY YOUR RATES [top of page]

Pay your rates
Pay your water rates
Pay your rates
Pay your water rates

If your rates too high
Write a snotty letter
If your rates too high
Put your life on this bit of paper

Advice on rates
Advice on rates

Pay your rates
Pay your water rates
Pay your rates
Pay your water rates

If your rates too high
You'd better sign this letter
If you don't pay your rates
You're gonna end up here

Or end up on debtors' retreat estate [1]
Or debtors' retreat escape
Debtors' escape estate

Debtors' escape
Debtors' retreat escape
Debtors' retreat estate
Neuroticred landscape
A socialist state invention
The old government bones working

[Legendary Chaos tape:
Let's hear it for the working class traitors
Hello Warren Mitchell]

Debtors' escape estate
Debtors' retreat estate
A no-motivation estate
Debtors' escape estate

Pay the borough
Pay the borough
Pay your rates
Pay pretty sharp
Pay the borough
Pay the borough
Pay the borough

Pay your rates
Pay your water rates
Pay your rates
Pay your rates

Note: [1] In Michael Parkinson's autobiography "Parky" he says on the second page: "I was born on a council estate in Cudworth, a mining village in the South Yorkshire coalfield. In those days it was nicknamed "Debtors' Retreat" and my Dad told me the rent collectors walked around in pairs."

ENGLISH SCHEME [top of page]

O'er grassy dale, and lowland scene
Come see, come hear, the English Scheme.
The lower-class, want brass, bad chests, scrounge fags.
The clever ones tend to emigrate
Like your psychotic big brother, who left home
For jobs in Holland, Munich, Rome
He's thick but he struck it rich, switch
The commune crap, camp bop, middle-class, flip-flop
Guess that's why they end up in bands
He's the green piece in us all
He's the creep-creep in us all
Condescends to black men
Very nice to them
They talk of Chile while driving through Haslingden
You got sixty hour weeks, and stone stone toilet back-gardens
Peter Cook's jokes, bad dope, check shirts, lousy groups
Point their fingers at America
Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge
Cycles our distant spastic heritage
Its a gay red, roundhead, army career, grim head
If we was smart we'd emigrate

NEW FACE IN HELL [top of page]

Wireless enthusiast intercepts government secret radio band and
uncovers secrets and scandals of deceitful type proportions.

Aghast goes next door to his neighbor, secretly excited, as
aforementioned was a hunter whom radio enthusiast wanted
friendship and favor of.

A new face in hell

Nearly a new face in hell!

A muscular, thick-skinned, slit-eyed neighbor is at the table
poisoned just thirty seconds before by parties who knew of
wireless operator's forthcoming revelation.

A new face in hell!

A prickly line of sweat covers enthusiast's forehead as the
realization hits him that the same government him and his now
dead neighbor voted for and backed and talked of on cream porches
have tricked him into their war against the people who enthusiast
and dead hunter would have wished torture on. A servant of
government walks in and arrests wireless fan in
kitchen for murder of his neighbor

A new face in hell!

The dead cannot contradict
Sometimes the living cannot

A new face in hell!

C'N'C-S MITHERING [top of page]

Three days
Three months
Three days
Three months
A treatise
A treatise
To explain these
First was cash 'n' carry house dance
In Lancashire they're A
In King Nat Ltd. empire [1]
Kwik Save is there
The scene started here
Then was America

Then was America
We went there
Big A&M Herb was there [2]
His offices had fresh air
But his roster was mediocre
US dirge, rock 'n' pop filth
Their material's filched
And the secret of their lives
Is...

All the English groups
Act like peasants with free milk
On a route
On a route to the loot
To candy mountain
Five wacky English proletariat idiots
Californians always think of sex
Or think of death
Five hundred girl deaths
A Mexico revenge, it's stolen land
They really get it off on
"Don't hurt me please"
Rapist fill the TVs
And the secret of their lives
Is S.E.X..

