Pastimes

Hokey dokey, Let's cut the jokes, eh? You wanna sit on top of Old Smokey And choke it all down, The hate for the brown and the black, Like those frat guys in Okie? (Well, okay!) Low-key ain't my thing, When I sing it's a song of resistance And not one of sixpence, I piss on your systems, My liquid commitment to Christendom's wisdoms, I give 'em the golden shower, Powerplays, The rows, affrays, The sour faces defaming races, Inflaming hatred, restraining natives, Got Jesus in chains and the state is the plaintiff, (damn, I need a spliff... ) Lifting spirits, Got a cigarette paper with a 'teenth rolled in it, The miracle herb, the spiritual verve, The motherfucking courtesy I deserve, The world's a shit-hole, A rich-and-poor fishbowl, A whore's torn camisole Of cunt-worn vitriol, Habitual sin and the ritual indiscretion, The lesson hasn't even been learned, Humility earned ​​​​​Is burned away In the grim foray of this doomsday chapter-play, May's shit taking Britain back to basics, Trump jumping guns like God on fucking day six, Putin shootin' the shit out of Syria And fucking up China's attempts to be superior, (Scarier than sharing a date with Norman Bates), Late night conspiracies So here it is, The lyricist fist of the North Star, The four-star-leaded, Kick your bourgeois head in, You're dead inside Like a ghoul and his corpse-bride, Hide from the clarity, Run from the charity, Married to the pain, Insane claiming sanity, Finality comes with a drum-beat As dumb feet jump To the rhythm of a ruined humanity, The flatline, the facts shine bright Like a black light, Mack-the-Knife high-society pastimes, Past crimes pass us by, Palestine, Columbine, All of my thoughts are cauterised, Brought to mind by the morbid signs Of a motherfucking social decline. Time's up!