Crass

crassical

crass

True Punk

smooth

Black Out Days (The Range Remix)

Crass - Do They Owe Us a Living?

Babes In Toyland - Spit To See The Shine

Jack Off Jill - Cherry Scented

Punk Is Dead

They've Got A Bomb

End Result

Do They Owe Us A Living?

Asylum

Tilly & The Wall - Pot Kettle Black

performed by: Crass, from the album: Christ: The Album

~Beg Your Pardon? (1982)~

Beg the question, bend the truth
Bail out the basement while there's holes in the roof

In the beginning they said there was light,
Well there ain't much left of it now.
We're lost in the darkness, searching sound and sight
Of an answer to the what, where or how.
We're talking 'bout freedom while we're locked in a cell,
Dreaming of a world without war,
Forced to live on the boundaries of hell
Like no-one's ever thought of peace before.
What's the point of preaching peace if it's something you don't feel?
What's the point of talking love if you think that love ain't real?
Where's the hope in hopelessness? Where's the truth in lies?
Don't try to hold my hand if you can't look me in the eyes.

Beg the question, bend the truth
Bail out the basement while there's holes in the roof

In the beginning they said there was light
But somebody's burnt out the fuse.
And now we're all lost in eternal night
Looking for a candle to use.
Lots of little candles, isolated hope,
Frail little flames in the gale,
Lost little people who just can't cope,
Just knocking their heads on the nail.
What's the point of talking freedom if you just protect yourself?
What's the point of preaching sharing as you accumulate your wealth?
It's so easy to be giving if the things you give ain't real.
It's so easy to lie if your ignore the things you feel.

Beg the question, bend the truth
Bail out the basement while there's holes in the roof

In the beginning they said there was light
But we never had the eyes to see.
But rather than struggling or putting up a fight
We ran like lemmings to the sea.
No-one really wants to get it all together,
It's easier to just grab what you can.
Everybody's going it, hell for leather,
Building little castles in the sand.
Hypocrisy, delusion, lies, pretence, deceit,
Think only of yourself and the world's at your feet
I don't believe the things you say, you make bullshit of the truth.
The game you play's offensive and you life's the living proof.

Beg the question, bend the truth
Bail out the basement while there's holes in the roof

Beg the question, bend the truth
Bail out the basement while there's holes in the roof

In the beginning they said there was light
But I'm tired of hearing their lies.
I'm tired of deceit, gonna put up a fight,
I'm going to use my own eyes.
Gonna make my decisions, live my own life,
They can keep their darkness and gloom.
Hypocrisy, trickery, I've had enough,
They can keep their destruction and doom.
I've only one life and I'll live it my way,
They can keep their restrictions and law.
And if they think different I'll have one thing to say...
"Fuck off cos I've heard it before

Beg Your Pardon?

performed by: Crass, from the album: Christ: The Album

~Deadhead (1981)~

Tired bored sad people, tired bored sad lives
Endless cars on endless roadways, endless shopfronts with endless lies
Even the winners, even the punters, tight lipped packages, think it's bad
Can't imagine a revolution could deal with anything so sad
Well it's all set up so you can't do it
No let up so you don't make it
All arranged so you can't have it
All enclosed so you won't take it
Set in little pockets of isolation
Separated by regulation
Crushed for product in a rich man's passion
Relative ration for the ration nation
Tear a bit, smash a bit, cause a little pain
That's a contribution then they build it up again
Fool yourself thinking it's a holyheld belief
When all the time it's just another light relief
Oh boredom psychological stunt
You never really feel it when you're up at the front
And it doesn't really matter where the hell it's going
As long as everybody has the hot blood flowing

Excitement and thrills
Will put off the ills
Radical frills
Docility pills
New wave, splash in the pan
Real music by dildo dan
Tired old discos, shame balam
Soddern modern christ, futurists again
Play the machine
Crank up the dream
We're just what we seem
Know what I mean?

But no-one can wipe out the last five years
So there's other ways of living than in supergloo pairs
Marry me darling? Fuck off, creep!
Tired and lonely, life on the cheap
Didn't plan it, but now we're very happy
Another poor fucker drowns in its nappy
Bakunin and bollocks and fun and farts
Hit the right fantasy and come up the charts

Treat people like shit and that's what you get.
Thank you, good evening and good night!
You're a wonderful audience!