I have dreams, I can see
Carloads of negro Nazis
Like Faust with beards
Hydrochloric shaved weirds

[Applause from audience at Cyprus Tavern ]

This was going to be called crap rap fourteen,
but it's now Stop Mithering.
The things that drain you off and drive you off the hinge.
Boils, dirty socks, the ceilings collapse.
The Sunday morning loud lawn mower,
the upstairs Jewish girl damn hoovering every thirty minutes,
from valium cig withdrawal.
She wants communal, fluent flat household.
I want privacy.
The bastard dentist doctors surgery,
Clip, clop, ring, knock, ring
Stop mithering [3]

The estates stick up like stacks
The estates stick up like stacks
The residents keep wild dogs
And on that father's bedroom closet top,
electric blanket boxes
Surplus jonnies, demob pictures
To their children they sing
Stop mithering

You think you've got it bad with thin ties,
miserable songs synthesized, or circles with A in the middle.
Make joke records, hang out with Gary Bushell,
Join round table. "I like your single yer great!"
A circle of low IQ's.
There are three rules of audience.
My journalist acquaintances, go soft, go places,
on record company expenses.
I lose humor, manners become bog writers, don't know it.
The smart hedonists, same as last verse, allusions with
H in electronics, on stage false histrionics,
Corpse mauling dicks, pose through a good film, him, him
Stop mithering

I'm not joining conventional rock band.
The conventional is experimental, the conventional is now
experimental,
And is no way noble, and I'm no chock stock thing.
So stop mithering.
Engineers save up for cars.
I try to let down their tyres with matches to make them molten.
Ouch! Ouch!
They say I rip off Johnny Rotten
They always strike for more pay.
They say "See yer mate..Yeh...see yer mate"
To their mothers they sing
Stop mithering

He even did fail the penile tissue test.
He hangs out for sex.
He enters magazine contest.
White tan horror in the mirror.
Spotty exterior hides a spotty interior.
He's not your enemy.
He's not your enemy, his name is not Harry.
The secret of Cash and Carry.

CASH 'N' CARRY (Live version from A Part Of America Therein 1981)

Three months. Three days. Three months. Cliches. Cliches. A
treatise. Yes, it's them again. For about the fifth f. time, in
this god forsaken town. First was Cash N Carry house dance. In
Manchester they're A. In King Nat Ltd Empire. Yer got a Safeway
there. Yer got a f. Safeway everywhere. Even in Manchester.
There's two types of factory there. One makes men old corpses. They
stumble round like rust dogs. One lives off old dying men. One
lives off the back of a dead man. You know which one. You know
which FACTORY I mean. [4] You know... You know...Psychedelic
brain mushes is honesty alternative. They're all good
boys.Regular wages. The boss does the covers. They-are OK. by
me. They just don't talk to me. I can see. I have dreams. I
can see. I have dreams. And the secret of my life. Is......
Secretive. Kennen Sie den weg nach? Kennen Sie den weg nach? The
residents keep wild dogs. Yes it's them again. Music Centre
Irritant. Get your suits off. Get your vinyl lids on. Get your
Lee Coopers on. Have a shower son. Go out to the club, boy. In
your father's bedroom closet pack. Contraceptives. Pru Plus
Plan. Objectives. Demob pictures. Old train sets. Kennen Sie
den weg nach? Kennen Sie den weg nach? Some food is so fast.
Some food is so fast. Now...I never worked for, this death on a
plate stuff. I AM NOT HERE TO CHEER YOU UP! Video reach, stereo
bog, video reach, stereo bog. A quick fuzz, a quick fuzz. Video
reach, stereo bog, video reach, stereo bog. Dissipates. Are you
a bit too late? And the secret of their lives is... S. E. X.
Meet me here at 8pm. and we'll eat some meat in the rest room.
That's fame. Stars on 45. STARS ON 45!! I KEEP MY POCKETS
LINED!. STARS ON 45! I KEEP MY POCKETS LINED! A POSTCARD
HASN"T ARRIVED! A POSTCARD HASN'T ARRIVED! STARS ON 45!! I KEEP
MY POCKETS LINED! WE ALL WANT FAME: WHIP ROUND AND TELL ALL THE
OTHERS: LET'S GET SOME FAME: FOR MY BROTHERS: AND WHAT ABOUT THE
OTHERS? ANd on boogy night, It'll be allright. And boogy night.

