You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need.
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street,
you gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed.
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight,
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.

And after a while, you can work on points for style.
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake,
a certain look in the eye and an easy smile.
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to,
so that when they turn their backs on you,
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.

You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder.
You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you
get older.
And in the end you'll pack up and fly down south,
hide your head in the sand,
just another sad old man,
all alone and dying of cancer.

And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown.
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone.
And it's too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw
around.
So have a good drown, as you go down, all alone,
dragged down by the stone.

I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused.
Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used.
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise.
If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this
maze?

Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
that everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend.
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
and everything's done under the sun,
and you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.

Who was born in a house full of pain.
Who was trained not to spit in the fan.
Who was told what to do by the man.
Who was broken by trained personnel.
Who was fitted with collar and chain.
Who was given a pat on the back.
Who was breaking away from the pack.
Who was only a stranger at home.
Who was ground down in the end.
Who was found dead on the phone.
Who was dragged down by the stone.

Big man, pig man, ha ha charade you are.
You well heeled big wheel, ha ha charade you are.
And when your hand is on your heart,
you're nearly a good laugh,
almost a joker,
with your head down in the pig bin,
saying "Keep on digging."
Pig stain on your fat chin.
What do you hope to find.
When you're down in the pig mine.
You're nearly a laugh,
you're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.

Bus stop rat bag, ha ha charade you are.
You fucked up old hag, ha ha charade you are.
You radiate cold shafts of broken glass.
You're nearly a good laugh,
almost worth a quick grin.
You like the feel of steel,
you're hot stuff with a hatpin,
and good fun with a hand gun.
You're nearly a laugh,
you're nearly a laugh
but you're really a cry.

Hey you, Whitehouse,
ha ha charade you are.
You house proud town mouse,
ha ha charade you are
you're trying to keep our feelings off the street.
You're nearly a real treat,
all tight lips and cold feet
and do you feel abused?
.....! .....! .....! .....!
You gotta stem the evil tide,
and keep it all on the inside.
Mary you're nearly a treat,
Mary you're nearly a treat
But you're really a cry. 
 

Harmlessly passing your time in the grassland away;
only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air.
You better watch out,
There may be dogs about
I've looked over Jordan, and I have seen
things are not what they seem.

What do you get for pretending the danger's not real.
Meek and obedient you follow the leader
down well trodden corridors into the valley of steel.
What a surprise!
A look of terminal shock in your eyes.
Now things are really what they seem.
No, this is no bad dream.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
he makes me down to lie through pastures green
He leadeth me the silent waters by.
With bright knives He releaseth my soul.
He maketh me to hang on hooks in high places.
He converteth me to lamb cutlets,
for Lo, He hath great power, and great hunger.
When cometh the day we lowly ones,
through quiet reflection, and great dedication
Master the art of karate,
Lo, we shall rise up,
and then we'll make the bugger's eyes water.

Bleating and babbling I fell on his neck with a scream.
Wave upon wave of demented avengers
march cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream.

Have you heard the news?
the dogs are dead!
you better stay home
and do as you're told.
get out of the road if you want to grow old.