92,6 Hertz

Sleaford Mods vs. Suicide

Sleaford Mods: Urine Mate, Welcome To The Club [with John Paul]
                         Kill It Clean  (Austerity Dogs; 2013)
Suicide: Rocket USA
              Dance
              Harlem
              Cheree
              Mr Ray  (Live 1977-1978 - London MusicMachine July 24 1978)
Sleaford Mods: In Quiet Streets
                         Live Tonight  (Key Markets; 2015)
Sleaford Mods: Teacher faces porn charches
                         Graham  (Sleaford Mods; 2007)
Sleaford Mods: The Last 3 Digits on the Back of the Card
                        Cheeky Wally
                        Guitar  (S.P.E.C.T.R.E; 2011)
Suicide: Mr. Ray [to Howard T.]  (Alan Vega and Martin Rev [The Second Album]; 1980)
Suicide: Space Blue Bambo
              Creature Feature
              Too Fine for You  (The First Rehersal Tapes; 1975)
EOC: Ofen aus Glas  (Damals hinterm Mond; 1991)
Sleaford Mods: Silly Me
                         Middle Men
                         Jolly Fucker
                         A Little Ditty
                         Tiswas
                         Fizzy
                         Tied Up in Nottz
                         Jobseeker
                         Six Horsemen
                         Tarantula Deadly Cargo
                         Tweet Tweet Tweet  (Live Glastonbury June 27th 2015)
Leftfield & Sleaford Mods: Head And Shoulders (2015)


Urine Mate, Welcome To The Club:
People places parties J
You already got me started mate
Bout the cunts in the arm-label coats
Looking at me like they want to slit me fucking throat
Anyway, you ain't got a clue
Stopped wearing that in '92
Making me on edge, will ya wedge?
Here cocks, don't call me gobby
To you, it's just a hobby
To use your fists
Anyway, I'm enjoying me sen
Your life ain't worth living, you fucking prick
So leave me alone and get on with it
People places parties, in a bit
(belch)
Now just cause I look a bit different to you
Handle it, and go back to your crew
Cus without em you're shit
One on one, cunt, handle it"
SPECTRE!
I seen Roxy Rob puttin his bin out
At nine o'clock this morning
And all the people from Mapperly Park
Point and laugh cause he's pissed
And stinks of urine
Urine mate! Welcome to the club!
Get the private dancer with the
I ain't successful either
Fuck it!
Let's roll around in pig shit!
Hang around down Coral
Watch the pimps kick seven barrels of shit
Out of the women
"What have I done to you?"
"Shut your mouth and stand where I fucking tell you to!"
?
?
The stench of El Doctor
He dangles his victims from the legs
Of his helicopter
Fucking idiot
Do ya think riding around on a BMX
Is going to make me feel intimidated?
Smash yr face, cunt, back into next week
Along with the three snakes around your
Babylon feet
Urine mate, welcome to the club!
Urine mate, welcome to the club!
Urine mate, welcome to the club!
You get the private dancer from the ready ?
The only phone on the road is chlamydia ridden
Phlegm stank where the fuckers sell
Processed peas as weed
It's cold when I look out my window
Another local pub burned down
To the ground
I hate those fucking Motown nights anyway
Its Jive Bunny meets Lucy fucking Pinder!
Oh nice
I've got a hoopla and I'm gonna
Fucking swing it at you
Let's aim bombs at the licensee
Let's aim bombs at the licensee
Rip one up to the toilet seat
With the Lethal Weapon on the ?
?
?
Urine mate, welcome to the club
Urine mate, welcome to the club
You get the private dancer from the ready ?


Kill It Clean:
We have to be, we have to be so small
We live our tiny lives, an' all we want to be is tall
We have to be, we have to be so small
We punch above our weight because
The world won't take us all
The mouthy Mac man got a job on tellin' me
He's got his work cut out, so he better kill it clean
The mouthy Mac man got a job on tellin' me
He's got his work cut out, so he better kill it clean
Why d'y'all sound the same?
I came t'check it out
Why d'y'all sound the same?
I came t'check it out
I feel funky, I came t'check it out
Why d'y'all sound the same?
I came t'check it out
It stinks t'me, it stinks of all your pores
You got the bedtime stories
And I got the matchin' snores
It stinks to me, it stinks of high Heaven
You tried to pull a fast one, you pulled a ckever'un
The mouthy Mac man got a job on tellin' me
He's got his work cut out, so he better kill it clean
The mouthy Mac man got a job on tellin' me
He's got his work cut out, so he better kill it clean
Why d'y'all sound the same?
I came t'check it out
Why d'y'all sound the same?
I feel funky, I came t'check it out
Why d'y'all sound the same?
Why d'y'all sound the same?
I came t'check it out
Why d'y'all sound the same?
I feel funky, I came t'check it out
Why d'y'all sound the same?


