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He's in love with rock'n'roll woaahh
He's in love with gettin' stoned woaahh
He's in love with Janie Jones
But he don't like his boring job, no...
An' he knows what he's got to do
So he knows he's gonna have fun with you
You lucky lady!
An' he knows when the evening comes
When his job is done he'll be over in his car for you
An' in the in-tray lots of work
But the boss at the firm always thinks he shirks
But he's just like everyone, he's got a Ford Cortina
That just won't run without fuel
Fill her up, Jacko!
An' the invoice it don't quite fit,
There's no payola in his alphabetical file
This time he's gonna really tell the boss
Gonna really let him know exactly how he feels
It's pretty bad!
Let them know - how you feel
. . .
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The Clash
Remote Control
(Strummer/Jones)
Who needs remote control
From the Civic Hall
Push a button
Activate
You gotta work an' you're late
It's so grey in London town
With a panda car crawling around
Here it comes
Eleven o'clock
Where can we go now?
Can't make a noise
Can't get no gear
Can't make no money
Can't get outta here
Big business it don't like you
It don't like the things you do
You got no money
So you got no power
They think you're useless
An' so you are - puuuuuuunnnnnk!
They had a meeting in Mayfair
They got you down an'
They wanna keep you there
It makes them worried
Their bank accounts
That's all that matters
And you don't count
Can't make no progress
Can't get ahead
Can't stop the regress
Don't wanna be dead
Look out' those rules and regulations
Who needs the Parliament
Sitting making laws all day
They're all fat and old
Queuing for the House of Lords
Repression - gonna start on Tuesday
Repression - gonna be a Dalek
Repression - I am a robot
Repression - I obey
. . .
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*Left Channel*
Make sure!
Taking cover in the bunker tonight
Waiting for Bo Diddley's headlights
I feel alright
Gotta Fender Stratosphere
I can do anything tonight
It's in neon lights an' global rights
Frank? He's on the phone
There ain't no German girl outside
But who cares when its warm inside?
With music
Special mystery of music tragically
Exchanging slaves for majesties
Modern waves of tragedy
Packing a to pience colt pair of shoots
A shiny grey mexican suit
The blue eyed traffic can sashay by
'Cos tonight the sailor boys have hit Shanghai
The kick-out traffic goes creaking by
I smash my glass and shout shanghi
My drummer friend comes shooting by
He said Errol Flynn will never die
Oh no! Who am I to question why?
And are you lonesome tonight
And do ya need a country cowboy
Who's just thin and tight in those
Brrrr bus depot jeans
With a squirt resistant stud stud
Hey stoner
Get over there in the spliffbunker one
Becos London Bridge was sold somehow
But it was too old anyhow
When Uncle Sam has broken down
We'll make him down in old Japan
Say yeee
Well there ain't no better blend
Than Joe Ely and his Texas Men
Where the wind blows
I ain't seen none like that scenery
You can see from a bus if you pay the price
Wave my arms around
Flag one of those taxi's maybe
I saw a girl somewhere somehow
Forever sticks in my mind somehow
I've just got three lines
And a pair of two's
Like a lucky roll of dice that you
You cast
*Right Channel*
If music could talk!
Which means
Whatever your mind can bring
Likethe apple fell off the tree
Pah! Fell right on his head
Yeah many years ago
There was a man who said
I am a shaman
A voodoo shaman
Got in trouble so he's going out
Mixing up and Haiti! Oh!
And the crickets
Buddy Holly said it was
Brrr Brrr yiii!
If music could talk you know
I feel kinda lonely
Standing out on the floor
Of Electric Ladyland...
Cos this is a good question Samson
Are you partly Arabic?
Chi man! Whatcho all about
I don't want to I can't hope to
Say it all in one go
Occasionally once or twice
A day I feel alive enough to say
Let's hear what the drummerman's
Got to say about
He said is it Errol Flynn's birthday or not?
Sept 12 until October
If they pack 2 piece
Colt pair of shoots
We got the shiny grey Mexican suits
I'm just wasting a great big
Corporation and the entire fund
The girders of Wall Street
And thetemples of money
And the high priests
Of the expense account
And Im wasting the whole thing
I come down in Yamaha-ha
They make the best pianos-time to step-up
. . .
