if you don't judge a book by its cover
why the hell judge a country by it's news?
because the advertising campaigns
are all in techni-colour
and the people on the street
don't give a shit about your views.
you see, ninety nine point nine
percent of us
will have a good day
but that still won't get you ratings,
so lets take the zero zero point zero one percent
and show the rest of the world
their style of hating.
Now begins the bonfire of your liberties
whoops
there goes the right to your own privacy,
a god given right
to be a fifteen minute celebrity
so get down on your knees
we're live in three.
But first let me see some photographic i.d.
and you can curse the state
of your phonographic L.p's
and if you really want to put your mind
at ease?
remember the first people please

They'll never know
but they started a tradition
of laying down lines
over rhymes
over rhythms

yeah well, sex sells second to
Action, Camera, Lights!
pay per view fights
and buying rights to your own image,
the days of Worzel Gummidge
Windy Miller?
dead and gone
now that Murdochs locked them
in the garage
with the engine on.
And as they teach
our children speech
through tv's baby talk,
remember Jimmy Saville?
man...
at least he fucking rocked.
And most of us have spent our time
still looking to the east
as paranoia barricades yourself
in with the beast,
and as you went to bed
to count your Celtic Tiger cash
you missed the bankers jump the fence
and fuck you in the ass,
the only thing i ask
is please, don't be ill prepared
to watch your place of birth
becoming someone else's time share.
And as we stare
through the fogs of time
they say we still pay
for our ancestor's crimes,
but i never stole a bag
and never bagged a sheep
and never put the siege
onto the walls of that old keep.

They'll never know
but they started a tradition
of laying down lines
over rhymes
over rhythms

Damn man!
do you think that was rhythmical?
sometimes in my life i feel hypocritical,
my teenage life is caught on
celluloid film
my lyrics cook inside my brain
like my head was a kiln
i strap the fish-eye in place
to get the wide perspective
and smoke myself out to death
because the world is defective.
But growing up here
grew up with broad horizons,
surfing and cursing
at the waves
and duck diving
and it's not surprising
that my heads in this state
i've spent fifteen years
standing on top of my skate.
Until i fight this arthritis
take what drugs are hand?
and should i light this
while this night is
slowly getting out of hand
and i don't understand
how the hell you're still standing,
the chemicals you took
should have your brain reprimanding,
your bodies in jail
but your mind is free?
fuck that,
Team Fresh is its own ecstacy.

They'll never know
but they started a tradition
of laying down lines
over rhymes
over rhythms

Well i was born in Coleraine
on the banks of a flashpoint
the first thing i heard
was my dad with a hash joint
giving it loads
with his lyrical missiles
and Uncle Robbie knocked the beat out
on his tin whistle
with the mid wife screaming
'Ye cannae come in and sing!'
'Ah away with ye love,
we named him after a king.'
It was Friday the 13th
at six in the morning
and my parents didn't listen
to the news readers warnings,
'Stay at home
for your own safety.
Sporadic attacks
are on the increase lately.'
My da and uncle drunk
my mum took the wheel
on Old Bridge were ten kids
armed with Shefield steel
and in one street away
in some dark place
a local kid pulled a balaclava
over his face.
being told by the old ones
to fight for his land
and loses both hands
blowing up a bread van...

Fuck that!
cos i'm never going back,
from the night i was born
i've been under attack...

So hit the ignition...