I'll feast on 45's. I'll keep my pockets lined. I'll keep my
pockets lined.

Notes:
[1] MES writes this about C'n'C in the Lough Press book: "C'N'C Stop Mithering contains references to i.e. free adverts for Kwik Save and King Nat Ltd, an area of cash and carry warehouses near Manchester town centre--see we advertise free for these, so don't try the anti-commercial crap bit on us, sonny boy. It's post-Hollywood, a place described by actor Robert Donat as one big Ideal Home Exhibition."
[2] "Big A&M Herb" is a reference to Herb Albert
[3] "Mithering" is northern British slang for whining
[4] Reference to Factory Records

THE CONTAINER DRIVERS [top of page]

Net cap. of 58 thousand pounds
They sweat on their way down
Grey ports with customs bastards
Hang around like clowns the
Uh-containers and their drivers

Bad indigestion
Bad bowel retention
Speed for their wages
Suntan, torn short sleeves

Look at a car park for two days
Look at a grey port for two days
Train line, stone and grey

This is not their town
Big cigars come out of the ground
Sweat on their way down
F. Jack's a distant relation
Communists are just part time workers
And there's no thanks
From the loading bay ranks

Look at a car park for two days
Look at a grey port for two days
Train line, stone and grey
RO-RO roll on roll off
The container drivers
Speed for their wages
Uh-containers
Uh-and their drivers

IMPRESSION OF J. TEMPERANCE [top of page]

Hate wide for dog breeder
in the town of purport
A never seen dog breeder
This is the tale of his replica.

Name was J. Temperance
Only two did not hate him
Because peasants fear local indifference
Pet shop and the vet, Cameron.

One night vet is called out
from his overpaid leisure
To Temperance household, delivered ran out
and phoned his wife in terror.

The next bit is hard to relate.
(There are no read-outs for this part of the track.)
The new born thing hard to describe
Like a rat that's been trapped inside
A warehouse base, near a city tide
Brown sockets, purple eyes
And fed with rubbish from disposal barges brown and covered

No changeling,
as the birth was witnessed.
Only one person could do this:
"Yes" said Cameron
"and the thing was in the
impression of J. Temperance."

His hideous replica.
Scrutinise the little monster
Disappeared through the door
His hideous replica

IN THE PARK [top of page]

Night though I do not sleep
I dream of the park up the road
I open the bushes, a couple of lovers
Trying to be [lust-rockers]
And although my spouse is in the other room
I think we can do it here
Yes, uh, and she makes me pay
For every girl I have the guts to look at
Anyway here, quiet here
You thought it'd be great
You thought it'd be great
But a good mind does not a good fuck make

I take you to the park up the road
But here is the rain
Rain makes policemen no threat
Turns cars into little specks
Muffles the shouts of your neighbour
And we will have sex here
Here, here
Couch, shagged out
There's no hard-ons
It's just come and it's gone

I'm becoming everything I used to hate
But I can't go back there
Not back there, I can't go back there
Not back to the park
The brown monk ghost'll catch us
And make us lust-rockers
Make us wear huckleberry masks and, uh, huckleberry masks
You sing you don't believe in [couples]
But I can't believe that
Especially the crap about the huckleberry masks

W.M.C. - BLOB 59 [top of page]

Right we'll go here
Where is he?
Just been to the park
Not the pub, the park
Go on

We too do not recognise the M.U.
We come with our hands open in fiendship
We can lead you to proletariat visions of prosperity
WMC!
[The social alternative was incredibly frequent]

[completely unidentifiable backing singing continues....]

