Privilege

Some people say they die like a dog with a bark
Some people say he was stabbed in the back in the dark
But I don't really see how anyone
Could ever have a photograph of Robert Johnson

And the UK go...

A treasure-hunt but the treasure's gone
Reported lost, not stolen
An empire built on fear
Conscripts are never dog soldiers
Privilege

And the UK go...

Lose your faith and lose your guilt
Resist temptation to be strong
You've got no time to waste time
You came too early and you've stayed too long
In privilege

I've got a girl, six feet four
She sleeps in the kitchen with her feet out the door
She's the kind of woman to lounge around
Spread my business all over town

I rocked to Memphis, I danced all night
Up comes a lady and asks me my name
I told her my name's on the tail of my shirt
Oh rocking chair daddy-o, have to work

Mi have a little girlfriend, six feet four
She sleep inna di kitchen with her feet out the door...

Lose your faith and lose your guilt
Resist temptation to be strong
You've got no time to waste time
You came too early and you've stayed too long
Inna privilege

Franco's Fleet Street

I don't want no more army life
Skipper, I want to go
Back to my cherry-oh
Skipper, I want to go home

Over the Spanish hilltop to a Glasgow launderette
You're waiting for your mates - have you seen them yet?
All your friends are buried far from home
And back in Blighty, newsprint still breaks bones

Where one sigh from Mrs Simpson's worth a thousand dying men
Paper barons' money paid for Mosley way back when
They hung Jews from lamp-posts - this is your past
They'll tell you war is cricket
Look back and laugh

Your first faltering footsteps on the street of shame
Lead to leaps and bounds in the paper chase
Where you can win a million almost for free
And Cindy wants to be a surgeon when she leaves Page Three

You listen to the lies of the Fourth Estate
It's all over bar the shouting - it's time to rattle your chains
You tell me this is a paper, but this is not news
If you don't believe me,
Ask your granddad, ask him about the bread queues

Where one sigh from Mrs Simpson's worth a thousand dying men
Paper barons' money paid for Mosley way back when
They hung Jews from lamp-posts - this is your past
They'll tell you war is cricket
Look back and laugh, look back and laugh

Look back and laugh, look back and laugh

I don't want no more army life
Skipper, I want to go
Back to my cherry-oh
Skipper, I want to go home

Last updated: 14th January 2000