Deadhead

performed by: Crass, from the album: Yes Sir, I Will

~Five Knuckle Shuffle (1983)~

Anything and everything can be so easily institutionalised,
A poor parody of itself. Itself contained by itself.
There's no point in just mouthing the words.
The token tantrums just aren't enough,
Nor is speed and weed and the Positive Creed.
Exclusive clubs where the various tribes congratulate each other for doing fuck all
Will achieve nothing but the strengthening of the status quo.
Punk has spawned another rock and roll elite,
Cheap Rotten Vicious imitations thinking they'll change their world
With dyed hair and predictable gestures. Nouveau wankers.
There's a thousand empty stages waiting for their empty performances,
A thousand empty faces waiting for their empty stances.
How many times must we hear rehashed versions of Feeding of the 5000
By jerks whose only fuck off to the system has been one off the wrist?
It's the Feeding of the 5 Knuckle Shuffle.

The Five Knuckle Shuffle

performed by: Crass, from the album: Stations of the Crass

~You've Got Big Hands (1979)~

Out of the chaos we divide
Fucked up, muddled up looking for a side
Stay on the outside, don't go in
Don't think that you can do it,
If you sell out they win
It's not like that the changes are made
Give in to them, your chances are delayed
You'll feed with your energies the things that you hate
Diluting your strength each time they say yes
Their hands are big, they've got big hands
Big hands, big hands, big hands etc...
You're talking with sounds they don't understand
Big hands etc..
They've got big mouths to shout demands
Big hands etc..
They'll let you past a couple of times
Big hands etc..
You think you're getting somewhere, you're fucking blind
Big hands etc..
This structures stretches, it'll bend but not break
Big hands etc..
This system channels any threat that you make
Big hands etc..
It will do almost anything to accomodate,
Accomodate you and your liberal ideas
You're the child in their garden
The dog on their lead
Their token to changes that are never made
Can't you see that for centuries, it's been the same
Plenty like you have been seduced to the game
The chain's still as tight, won't let in the light
Can you tell me what's different?
Whose hopes will you feed?
Will you feed their arses
Will you feed their big hands?
Bigs hands etc..

You've Got Big Hands

performed by: Crass, from the album: Penis Envy

~Where Next Columbus? (1980)~

Anothers hope, anothers game
Anothers loss, anothers gain
Anothers lies, anothers truth
Anothers doubt, anothers proof
Anothers left, anothers right
Anothers peace, anothers fight
Anothers name, anothers aim
Anothers fall, anothers fame
Anothers pride, anothers shame
Anothers love, anothers pain
Anothers hope, anothers game
Anothers loss, anothers gain
Anothers lies, anothers truth
Anothers doubt, anothers proof
Anothers left, anothers right
Anothers peace, anothers fight
Marx had an idea from the confusion of his head
Then there were a thousand more waiting to be led
The books are sold, the quotes are bought
You learn them well and then you're caught
Anothers left, anothers right
Anothers peace, anothers fight
Mussolini had ideas from the confusion of his heart
Then there were a thousand more waiting to play their part
The stage was set, the costumes worn
And another empire of destruction born
Anothers name, anothers aim
Anothers fall, anothers fame
Jung had an idea from the confusion of his dream
Then there were a thousand more waiting to be seen
You're not yourself, the theory says
But I can help, your complex pays
Anothers hope, anothers game
Anothers loss, anothers gain
Satre had an idea from the confusion of his brain
Then there were a thousand more indulging in his pain
Revelling in isolation and existential choice
Can you truly be alone when you use anothers voice?
Anothers lies, anothers truth
Anothers doubt, anothers proof
The idea born in someones mind
Is nurtured by a thousand blind
Anonymous beings, vacuous souls
Do you fear the confusion, your lack of control?
You lift your arm to write a name
So caught up in the identity game
Who do you see? Who do you watch?
Who's your leader? Which is your flock?
Who do you watch? Who do you watch?
Who's your leader? Which is your flock?
Einstein had an idea from the confusion of his knowledge
Then there were a thousand more turning to advantage
They realised that their god was dead
So they reclaimed power through the bomb instead
Anothers code, anothers brain
They'll shower us all in deadly rain
Jesus had an idea from the confusion of his soul
Then there were a thousand more waiting to take control
The guilt is sold, forgiveness bought
The cross is there as your reward
Anothers love, anothers pain
Anothers pride, anothers shame
Do you watch at a distance from the side you have chosen?
Whose answers serve you best? Who'll save you from confusion?
Who will leave you an exit and a comfortable cover
Who will take you oh so near the edge, but never drop you over?
Who do you watch?