We come with our hands open in fiendship
We can lead you to proletariat visions of prosperity
We merely make cabaret
We are on Gramme Friday

GRAMME FRIDAY [top of page]

The people I like live
in kitchens and halls.

I can't reach a decision on this.
Can I come back to you on this?
Hitler lost his nerve on it.
Dr. Morel prescribed it well
It's fast debts.

I am Robertson Speedo
and this is my Gramme Friday.
Skin drops slow to the bones

But I've got my hunger anyway.
I'm on Gramme Friday.
Work and eat spontaneous
Enter the house of weariness.
It's Fastnet

Look out
Look down
Look out
Look now
The hunger....
Friday .

THE N.W.R.A. [top of page]

When it happened we walked through all the estates, from
Manchester right to, er, Newcastle. In Darlington, helped a large
man on his own chase off some kids who were chucking bricks and
stuff through his flat window. She had a way with people like that.
Thanked us and we moved on.

'Junior Choice' played one morning. The song was 'English
Scheme.' Mine. They'd changed it with a grand piano and turned
it into a love song. How they did it I don't know. DJs had
worsened since the rising. Elaborating on nothing in praise of
the track with words they could hardly pronounce, in telephone
voices.

I was mad, and laughed at the same time. The West German
government had brought over large yellow trains on Teeside docks.
In Edinburgh. I stayed on my own for a few days, wandering about
in the, er, pissing rain, before the Queen Mother hit town.

I'm Joe Totale
The yet unborn son
The North will rise again
The North will rise again
Not in 10,000 years
Too many people cower to criminals
And government crap
The estates stick up like stacks
The North will rise again X4
Look where you are
Look where you are
The future death of my father

Shift!

Tony was a business friend
Of RT XVII
And was an opportunist man
Come, come hear my story
How he set out to corrupt and destroy
This future Rising

The business friend came round today
With teeth clenched, he grabbed my neck
I threw him to the ground
His blue shirt stained red
The north will rise again.
He said you are mistaken, friend
I kicked him out of the home

Too many people cower to criminals
And that government pap
When all it takes is hard slap

But out the window burned the roads
There were men with besom sticks [1]
The fall had made them sick
A man with butterflies on his face
His brother threw acid in his face
His tatoos were screwed
The streets of Soho did reverberate
With drunken Highland men
Revenge for Culloden dead
The North had rose again
But it would turn out wrong
The North will rise again

So R. Totale dwells underground
Away from sickly grind
With ostrich head-dress
Face a mess, covered in feathers
Orange-red with blue-black lines
That draped down to his chest
Body are a tentacle mess
And light blue plant-heads
TV showed Sam Chippendale
No conception of what he'd made
The Arndale had been razed
Shop staff knocked off their ladders
Security guards hung from moving escalators

And now that is said
Tony seized the control
He built his base in Edinburgh
Had on his hotel wall
A hooded friar on a tractor
He took a bluey and he called Totale
Who said, "the North has rose again"
But it will turn out wrong

When I was in cabaret
I vowed to defend
All of the English clergy
Though they have done wrong
And the fall has begun
This has got out of hand
I will go for foreign aid
But he Tony, laughed down the phone
Said "Totale go back to bed"
The North has rose today
And you can stuff your aid!
And you can stuff your aid!

Note: [1] A besom is a long handled broom with the head made out of pieces of twig lashed together.