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White riot (I wanna riot)
White riot (a riot of my own)
White riot (I wanna riot)
White riot (a riot of my own)
Black people gotta lot a problems
But they don't mind throwing a brick
White people go to school
Where they teach you how to be thick
An' everybody's doing
Just what they're told to
An' nobody wants
To go to jail!
All the power's in the hands
Of people rich enough to buy it
While we walk the street
Too chicken to even try it
Everybody's doing
Just what they're told to
Nobody wants
To go to jail!
Are you taking over
or are you taking orders?
Are you going backwards
Or are you going forwards?
. . .
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Hate and war - the only things we got today
An' if I close my eyes
They will not go away
You have to deal with it
It is the currency
Hate...hate...hate...
The hate of a nation
A million miles from home
An' get war from the junkies
Who don't like my form
I'm gonna stay in the city
Even when the house fall down
I don't dream of a holiday
When hate an' war come around
Hate and war...
I have the will to survive
I cheat if I can't win
If someone locks me out
I kick my back in
An' if I get aggression
I give it to them two time back
Every day it's just the same
With hate an' war on my back
Hate and war - I hate all the English
Hate and war - they're just as bad as wops
Hate and war - I hate all the politeness
Hate and war - I hate all the cops
I wanna walk down any street
Looking like a creep
I don't care if I get beat up
By any Kebab Greek
. . .
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What the hell is wrong with me? I'm not who I want to be
I tired spot cream an' I tried it all I'm crawling up the wall!
What's my name naaaame...naaaame....naaaame....
I tried to join a ping-pong club, sign on the door said all full up!
I got nicked, fighting in the road an' the judge didn't even know
What's my name
Dad got pissed so I got clocked
Couldn't hear the Tannoy so he lost the lot
Offers Mum a bribe through the letter box
Drives you fucking mad
What's my name
Now I'm round the back of your house at night
Peeping in the window - are you sleeping tight?
I laugh at your locks with my celloid strip
An' you won't know who came
What's my name
. . .
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Deny
You're such a liar
You won't know the truth if it
Hits you in the eye
Deny
You're such a liar
You're selling your no-no all the time
An' you said we were going out
To the 100 club
Then you daid "It ain't my scene"
But then you turned up alone
Then you turned up alone
Deny
You're such a liar
You won't know the truth if it
Hits you in the eye
Deny
You're such a liar
You're selling your no-no all the time
Then you said you'd given it up
Gone an'kicked it in the head
You said you ain't had none for weeks
But baby I seen your arms
Baby I seen your arms
Deny
You're such a liar
You won't know the truth if it
Hits you in the eye
Deny
You're such a liar
You're selling your no-no all the time
Do you think I'm a raving idiot?
Just got off the boat
Step in line, sign this form…
Baby ain't got a hope…
You ain't got a hope
What a liar… deny
What a liar
. . .
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All across the town
All across the night
Everbody's driving with full head-lights
Black or white you turn it on
And face the new religion
Everbody's sitting round watching television!
London's Burning (with boredom now)
London's Burning (dial 9-9-9-9-9)
London's Burning (with boredom now)
London's Burning (dial 9-9-9-9-9)
I'm up and down the Westway
In and out the lights
What a great traffic system
It's so bright
I can't think of a better way to spend the night
Than speeding around underneath the yellow lights!
London's Burning (with boredom now)
London's Burning (dial 9-9-9-9-9)
London's Burning (with boredom now)
London's Burning (dial 9-9-9-9-9)
. . .
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The offered me the office, offered me the
shop
They said I'd better take anything they'd got
Do you wanna make tea at the BBC?
Do you wanna be, do you really wanna be a cop?
Career opportunities are the ones that never knock
Every job they offer you is to keep you out the dock
Career opportunity, the ones that never knock
I hate the army an' I hate the R.A.F.
