"In is much as the grand social circus has been created
|
through the force labor of the people,
|
so, by our labors,
|
will it be destroyed."
|
|
Roll up, roll up, to the land of dreams.
|
We weave and spin a web of fantasy.
|
We touch on the pain and fear.....
|
Then whisk you back to the consumer world.
|
Touch the surfaces smooth the veneer,
|
While three-quarters of the world starves.
|
What do you care?
|
The glitter continuing to glitter
|
The tinsel showers and Tinkerbell
|
Waves the magic wand.
|
Sell sell buy buy.
|
You know the name of the game.....
|
|
All right Jack sitting on the fence,
|
All right Jack sitting on the fence,
|
All right Jack sitting on the fence,
|
All right Jack sitting on the fence.
|
|
They sit on the fence;
|
Real people stand against
|
And say they have the best intention,
|
Just a rip-off trick, it's always hip
|
To keep in with dissention
|
And if an arms dealer is the record boss,
|
The record labels can run'em at a loss.
|
It's money well spent to control the dross
|
What they don't break gets bent.... John.
|
|
All right Jill sitting on the fence.
|
All right Jill sitting on the fence.
|
All right Jill sitting on the fence.
|
All right Jill sitting on the fence.
|
|
The people are fooled by the parasites who mindlessly entertain
|
And take rich pickings fom the bombed out crowds who've paid to bury their pain
|
While the clowns in the pantomine don't give a toss
|
And sing about fucks and fads and loss
|
Sliding around in a genital froth,
|
Our world slips down the drain.
|
|
That's really really wonderful.
|
Well off the wall.
|
That's really really marvellous.
|
Sitting on the fence.
|
Really terrific well out to lunch.
|
That really is a buzz sitting on the fence.
|
|
Preening and posing in a life of pretence,
|
In a cynical mockery of caring,
|
Well you can't see a turd in a barrel of shit
|
If that's their idea of sharing.
|
Yeah peace is in so dump an old track
|
Buy a little cred with the Greenham pack,
|
The biz is keen to kill or catch,
|
As the people scream they're cheering.
|
|
All right Jack. All right Jill.
|
The pen is mighty and looks can kill.
|
All right Jack. All right Jill.
|
In one hand a gift in the other a bill.
|
|
We've seen their best and we're not impressed,
|
So lets get priorities straight.
|
A hamper from Harrods and the patronising gestures
|
Ain't gonna change the state.
|
While the people who care are prepared to act,
|
The pantomine clowns keep the system intact,
|
Shamming a commitment they so obviously lack.
|
The love they sing is hate.... fakes.
|
|
All right Jack shit on the fence.
|
All right Jill shit on the fence.
|
All right Jack shit on the fence.
|
All right Jack you shit on the fence.
|
|
But the fence, the fence, is owned by America.
|
Sit on the fence, owned by America.
|
They make no pretence, it's owned by America.
|
Sitting on the fence, owned by America.
|
|
On their side American troopers and bombs
|
On our side the trash and consumer cons
|
We've been occupied, culture smashed and betrayed
|
But the spirit is untouched... look out...
|
|
Smach the Mac, smach the Mac,
|
Smach the Mac, smach the Big Mac.
|
Smach the Mac, smach the Mac,
|
Smach the Mac, smach the Big Mac.
|
|
Bronco burgers, burnt out brains,
|
Sterile fat, deadly rain,
|
Chemical colours, Kentucky creams,
|
Cut your teeth on American.... dreams
|
|
Stickin chicken, American grains.
|
Licking shittin, American reigns.
|
Kiddies fit in American trains.
|
Bombs tick in American.... planes.
|
|
Smach the Mac. You're on your back.
|
Smach the Mac till it won't came back.
|
Smach the Mac. You're on your back.
|
Smach the Mac so it won't came back.
|
|
American tourist, American free,
|
Two week tour in our misery.
|
A good museum but a stinking home.
|
The natives hang on the rotten.... backbone.
|
|
America owns, American wins.
|
Comes in packets bottles tins.
|
Blind our eyes, fills our ears
|
It's been our soul for twenty.... years.
|
|
Smach the Mac. American tack.
|
Smach the Mac, smach the big Mac.
|
Smach the Mac, make it crack.
|
Smach the Mac, smach the big Mac.
|
|
We stand among your war machines looking for the light
|
Squaddies grunts and filth si |