Where Next Columbus?

performed by: Crass, from the album: The Feeding of the 5000

~Banned from the Roxy (1978)~

Banned from the Roxy... O.K.
I never much liked playing there anyway.
They said they only wanted well behaved boys,
Do they think guitars and microphones are just fucking toys?
Fuck 'em, I chosen to make my stand,
Against what I feel is wrong with this land.
They just sit there on their overfed arses,
Feeding off the sweat of less fortunate classes.
They keep their fucking power cause their finger's on the button,
They've got control and won't let it be forgotten.
The truth of their reality is at the wrong end of a gun,
The proof of that is Belfast and that's no fucking fun.
Seeing the squaddy lying in the front yard,
Seeing the machine guns resting on the fence.
Finding the entrance to your own front door is barred
And they've got the fucking nerve to call it defence.
Seems their defence is just the threat of strength,
Protection for the privileged at any length.
The government protecting their profits from the poor,
The rich and the fortunate chaining up the door.
Afraid that the people may ask for a little more
Than the shit they get. The shit they get.
The shit they get. The shit they get.
The shit they get. The shit they get.
The shit they get. The shit they get.
DEFENCE? SHIT, IT'S NOTHING LESS THEN WAR
AND NO ONE BUT THE GOVERNMENT KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK IT'S FOR.

Oh yes they say it's defence, they say it's decency,
Mai Lai, Hiroshima, know what I mean?
The same fucking lies with depressing frequency,
They say "We had to do it to keep our lives clean"
Well whose like? Whose fucking life?
Who the fuck are they talking to?
Whose life? Whose fucking life?
I tell you one thing, it ain't me and you.
And their system, christ, they're everywhere,
School, army, church, corporation deal.
A fucked up reality based on fear,
A fucking conspiracy to stop you feeling real.
Well ain't got me, I'd say their fucking wrong,
I ain't quite ready with my gun, but I've got my song...
Banned from the Roxy, well O.K.
I never much liked playing there anyway.
GUNS.

Banned From The Roxy

performed by: Crass, from the album: Christ: The Album

~Reality Whitewash (1982)~

The grey man at the wheel
Looks around to see if there's some skirt he can steal
He doesn't really want to, he's just acting out a game
And in their own fucked up way, most people do the same
She cleans the bathroom mirror so she can line her eyes
An expert in delusion, an artist in disguise
She's not content with what she is, but she does the best she can
But she doesn't do it for herself, she does it for her man
And meanwhile he's out hunting, this master of the hunt
Cruising down the high street in his endless search for cunt
And the posters on the hoardings encourage his pursuit
Glossy ads, where men are men, and women simply cute
And the men are in their motorcars and the men have nerves of steel
And they dreams of charlies angels as they firmly grip the wheel
And they fantasise they're screwing in the back seat of the car
Fantasise they're fucking with a real life movie star
Fantasies to fill the gaps, to fill in every crack
A whitewash of reality to hide the truth they lack.
Now she's sponging down the cooker, on the surface all is fine
His dinner's in the oven cos he's doing overtime
She switches on the telly, it makes her feel secure
Helps confirm her way of life, who needs to ask for more
She sees the happy family unit, wife and hubby on the screen
The perfect social unit, just like it's always been
She's done the very best she can
To love and honour and obey her man
And if she should ever doubt the wisdom of her choice
She can turn on the television for its moderating voice
The ads and weekly series are the proof she needs
That a life of boredom outweighs the deeds
She sits up till the epilogue and goes to bed alone
Content that when he's finished work he'll go straight home
Meanwhile he downs another scotch, the lady has a coke
And if he's asked about the wife he treats it as a joke
"Hear the one about the you-know-what"
He's got what it takes and he takes what he's got
He took his woman and he'll take plenty more
She took on a rat to keep the wolf from the door
Then maybe in her loneliness she'll want to have a child
Who'll be taught the games of adulthood, boxed and filed
Another life to whitewash, to us a child is born
To follow in its parents' tracks, the path's well worn
Fantasy and falsehood, truth and lie
The fucked up system they call reality
The system needs its servants, each birth is one more
Gently talk of freedom as they quietly lock the door
Cos the system needs its servants if the system's going to run
Needs its fodder for the workhouse, its targets for the gun.


Reality Whitewash

performed by: Crass, from the album: Christ: The Album

~Buy Now Pay As You Go (1981)~

Buy now, pay as you go,
Buy now, say hello.
You can put a mortgage on your life
To enter Shoppers' Paradise.
A trade-in for your dignity
A lovely colour console T.V.
To watch and cherish as the days slip by,
And dream of the things that money can buy .

