"I don't have pet peeves, I have major psychotic fucking hatreds, okay?" (George Carlin)

A current flows through nerves of copper

My rent's off to some idyll

With more credit cards than credibility

And i'm up at six A.M. drinking coffee...

Staring into space

A pinup's arse

In my face

Beg your pardon ma'am

And god damn the tosser

Who put you up there

Let's make this clear:

I'm sick of every prick

In the locker room

If i don't stop the shit

Maybe i'm part of it

But my colleagues aren't my comrades

And i'm counting down the days

'Til i leave here with expletives

See ya, gobshites on laxatives

Guess i'll never have the nerve

To say what i think you deserve

To hear. Sure thing

I can't see you can't see

Past your posturing

But neither macho stance

Or deference

Will save your neck

We all finish wrecked

Tossed to the trash

Shattered glass and flaked ash

While the radio anchor farts the news

He says what he likes

'Cause they like what he chooses

To say

Writing wrongs and wronging our rights

'Til the day

The electrics go down all over town

Power cords jump from their walls

The powerful run for their halls

And palaces, flee the masses

Doors slammed in our faces

You'll end your days on a back porch

But not your own, pipe in hand

Rather stranded among the scorched

Bodies piled before

The last bunker's fastened hatch

Strike your last match

In a smouldering crippled land we once called Earth

Disease and hunger competing to get you first