In Quiet Streets:
Weaning it on my angle, you fucking satanist
Its not a Pentangle, Arthur
No druids, out of date barrel fluids
I go large for a pound and regret it
Greasy, a sharp contrast from my newly adopted organic nice mate
Easy variety is the lie of life, no lonely hearts club
Just a lonely collection of moose-face bastards
Miliband got hit with the ugly stick, not that it matters
The chirping cunt obviously wants the country in tatters
They all do, two arms, two legs, fuck you
Fuck you all, we don’t want radio play
We’re not fucking Cannon and Ball
Smashed houses, super farts
Ta, ra, ta, ra, la, la, la, shit trousers
That’s the angle
That’s the angle
Wobbly chops, wobble at you
Firm men snot the chop, I’ll dob ya
Arthur, side car mayhem
Cold streets, the hum of the traffic lights
Pedal bikes, do what you want, ya what nat?
Have it dom, I can’t eat any more bought in cakes
That taste like koala waste
Eucalyptus, you can fuck off
I pick blackberries near the old contact centre
The smell of late summer in spring, we step, they stop
Advancement is only regarded as a good day in the money shop
Cheques got cashed, nowhere money in nowhere land
That’s the angle
That’s the angle
Donors are peers, hey
But in the old days you had to lead a group of men up a hill
And got 'em shot by the locals mate
Not now, now money murders
We put our souls in nursery for the day
Pick 'em up after work, take 'em home
Try ‘n get 'em in bed tucked up before 10 o’clock
Good drones, organic, the new church donation .org
The virtual soap box in the park
You got a mouthful, justify the nouce, spit ya venom
The rulers don’t care it's still the 70's
And they laugh at our ugly double denim
We are the wooden horses on wooden race courses at fairs
The top prize is damaged organs and nobody cares
Death before your contact extension, puke on you
They will assist in matters that don’t fucking interest you
Keep it going
Mumbling procedure over the phone into ears that are having a seizure
The seizure isn’t actually a physical crack
It's your body trying to take itself back
From rules, rules on mules in backpacks
Over mountains that only exist in your mind trap
Crevice, green bins terrace, steak club Tuesday
Guest ales called Mother of Ruby, five point eight
I ruined my first pint of Abbott getting two of those fucking things in mate
Battered in a blanket of cheap meat, tweet
I been on line since 2006
My login is Jason-wants-to-know-why-he-can’t-fuckin’-log-in-Keith
Back office it, pass it on
Fuck 'em, they can sort the problem
The angles right, it's 'ere tonight
Basement revs my dreams
Of bitter minds on seats with pints
In quiet streets
The angles right, it's 'ere tonight
Basement revs my dreams
Of bitter minds on seats with pints
In quiet streets
In quiet streets
In quiet


Live Tonight:
You cunt!
Live tonight
Live tonight
Get you into the fucking ground, I'm not moaning man
I like the smell of mist on curbs near the beer garden at night
I like the taxis, cars, motorbikes, pedestrian walkways
Well if the council want a no traffic zone that's sound mate, good with me
I got a latte, on I'm easy, undercover of the night
Telecaster, pirate wanker, high seas, arthritis? Yes please!
I look like The Michelin man yammed up on antibiotics, nanny
Is that your auntie? What d'yer bring ya fucking auntie for?
What's he gunna do? You ain't got permission to
Unless I give it to you, to open ya mouth
I want you to unplug the till from the canteen upstairs bring it down 'ere
Plug it in and start dishing fucking refunds out!
Live tonight
Live tonight
Live tonight (every night)
Live tonight
Darcy de farcy back on the phones in two years
Real music, real chorus, no tears, no fears
I'll end mumbling away in a waiting room about the SAS, mate
Dirty neck barred from The Last Post, the pub next to the church
It's alright, blokes 'n' smokes, it's all god and an eye for an eye
Still some out there who believe in the lie of work til you die, of Sundays, apple pie
Death waits for every man!
It ain't like cakes from Birds, you don't get anything for your money back
Pound back on the bottle of pop, I tango and cashed it, yam
Cake tin, your job, my job, laughing
Mate, where we been? Upstairs in the back kid on slop mod
Daft crop, I don't wear crap like that throwbacks alright
If ya doing something decent but I put ya CD on
It's fucking Shakin' Stevens
Live tonight
Live tonight
Live tonight (every night)
Live tonight
You know where the fucking shop is, don't ya?
Do you want one? Fine!
You know where the fucking shop is, don't ya?
Do you want one? Fine!
Don't ya?
Don't ya?