Brushed chrome shit, plastic crap,
My life and my vision is worth more than that.
Plate glass ghetto, shopping spree,
I'm no fucking commodity.
Lusting for objects, white wall refrigerator.
Cut off your fingers and buy a vibrator.
Get them while it lasts, your time is running out.
It's a new mink coal, that's what life's all about.

A new tank, a new bomb, awaits you in the store.
Is life all that shallow that you're reaching out for more?
Start planning now for a family plot.
A satin-lined bunker where your corpses can rot.
Well there's nothing for sale here, no day-glo gore.
And I ain't no waxed-up showroom whore.
I don't need carrots in front of my eyes.
Man made pre-fab, polyester lies.

Or sexy glossy adverts left on my mat.
I live with my needs, I don't need that.
I don't need a yacht to take a cruise.
Don't need a telephone in the loo.
Won't barter my soul for a rip-joint sale.
Excess is just another nouveau jail.
Don't want to grow fat off the fat of the land,
Or to choke on the greed of public command.

Thirty years with one foot in the grave.
Possession junkie, consumer slave.
If money buys freedom it's already spent.
Your object's the subject of my contempt.
Buy now, pay as you go,
Buy now, say hello.
Bye bye,
Bye bye.



Buy Now Pay As You Go

performed by: Crass, from the album: Penis Envy

~Poison In A Pretty Pill (1980)~

Printed on with tactile lies of glaze and gause.
They say, "Forget yourself, adorn with this disguise",
This womanhood of smooth and tampered whores.
Let me warn you of their cold sensitivity,
They'll have you gathered in a trap of glass.
Is your reflection all that you will recognise?
That cruel lie will stare you in the face.
Wrapped up in haze and flow of bridal gown,
They tell your lover he must hold a gun.
You're the pornographic reassurance he's a man,
They deal with flesh, incarcerate with rags,
Red lips, shimmer-silk and body-bags,
Hairless legs against the blistered napalms burn.
I want to rape the substance of your downy hair,
In that mist a gutted child fights for air.

Against the fragile, mashed and sweaty wound
Your facile beauty has an outrageous sound,
Like a glamour billboard on a battlefield.
At least the blood-red poppy was of nature will,
That flower perfecting by the barbed wire fence
Must be insulted by your scented poor pretence
Just as I, who finds it hard to touch you now,
You traumatise my love with needle doubts,
I want so gently to remove your mask.
It's hard enough to find water here
In this barrenness of dishonesty and fear
Without you accepting poison in a pretty pill.
Your bondages of silky robes and lace
Are the bandages on a bullet punctured corpses,
The layers of precious imitation worn
Are the layers of history to suffocate the unborn.

Poison, poison, poison, poison
Poison, poison, poison, poison
Poison in a pretty pill
Poison in a pretty pill
Poison in a pretty pill...


Poison In A Pretty Pill

performed by: Crass, from the album: The Feeding of the 5000

~General Bacardi (1978)~

I've seen it all before,
Revolution at my back door,
Well whose to say it won't happen all again.
Cos the General's sip bacardi, while the privates feel the pain.

They talk from the screen and T.V. tube.
They talk revolution like it's processed food.
They talk of anarchy from music hall stages,
Look for change in colour supplement pages.
They think that by talking from some distant tower,
That something might change in the structure of power.
They dream, they dream, never walk on the street.
They dream, they dream, never stand on their feet.

I've seen it all before,
Revolution at my back door,
Well whose to say it won't happen all again.
Cause the General's sip bacardi, while the privates feel the pain.

Alternative values were a fucking con.
They never really meant it when they said "Get it on".
They really meant, "Mine, that's mine", can't you see?
They stamped on our heads so that they could be free.
They formed little groups, like rich mans ghettoes,
Tending their goats and organic tomatoes.
While the world was being fucked by fascist regimes,
They talked of windmills and psychedelic dreams.

I've seen it all before,
Revolution at my back door,
Well whose to say it won't happen all again.
Cause the General's sip bacardi, while the privates feel the pain.


General Bacardi

performed by: Crass, from the album: Stations of the Crass

~System (1979)~

You can swear by who the fuck you like
But you're still on the roof
I'm not gonna change the system
They're not gonna change the system
We're not gonna change the system
Where does that leave you?  Where does that leave me?
Jumping up and down to a bunch of tools
The organisation treat us like fools
They can't help it, they didn't make the rules
It's just the system again, BOLLOCKS
Bind us round with ignorance
Fit us up with a petty stance
Fill us up with cheap romance
Leave no option, no chance
What've they got?  Fuck all?  NO
What've they got?  A swimming pool?
Where do you get it?  Follow the rules
System, system, system
Keeping their fingers on the breaks
Down the ladders, up the snakes
Buy the band and call the tune, nah.

