Parody of Life in the Fast Lane by the Eagles, Jizz Lane Maxwell gets her own song

Life In The Jizz Lane

Tragic events rock the world. Assassination is never the answer, but few people argued that gun deaths were justified for the 2nd amendment more than Chuck. RIP big man. 

Wind yo neck in

Chomsky Honk express their disdain for the modern instruments of power and those that wield it destroying the Earth, slaughtering nature, and causing unnecessary suffering to billions of people.

I assemble this record with some wherewithal, to all you people finding kinship in cottonmouth, depression, anxiety all around the world, and your girl gets the message you’re having a panic attack. She's sittin' back in the room, the water’s off, you’re cryin', and then our voice comes in, POW!, in the middle of the night, and this is what we told her for you

Every time candidates run, man, I turn around and cry
I ask myself why, oh why
See, I don’t understand, they don’t represent our lives
So I'll be gone 'til November

Said I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November
Before I snap and need a public defender
I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November
These fucking sheeple jus’ refuse to remember
Bolsonnaro, Ji-Jinping, Putin, Johnson, Trump
Fascist elitists keep us in this dump
I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November
And look out for one another

Red white or black, you’ll be in for a shock
Their fundraiser money keeps you in the dock
Tell big brother, everything you remember
So you don’t get killed by chokeholds or thrown in the slammer
Tell my cousin, Jerry, to try and stay calm
While the rainforests burn so we can oil their palm
Woh oh oh
Monsanto own every seed that grows
Toxic for miles, Exxon Esso

Every time candidates run, man, I turn around and cry
It’s enough to mystify
My thoughts are contraband, I can’t reconcile their lies
So I'll be gone 'til November

Said I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November
The Media is just a corporate vendor
I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November
Propagate the narrative to quash the contender
Killary, and Diamond Joe, against Pence and Trump
Democracy’s infested with cancerous lumps
I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November
And give a prayer for the sinner

I had to quit frontin’ and turn it into somethin'
Flip-flops adjourn, fuck the feathered flock when we drown in junk
Commit treason, Prince Andrew’s in season, to hunt him down
It's only right, it’s within reason
You prefer to take away their choice! Rapin’ girls with your rich boys
Your life is a curse your death we rejoice
Besides, I got my kids to remember
And I'll commit it that I'll be back in November

Every time candidates run, man, I turn around and cry
It’s enough to mystify
See there’s no common ground, when reality’s denied
So I'll be gone 'til November

Said I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November
Yo, on the social, need to spread your agenda
I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November
Please wash your hands and other freedoms surrender
Biolabs in China, bodies pile in a dump
Antivax cults give the virus a bump
I'll be gone 'til November, I'll be gone 'til November
And look out for one another

I know the hustle's hard, but we gotta fight, the farcical

Gone Till November - Chomsky Honk

Joris Bhonson and Co cause chaos with a lacklustre Covid response

Lockdown 2 - Electric Avenue

Tall Tales of London are told over and over, I guess it's tradition, just like Fairy Tale of New York at Christmas, and Food Banks!

The Brexit mess is coming full circle in 2020, perfect timing for an ultimate shitstorm with Covid, never mind 'economically challenged' Tories at the helm. 

It was Christmas Eve, babe
In the food bank
Thanks to Home Secretaries 
They are overrun
And so the queue was long
A fair depressing view
I turned my face away
And joined the damned queue

Got conned like everyone
Caved in to The Sun
Lies were appealing
Misheared the interview
They took our Christmas
And our identity
Won’t starve at dinnertime
When passports turn blue

They've got Westminster bars, they've got toilets of gold
But they can’t find the money to care for the old
When you rode on a bus on a cold Brexmus Eve
You promised me Brussels would beg for mercy

You’re high strung!
What a wedgie, Queen of London City
When the bus finished touring
They denied it all
Theresa was swinging
All the drunks, they were swigging
We kicked out the foreigners
That weren’t pink or white

The boys of the Royal Family desire
Your children for the play
And the proles eat Brussels Sprouts
On Christmas Day

You're a bum, you're a punk
You dosser on skunk
Lying there almost dead taking NHS beds
You sciver, you forgot
I fucked up the whole lot
Happy Christmas, you arse
It’s a gloomy forecast

The boys of the Royal Family desire
Your children for the play
And the proles eat Brussels Sprouts
On Christmas Day

Chomsky Honk

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