Teacher faces porn charches:
When I walk home
I think about you
I sit down to dinner
I think about you
Teacher faces porn charges
It's cold, really cold
The 75 steps take me to the top of the hill
I can see the whole city, neon, green and blue
But if I take time to walk in
It's feels so small
Too many yes men and yes women
Saying yes
And living for fuck-all
When I walk home
I think about you
I sit down to dinner
I think about you
Teacher faces porn charges
Kids laugh at him in flip-flops
Plastic bag full of beer
I'm like one of those nonexistent old blokes you see
From time to time
Wearing flip-flops, pajamas
Plastic bag full of beer
I'm 35 years old
And my mother is still putting money into my account
So I can go out and shop in flip-flops, pajamas
To buy a plastic bag of beer
Things should be in order
I'm not talkin' about the usual shit
House, car, blah blah blah
I'm just sayin'
Things should be in order
When I walk home
I think about you
I sit down to dinner
I think about you
Teacher faces porn charges
50 p charge on me card
This shop's on the up
Topshop is offering the local pervert all he needs
Ten cans of Carling [? 2:56] for 5 pound 50
That's 6 pound if I pay on card
They've even produced a glossy special offers leaflet
Putting it through every corpse's door
Special offers leaflet
More like, kill yourself via our cheap deals brochure
Suicide through a haze of 10 for 5.50
And three deep-pan Chicago-style pizzas for 2 quid
Together with the card charge that's 8 pound
The local shop always gets my support
Because at the co-op it's easier to shoplift
Everything has its use
And when you're a rat in a run
You can't afford to chip your tooth
You can't afford to chip your tooth
When I walk home
I think about you
I sit down for dinner
I think about you
Teacher faces porn charges
2 pound 75 for an homemade chili
Or 3 pound 50 for a mega-breakfast
Including toast and a cup of tea
I always go in with a suit jacket on
Because if I ask for extra toast she doesn't charge
She must think I'm quite posh
Hardly
Hardly
From the window
There's a great view of hell
All concrete
Undeveloped developments
Fences
ASBOs doing 200 miles an hour
On horrible looking scooters
Whatever happened to Vespas?
People seem happier on a Saturday
10 cans of Carling [? 5:04] and 3 deep-pan pizzas 7 pound 50
When you're playing the fame game
The ground floor's the hardest one to get the lift out of
If you can succeed in getting to the first
And few do
From my point of view, you are laughing
I mean let's face it
If you think you've got something
Then you're gonna, at some point
Be looking at what I'm currently looking at
Through the windows of this cafe
Exclusively brought to me by the fame game
Teacher faces porn charges
When I walk home
I think about you
I sit down to dinner
I think about you
If the clouds get bigger
What I forgot to do
Was think about you


Graham:
This is shit
Fucking had it danced it necked it pilled it
Slagged it
Boozed it
It's all bollocks
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, man
Cause there's nothing coming out
Of your left speaker
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, mate
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your left speaker
Loads of old people necking pills
Ecstasy has truly taken its toll
On some of these faces
The fucking eyes have hills
Mine's wearing off
And the bird I been chatting up
Is starting to look like a dead dog
Ah well
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, man
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your lеft speaker
Graham
Play something sweetеr
Put your drink down, mate
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your left speaker
Nottingham has deffo gone downhill
This this ain't the Cool Cat
Deffo ain't Venus
And why the fuck is everyone
Raving about Crazy Penis
I got three women circling me
Like an hungry shark
Only these ones don't bite
They fucking bark
Ah well
I can't help but feel cynical
I can't help but feel bored
1990 came and went
I don't want it anymore
If I had the money I'd go away
If I had the bollocks I'd completely change
But my hens are caged ain't free range
And I will rot in this shithole
Gonna die a young age
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, man
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your left speaker
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, mate
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your left speaker
Rottingham...wheres Robin when we need him?
Ain't giving to the poor anymore
He's selling to the rich
?
And on a three day bender
Come down and smack little John
With a hammer
He don't wear green he just smokes it, man
Thinks he's fucking Tony Montana
Daft cunt
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, man
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your left speaker
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, man
Leave him J
Fuck off
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your left speaker
Where's the font where's the want
Where's the need
Gone man did one
Been replaced by Satanists
Call themselves spiritualists
Bogsters, shit haircuts
Fucking down and out greed
False prophets dishing out
Twigs and seeds
"You want decent gear, J
You come see me"
Bollocks
The path to enlightenment
Doesn't exist anymore
You got get in the bus
Too many off licenses
Too many bus stops
And too many good deals
On Special Brew
I'm in no fit state to talk to you
Or to God
Sorry
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, man
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your left speaker
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, mate
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your left speaker
This bean ain't working sod it
I should of bought some cheese
All these cunts slagging me off
For being a sniff head
Now look at them
"Yes please yes please"
I should have bought some coke
When it starts getting desperate
Any self respecting time bomb
Is going to take home
I remember that bloke
Used to be a dancer twat
Now look at him like the rest of us
Stressing about ?
Stressing about ?
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, man
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your left speaker
Graham
Play something sweeter
Put your drink down, mate
I can't hear anything coming out
Of your left speaker
"J leave him..."
"Fuck off"
"J leave him..."
"Fuck off"
"Pound on the door"
"Fuck off"
"J leave him..."
"Fuck off"