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QUINCY'S LAMENT Looking for trouble There's blood on his face He just needs a drink To keep him in his place Living with doom His day is consumed Mind never dry Soon he will die Non-existant Only on the network Just one of many Zombies of despair Life is not easy On N.B.C. . . . PRESIDENTE CAMOUFLAGE Guatemala's got a brand new man Jerry Falwell's gonna lend a hand Financing his puppet regime Make sure their morals are squeeky clean Presidente Camouflage Dead Indians piled like logs Moral Majority picks up the bill Beans and bullets, fart and kill Teach the Indians to kill themselves Trust us, don't trust yourselves Put on a uniform, pick up a gun Dismembering bodies, loads of fun Presidente Camouflage Dead Indians piled like logs Jerry's plan is world domination On your knees or in the grave Puppet governments, manipulation Jesus wouldn't want to if you're not a slave SMALL TALK DEATH The talk is so small It bounces off the wall Lies, lies, lies Each one twice the size A mouth spits out a word It passes by unheard We laugh at the hoke We laugh until we choke I breathe in the air I speak but I'm not there They speak and I'm in pain They tell it over and over again Strapped in a chair Forced to listen there I look for escape From diatribic rape No power, no thought Dead words left to rot No meaning to what they say Forgotten forever what is said today It's mindless discourse No value no force It's a waste of breath Small talk death |
DEAD IN A PILE OF CHAIRS Anwar Sadat Where are you at Where are you at Mister Anwar Sadat Blood on your uniform Blood on the floor Dead in a pile of chairs Nobody seems to care Blood on the desert War's in the air Bodies are swelling More than a scare History of wars Religious disease Statesmen in uniform Wasting their time ONE WAY The way they say Worship the lord Love thy neighbor Who kill each other The way they say Leaflets of doomsday Evolution Jesus Christ The price of darkness Which do you find? Which do you believe? When you find out You may be deceased Let us pray Open your bible Resurrect me Have I been saved? JOCKO MACHO (QUINCY PUNKS) The straw that breaks the camel's back Takes the guy with long hair Gives his skull a crack Loud-mouthed heckler puts his gobs on the band Complains to his friends, "It's not a free land" Teenage babies watch TV Ideas of punk from CHiPs and Quincy Put on their uniforms, go off to war They don't even know what they're fighting for Call each other "poseur" Do the macho posture Fighting with each other 'Til nothing's left over Bash somebody's head in While you do your stage dive You might get your picture Taken by Ed Colver If you're a cool teen Gotta act tough and mean Go to all the gigs, be part of the scene Copy each other, don't think for yourself You're the only one, there's no one else Put down the hippies, blacks and jews Act like jerks 'cuz it'll be in the news Anarchy! Was it just a trend? It sounded good, who put it to an end? Now all you get when you go to a show Is the same old shit wherever you go A band gets together, has something to say But there's no more places for bands to play You've used your head now you're scene is dead And you wonder why as you sit home and cry It's the price you pay 'cuz you've did it in Now go home and listen to Led Zeppelin |