HOW I WROTE 'ELASTIC MAN' [top of page]

I'm eternally grateful
To my past influences
But they will not free me
I am not diseased
All the people ask me
How I wrote "Elastic Man"

Life should be full of strangeness
Like a rich painting
But it gets worse day by day
I'm a potential DJ
A creeping wreck
A mental wretch
Everybody asks me
How I wrote "Elastic Man"

His soul hurts though it's well filled up
The praise received is mentally sent back
Or taken apart
The Observer magazine just about sums him up
E.g. self-satisfied, smug

I'm living a fake
People say, "You are entitled to and great."
But I haven't wrote for 90 days
I'll get a good deal and I'll go away
Away from the empty brains that ask
How I wrote "Elastic Man"

His last work was "Space Mystery" in the Daily Mail,
An article in Leather Thighs
The only thing real is waking and rubbing your eyes
So I'm resigned to bed
I keep bottles and comics stuffed by its head
Fuck it, let the beard grow
I'm too tired,
I'll do it tomorrow
The fridge is sparse
But in the town
They'll stop me in the shoppes
Verily they'll track me down
Touch my shoulder and ignore my dumb mission
And sick red faced smile
And they will ask me
And they will ask me
How I wrote "Elastic Man"

Note: MES sings "Plastic Man" instead of "Elastic Man" to indicate that fans and journalists can't be bothered to get the name correct

CITY HOBGOBLINS [top of page]

Spiders know these things
Gremlins know these things
Tap, tap, tap, tap
You think it's the pipes
But who turns on the lights?
Our city hobgoblins
Ubu le Roi is a home hobgoblin
And at nights all ready
Our city hobgoblins
Infest my home at night
They are not alright
Ten times my age
One-tenth my height
Our city hobgoblins
Buzz of the all-night mill
Ah but evil
Emigres from old green glades
Pretentious eh?
Our city hobgoblins
They'll get yer
So Queen Victoria
Is a large black slug in Piccadilly, Manchester
Our city hobgoblins
And they say
We cannot walk the floor at night in peace
At night in peace

TOTALLY WIRED [top of page]

I'm Totally Wired. Totally Wired. I'm Totally Wired. Totally
Wired.

Can't you see? A butterfly stomach round ground. I drank
a jar of coffee, and I took some of these.

And I'm Totally Wired. Totally Wired. I'm Totally Wired. Totally
Wired.

Life leaves you surprised.
Slaps you in the eyes.
If I were a communist, a rich man would bale me.
The opposite applies.
The morning light.
Another fresh fight.
Another row, right, right, right, right.

And I'm Totally Wired. JJJust Totally Wired. I'm
Totally Biased. Totally Wired.

You don't have to be weird to be wired
You don't have to be an American brand
You don't have to be strange to be strange
You don't have to be weird to be weird

But I'm Totally Wired. Totally Wired. JJJust Totally
Wired. I'm Totally Wired.

My Heart and I agree. My Heart and I agree.
I'm Irate, Peeved, Irate, Peeved,
Irate, Bad State. Bad State.

Cos I'm Totally Wired. Totally Wired. JJJust Totally
Wired. Totally Wired. And I'm always worried. And I'm always
worried. And I'm always worried. And I'm always worried.

TOTALLY WIRED (Live version on A Part Of America Therein 1981)

PUTTA BLOCK [top of page]

What a dynamic entrance

Put a block on the words
This I hear on a train
We had salmon on a bus
At Epsom no races lost
We don't bet we just take ['tec]

Put a block on the words
Got no check on the world
Go and put a block on the works
Listen boys and girls
Just closer
On the [clommererds]
Just close off the words
Put a block on the words

The nine unknown men knew this
Three sorts
The first: along Louie's life
The second: the complete restructure of your pretentious life
Three: the only reason you know this
Is that it was well documented
But I say

Put a block on the words

Here's an independent chart moneyspinner
For all you people who've come a long way
Me and the guys played this for charity for spastics
We played it 10000 times
And raised 5 shillings and 7 and a half pence for charity

Cary Grant's wedding
Hail new puritan, righteous maelstrom
Have you ever heard a Bill Haley LP
What is this shit?
Everybody go Cary Grant's wedding

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