Viva Dead Ponies

A necklace of rubber, burning bright
A burning rubber necklace for my angel's delight
A holiday in a box, opportunity knocks
For the rich man's militia photographing my block
Kill a cop. why the hell not?

Yeah!! burn, motherfucker, burn!
I got a word for you: dead
Got a trampoline--your fuckin' head

You roll down my street in your gleaming new car
I've got no secrets, cash or time left to give you
But i've got something else for you, my friend
A crack in the restless night, a broken bone on the pavement
Angel's delight was a recurring statement
Burn a bailiff--spill, don't save it

Yeah!! burn, motherfucker, burn!
Run, run, run, run!
You can have what you ask, but not in cash
[with a?] credit card, a payment slashed
You can put it where your mouth used to be
You can put it where your dick used to be
You can [...?] looking at me, looking at you
[...?] blacklist, [...?] blacklist
What do you do when words collapse
And all that's left is broken glass?
I know, i know i'm trapped

I've got a holiday in a big oak box
With my friend, the famous pc plod, plod, plod*
Kill a cop, kill a cop,
You lay a hand on me, i'm gonna kill you, cop.
Hey! let's all kill some cops.
Some bailiffs.
Assholes.

* "pc plod" is a well known and derogatory name for a british beat cop. it's capitalized, like "john q. public."

See the priest in gleaming nappies
Gurgling and burping child at play
Signing warrents, blessing firing squads
Are the pleasures of this baby's day

In a street where broken buildings fall
On burning people ten feet tall
On stockinged knees, not all, not all
Just those who fight in bonfire light
In spite of all the crowds who call
Their hero, a goldfish jockey
Their hero remains mr. baby

Mr. baby spills it by the ton
He wraps his mouth around his gun
He says, "scared? you're not the only one."

Did they raise their fists to greet you all
When they saw the colour of your skin?
Did they laugh and say "go home"
When you told them of the trouble you were in?
You know they did
(god is an arms dealer.)

Your complaint is my mandate
And your shoulders are my ladder (straight)
What they cannot defuse they must excuse
And what they must allow they soon will bow to
And they will kneel
They will kneel to mr. baby
Oh, you really slay me
Mr. baby in the burning bushfire
Basement by the crater brook
Reads from his ancient hate-book

Your own, your own mr. baby
Baby, baby, baby, don't treat me mean now
Don't bang your head...

Alcohol, heroin, thc
Care in the impotent (numb) community*
Resignation, irony, under scrutiny, so events can slip
From memory of history, a voluntary dictatorship

Chemical (cosh!)

One kind for the rich, and one for the poor
The only distinction is the thickness of their front door
Unless it makes you act up, the law won't mind
You play this game, the land is yours, the warden is blind

Chemical (cosh!)
Chemical (cosh!)
It's the only kind we got (cosh!)
If you won't come across

They will have it known you're mad if you don't fit (with) their equation
They will have you for not being rich or body-tax evasion
And they'll pay some stoned stockbroker's son
To phone and say, "i'm coming 'round and bringing my machine gun!"

Chemical (cosh!)
Chemical (cosh!)
It's a stab in the neck and a boot in the chops
From the earth-loving decade which denim forgot

* a reference to "care in the community," a tory plan to reduce health care spending on mental hospital patients by cutting them adrift. this caused much controversy a few years back i
Uk.

The door-to-door inspector, his knuckles bare and white,
Is rapping on your window
'cause he knows you're hiding here tonight
He's travelled from the city to your country slum
Under rain and black clouds
And the burnt-out silver sun

He'll drop you where you stand
Lift the roof with his bare hands
And hand you down his just demands
As you huddle in your tiny corner

The door-to-door inspector now sits to eat his lunch
He scowls at last week's paper
In the worker's cafe, hushed
You made your choice whan mocking the ways of true grown men
Now may your woman-love protect you
As you face this grevious punishment you've earned

He'll drop you where you stand
Then journey home to wash those hands
And to his bed he'll trembling go
Passion not spent, a man alone
(with his hand)

At the platform's end, where the crowd grew thin
And the light was dim on our shoes
Where we sat there so tense,
Not to touch though we meant to (i think)
There was no will, no spell
To breach the night and stop the talk
She tossed her hair and home did walk

Broken radio
Broken radio

On the day that i was born
There was no big flash and no great storm
But the man read the news in dutch and warned,
"i'm gonna play 'je t'aime' on my hunting horn."
In my cradle i was most impressed--
So this is what you call success

Black seamus cried, "my shamrock has died
And my father's gone back to peru."
The frost-damp town wore a fat-guts frown
And the dj's played brian bor

[irish news report:] ("the air corps helicopter took a five-year-old girl from achain island...")

Aodhagan went hunting for food and money
Through the streets of walthamstow
But the dim sunday passed with nary a catch
And the dogs came home alone
Eat me now...
("we inspect our genitalia on a regular basis.")

(i'm) attacking the ones who are weakest of all
On their dim walk to work with their eyes slit so small
For the dawn and the path and their shekels of mine
Fortune won't smile, i must be brutal or die

Now i live by the railway with the rest of the coven
In a hovel vibrating lit by tandoori ovens
Where we keep the ransomees
We get raided on fridays, we get drunk when they leave us
We discuss ways to die, ways we could have gone wrong
We don't mention the now
We can see no way out
We draw skulls on the walls
We draw blood from our balls
We play catch with the rats
(still) the silence won't crack though we heave and we hack

Look what i stole! look what i stole for us, darling!
Look what i stole! look what i stole for us, darling!
Maybe we're dead, i forgot
They're hunting us, so maybe not

Oh, let us mention her torso: heat, electrical chaos
If it burst she would die, oh, oh, oh
Wasn't it kind of her to let me in?
Will it get fat when it's older
Get all riddled with cancer
While she stays the same person who is fucking me now?
See the view from above of the sofa of love
With the roof cut away, cars and people out there
And the stains spreading out and out, blood running cold

Look what i stole! look what i stole for us, darling!
Look what i stole! look what i stole for us, darling!
We used to be human beings--not anymore!
I'll have her washed and brought to you
So you, my wife, can know her, too!