Song from my Subculture Musical. The vampire-like AI finally meets its match. Killed by a shard from the ancient vinyl single of My Generation.

Written, produced and performed by Laurence Wilson.

Revolution (The Death of A.I.)

Written, performed and produced by Laurence Wilson

Human Race (New Version)

Written and Produced by Laurence Wilson.
All instruments and vocal by Laurence Wilson

Problem???

Tapping a tune out on my telephone, listening to the Rolling Stones, trying to to sound like The Beatles, the peoples' band.

Written, produced and performed by Laurence Wilson and Karl Webb

Trying To Sound Like The Beatles/Catch A Tiger

Written. produced and performed by Laurence Wilson

Head Juice Mother Funker

VERSE:

Hey, are you here?
We hadn`t talked for long     
I`m trying to be cured
But you left your sign

Wind always holds me
Like the embrace of an old friend
I feel like was never prepared

CHORUS:

I'll gonna wait 
Until flowers bloom
The daisies will grow
In a field next to the moon

I`ll gonna stay 
Right here where we met
The stars wanna shine
But not without you 

VERSE:

I hope you are strong
To never cry 
I know you are fixed
Like never been broke 

The guitar is hidden under the dust
No melody played, no sound
I believe you are fine
Just not in this grave

That no one`s around
Just tears and lost dreams

Daisies

Written, produced and Performed by Laurence Wilson

Television Man (Do you think I'm crazy?)

It's a story about coming home after an endless day.

Hyacinth

You should have seen us in 77.
We set fire to Stairway to Heaven.
I glued on me sneer and looked annoyed.
My t-shirt says, I hate Pink Floyd.
We was punks, against the corporate.
Back in 77, mate.

I don’t trust no fucking hippies. 
I don’t like The Eagles, so there.
I don’t like anything,
That reminds me of The Beatles, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah.

Fuck of mate, I’ll do your head in
Fuck of mate, I’ll do your head in.
Fuck of mate, I’ll do your head in.
You can bet your fuckin arse on it. (RIFF)

Soo Catwomanr in a bin liner.
Writ  bollocks on me face with  mascara.
Tartan bum flap,  strike an angsty pose.
Studded leather, safety pin through me nose.
We was punks, against the corporate.
Back in 77, mate.

I wanted teeth like Johnny Rotten.
‘til he stuck his head up his own bottom.
I wanted acne like Sid Vicious.
Even though he was a fuckin nob.
Nob, nob, nob, as well as a sod.

I’m a punk.

Bollocks, cunt twat, wankers and tits.
Donny Osmand gave me the shits.
I’ve gonna bunk in to see The Slits.
You can bet your friggin arse on it.

And I hate everybody,
And I hate everything.
Coz I’m a punk, a fuckin punk rocker mate.
I don’t like no bloody thing.

We’re so bored.
Tired of being ignored.
We’re so pretty.
Buggered and shitty

Boredom. Nowhere. Boredom. Nowhere. Boredom.

PUNk SNoT DeAD (EXPLICITE)

Lupe's Theme - from Darwin. Nevada by Piccolo Teatro, Milan

This song was inspired by John Lennon's traumatic childhood
Backing vocal Susan Beaufort-Dysart

UKSCZ/20/00006

John

Author of the plays Urban Legend, Lost Monsters and Blackberry Trout Face, Published by Oberon Modern Plays. Singer - Songwriter, igniter of lighter fluid, in the lucid dark, where Sebastian Bach larks around with insane sounds and pounds of cloud.

PUNk SNoT DeAD (EXPLICITE)

Laurence Wilson

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