I don't wanna go fighting in the tropical heat
I hate the civil service rules
And I won't open letter bombs for you
Bus driver....ambulance man....ticket inspector
They're gonna have to introduce conscription
They're gonna have to take away my prescription
If they wanna get me making toys
If they wanna get me, well, I got no choice
Careers
Careers
Careers
Ain't never gonna knock
. . .
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I get violent when I’m fucked up
I get silent when I'm drugged up
Want excitement
[I] Don't get none
I go wild
I don’t know
What can be done about
If you play the game
And you get nothing out of it
Find out for yourself
You trying to be Goodie-Goodie
You better
Cheat cheat
No reason to play fair
Cheat cheat
Or don't get anywhere
Cheat cheat
If you can’t win
Nobody knows
What they are doing
Beyond your control
Finding life's a ruin
If you want to survive
You better learn how to lie
You better
Cheat cheat
No reason to play fair
Cheat cheat
Or don't get anywhere
Cheat cheat
If you can’t win
Don’t use the rules
There not for you
There for the fools
And you’re a fool
If you don't know that
Use the rules you stupid fools
. . .
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standing in the bog of a west end bar
guy on the right leaning over too far
money in my pocket, gonna put it in the slot
open up the pack. see what type i got
I didn't want to hold you,
I didn't want to use you
Protex, Protex Blue
all I wanna do
it's a fab protection for that type of a girl
but everybody knows that she uses it well
it's the therapeutic structure i can use at will
but i don't think it fits my b.d. drill
sitting in a carriage of a bakerloo
erotica in my pocket, got a packet for you
advert on the escalator on my way home
i don't need no skin flicks, i wanna be alone
i didn't want to hold you
i didn't want to use you
protex, protex blue
all I wanna do
johnny, johnny
. . .
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X2
[Police and thieves in the streets
Oh yeah!
Scaring the nation with their guns and ammunition
Police and thieves in the street
Oh yeah!
Fighting the nation with their guns and ammunition
From Genesis to Revelation
The next generation will be hear me
From Genesis to Revelation
The next generation will be hear me
And all the crowd comes in day by day
No one stop it in anyway
And all the peacemaker turn war officer
Hear what I say]
Police, police, police and thieves oh yeah
Police, police, police and thieves oh yeah
From Genesis oh yeah
Police, police, police, police, and thieves oh yeah
Scaring, fighting the nation
Shooting, shooting their guns, guns and ammunition
Police, police, police and thieves oh yeah
Police, police, police and thieves oh yeah
Here come, here come, here come
The station is bombed
Get out get out get out you people
If you don't wanna get blown up
. . .
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Friday or Saturday
What does that mean
Short soace of time needs a heavy scene
Monday is coming like a jail on wheels
48 Hours needs 48
48 Hours needs 48
48 Hours needs 48
Thrills!
48 Thrills!
So tell me an’ I'll take the tube
You know a girl yeah
Well she’s bound to be rude
Cannot get nothing at the places I’ve been
48 Hours needs 48
48 Hours needs 48
48 Hours needs 48
Thrills!
48 Thrills!
I've combed this town from top to bottom
I try to get arouynd but my legs are broken
Every time i miss it 'cos I ain’t got a ticket
48 Hours needs 48
48 Hours needs 48
48 Hours needs 48
Thrills!
48 Thrills!
Cheap thrills!
An’ we got thrills
Kicking for kicks!
48 Hours needs 48
48 Hours needs 48
48 Hours needs 48
Thrills!
. . .
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Back in the garage with my bullshit detector
Carbon monoxide making sure it's effective
People ringing up making offers for my life
But I just wanna stay in the garage all night
We're a garage band
We come from Garageland
Meanwhile things are hotting up in the West End alright
Contracts in the offices, groups in the night
My bummin' slummin' friends have all got new boots
An' someone just asked me if the
Group would wear suits
I don't wanna hear about what the rich are doing
I don't wanna go to where the rich are going
They think they're so clever, they think they're so right
But the truth is only known by guttersnipes
There's twenty-two singers! But one microphone
Back in the garage there's five guitar players
But one guitar, back in the garage
Complaints! Complaints! Wot an old bag
Back in the garage ...all night
. . .
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