System

performed by: Crass, from the album: Penis Envy

~Bata Motel (1980)~

I've got 54321
I've got a red pair of high-heels on
Tumble me over, it doesn't take much
Tumble me over, tumble me, push
In my red high-heels I've no control
The rituals of repression are so old
You can do what you like, there'll be no reprisal
I'm yours, yes I'm yours, it's my means of survival
I've got 54321
Come on my love, I know you're strong
Push me hard, make me stagger
The pain in my back just doesn't matter
You force-hold me above the ground
I can't get away, my feet are bound
So I'm bound to say
That I'm bound to stay
Well today I look so good
Just like I know I should
My breasts to tempt inside my bra
My face is painted like a movie star
I've studied my flaws in your reflection
And put them to rights with savage correction
I've turned my statuesque perfection
And shone it over in your direction
So come on darling, make me yours
Trip me over, show me the floor
Tease me, tease me, make me stay
In my red high-heels I can't get away
I'm trussed and bound like an oven ready bird
But I bleed without dying and I won't say a word
Slice my flesh and I'll ride the scar
Put me into gear like your lady car
Drive me fast and crash me crazy
I'll rise from the wreckage as fresh as a daisy
These wounds leave furrows as they heal
I've travelled them, they're red and real
I know them well, they're part of me
My birth, my sex, my history
They grew with me, my closest friend
My pain's my own, my pain's my end
Clip my wings so you know where I am
I can't get lost while you're my man
Tame me so I know your call
I've stabbed my heels so I am tall
I've bound my twisted falling fall
Beautiful mute against the wall
Beautifully mutilated as I fall
Use me, don't lose me
I've got 54321
I've got a red pair of high-heels on
Strap my ankles, break my heels
Make me kneel, make me feel
Turn, turn, turn, like a clockwork doll
Put in your key and give me a whirl
Tease me, tease me, the reason to play
In my red high-heels I can't get away
I'll be your bonsai, your beautiful bonsai
Your black-eyed bonsai, erotically rotting
Will my tiny feet fit your desire?
Warped and tied I walk on fire
Burn me out, twist my wrists
I promise not to shout, beat me with your fists
Squeeze me, squeeze me, make me feel
In my red high-heels I'm an easy kill
Tease me, Tease me, make me see
You're the only one, I need to be me
Thankyou, will you take me?
Thankyou, will you make me?
Thankyou, will you break me?
Use me, don't lose me
Taste me, don't waste me
Use, lose, taste, waste.




Bata Motel

performed by: Crass, from the album: Christ: The Album

~Have A Nice Day (1982)~

Same old stuff, you've heard it all before,
Crass being crass about the system, or is it war?
We ain't got no humour, we don't know how to laugh,
If you don't fucking like it - fucking tough!
Cos I'm the same old monkey in the same old zoo
Same old message trying to get through,
Screaming from the platform when the train ain't even there,
I've got a one way ticket, but I don't fucking care.
If what I've got to say is always much the same,
It's cos the game the system plays is still the same old game.
Senile idiots in their seats of power,
Ancient rotting corpses breathing horror by the hour.
They're lovers of death the fucking creeps,
Screwing our earth, as our earth weeps.
Iron ladies and steel men
Waiting for their fucking war to start again.
Blood lusting nutters plan death for us all,
They'll be hiding in their bunkers as we watch the missiles fall,
Ain't they just so decent, respectable and nice,
Eating the fat of the land while it's us that pay the price.
Westminster's full of psychopaths with blood clots 'stead of brains,
Flesh hungry vultures picking our remains,
Shitting on the world they've shat on many times before,
Fucked it good and proper in the name of law.
Well bollocks to the lot of you and you can fuck off too,
If you're bored with what I say, no-one's asking you.
Just fuck off and have your fun,
Hoist your jolly roger and wave your plastic gun,
With your painted faces and your elegant style,
How about trying to think for a while?
As your decorate your lifestyle with cheap consumer bliss,
Forget about loving, it's your arse you're going to kiss.
As long as they've got you under their thumb
With T.V. lobotomy and media fun,
They'll have their way with you, what more can I say?
Watch out for the mind police and have a nice day.



Have A Nice Day

From The Feeding of the Five Thousand released as part of the Crassical Collection, fully remixed and remastered.

Crass - So What?

Patti Smith - Because The Night

Background: http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2012/08/07/the-histories-of-the-universe-patti-smith/