Well on a cold Tuesday morning, I was walking into town,
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Had my headphones blaring, didn¡¯t notice what was around,
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I crossed the road, a car swerved and nearly ran me down,
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Looked in the driver¡¯s seat, I swear to God it was Doc Brown,
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He said ¡°Are you Michael J Fox?¡± I said ¡°No I¡¯m Jonny Fox¡±,
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He said ¡°Close enough, get inside,
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I¡¯m taking you with me to see another time,
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A place you could only have dreamed in your mind,
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An alternative reality situated just outside of Clapham,
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So strap yourself in,
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Cos where we¡¯re going you don¡¯t need roads,
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To get to where punk never happened¡±
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We landed in a concrete desert, rubble as far as the eye could see,
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I says to Doc ¡°Where we goin¡¯?¡±
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Doc says he¡¯s following me,
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We found the only building in the city that was left standing,
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It was my local venue,
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I know cos I recognised the landing,
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And there¡¯s a gig on tonight! This town ain¡¯t so bad,
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I got everything I need, right here in this pad,
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So I pulled out a bottle and took a heroic swig,
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Made myself comfortable and got ready for the gig,
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Well an hour after doors and there was still no-one there,
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The soundman was on acid, the fucking long hair,
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The bands never showed cos they didn¡¯t see the point,
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When all the kids are at home still smoking a joint,
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They won¡¯t go out and do nothing, not on your nelly,
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They¡¯re just watching the telly and then feeding their belly,
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Their parents listen to The Beatles, while they listen to Nirvana,
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Cos Green Day and The Pistols, well they never heard either,
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They got long sleeve T-shirts and they never shower,
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They still believe in flower power,
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The hippy dream¡¯s faded but they got nothing new,
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So they wear flares and slippers and burn incense sticks too,
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The kids would rather skate than go out and smash the state,
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While their parents sit still and meditate,
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Action¡¯s at a low when people just don¡¯t care,
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They zoned out to their surroundings, the anger¡¯s not there,
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And I¡¯m stuck in this hippy, grunge reality,
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Where the buildings are crumbling down from apathy,
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They grab you at school when you¡¯ve just turned 13,
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And show you your brand new, life long routine,
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You can sleep and work, and work and sleep,
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So you can save up the money to buy a new jeep,
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So you can sleep and work, and work and sleep,
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Then sleep. Then work. Then work. Then sleep.
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I pulled a fanzine out my back pocket, held it in my hands,
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And watched the colours slowly fade away,
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The words bled right off of the pages til it had nothing left to say,
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I banged on the jukebox but it was useless,
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It had no good records on,
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Not even something weak like ¡®The Best Punk Album In The World Ever Volume 1¡¯,
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Outside the windows, I saw the excavators coming to tear the place down,
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No-one stopped them, for there is no community left in this town,
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There¡¯s no-one around to fight Margaret Thatcher,
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The power of the flower just couldn¡¯t match her,
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Too strong was the will of Parliament to cause damage,
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That with no punk rock everything went unchallenged,
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Land got knocked down to build more land,
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That got knocked down again for a couple more grand,
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With no punk the protests were full of throwbacks calling each other comrade,
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Of course the young folks¡¯ attendance started to fade,
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So it was easy for the police to move in, they were trusted,
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And that¡¯s when the whole damn town got busted,
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They moved CCTV cameras in everywhere,
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But the people were too apathetic to care,
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They made them carry ID cards to state where they¡¯re from,
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As if by being born they had done something wrong,
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They shipped all the poor folk to live out in the edges,
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So the rich folk could move in and peer over their hedges,
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¡°But before you leave, you¡¯d better build our homes,
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There, we¡¯ve done you a favour, now you¡¯re on your own,
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This ain¡¯t your home no more, go find somewhere new,
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I know you ain¡¯t got the money, cos it¡¯s me who employs you,
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I know everything about you, what you eat, how you dress,
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Your hobbies, your turn-ons, your email address,
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| While I had you working in the |
