First of May, the white hart layed, a reef outside our mill. Tied a chain, around our waist, and jumped into the well. Spiralling, towards out fate, straight through the gates of hell. We’ll reap just what we sow until the Ghost, ghouls and creepy crawls, come out from underneath their stones, and march towards the city walls, claiming back their hunting grounds, they’re our idols now. Whilst the wytches teat brews.

And when the darkness lifted, streams began to bow. Across the Betsom's Hills. to where the field grave stones. What kindness fate bestrode, upon these crippled lands. To trick to fool with dice, we didn't stand a chance... From out the dawn, an albatross, begins to squark pillars of salt. And when the darkness lifted, crowds unlocked the gate. Founded new chapters built, upon tectonic plates. The piper’s cold lament, brought vortex skies to rest. Layers of sediment, rain down upon our heads... From out this storm, a minotaur, begins to roar, the master’s court.

Grim tidings they are gone So let’s embrace So let’s embrace the world The harbingers of love unfurl On seven dial Grim tidings on the wall Said Ken Dodd’s dad’s Dad’s dog is dead it says As rumour had it it was fed A chicken bone that stuck within his throat But they don’t know Through a misery befell me Now the Gods draw back their bows Grim tidings grimmer still A pigeon spiked upon the window cill An arrow flew out of the sky and pierced it in the eye Grim tidings by the by Surprised the morning light awakes me now Must have been asleep for hours In purgatory farewell grim tides of misery There’s no mystery to why the pantomime horse jumped through hoops and burst into confetti at your feet

Pasty girls By the Shadwell dock stairs Like the Prospect of Whitby said Like old Whitby said Denim-clad Chelsea girls With Veronica Lake curls Cigarettes and alcohol Lined up against the wall Caleh Queen, on the waterfront Tilsbury wearing your favourite dress your favourite dress. Throwing stones at old factories The hounds of Elvis Presley Moan licking at your bones, Bones of Davy Jones. Maypole girls. in the town of ramsgate swing by the gallows ring all the hallowed bells. What she’d give to be a Debenham’s girl but if you listen to the seagulls, from Petticoat Lane to blowing bubbles in the rain, You’re still their saving grace.

That Gog so cunning Magog sucoming to the smog Hymnal Fallen idol in the Grinnell Wear another thimble but your wound around a spindle oh Thistles like a plume in your mouth riddled with the brittleness of this town. That Gog so cunning Magog sucoming to the smog Wheat hops from the spring heeled jack leaps jack as he sprigs those traps knee deep where the streets are stacked in the sewers with the water rats. we took our pleasure from the tenements of bermondsey no pith or pity To those who danced upon her streets, the beggars, borrowers and heaves, still breathe with every heartbeat.

Whatever happened to their hearts plotting callously in their bedrooms pious words in books swung from left to right and then back again spitting in the wind spit flew back into their faces dry your checks and grin narrowed eyes and minds and places… For those with nothing to say, I’m calling your name out calling you out Galloway Boot boys strutting so brave and then run to their mum’s house quiet as a dormouse with their tail between their legs A fall from giddy heights, congregations at the town hall marching out of time to protest rallies by the seafront women made him shy, never spoke to them at dances read the tale tale signs, lead him down a path of madness. For those with nothing to say, I’m calling you names out McGuiness and Adams, Paisley and friends, The troubles and games when your neighbours got bombed out you coward in your gowns still living in disgrace The suburbs and the slums were breeding grounds for your ideas now fester in the dumps feeding off your greatest fears stop speaking with those tongues did Enouch have a name for you? just dickheads beating drums out of tune your twitted skews lose. For those with nothing to say, carnations and stockings and your ditty washing at heaven’s gate, did Chowdry say when they pissed on your effigy t’was sympathy

First things first or was it last it just keeps getting worse the geese that laid the golden eggs now lay turds. Last things last The emperors clothes are worn by many fat cats skimming cream off all the milk that they lap. They lap it up x 3 But where are they now? They’re 6 feet underground Wearing their crowns Fattened cows for worms to feed on Sour A scarecrow buried in the flowers. Tic Tac Toe The Midas touch is passed to bitter black crows Hatching plans to plunder all that we own bold as brass in marble palaces we watched the rats dance like acrobats but now the music has stopped It’s cracking up x 3 But where are they now? They’re high above the clouds, wearing their gowns, pound for pound on hallowed ground we cowered, far below their ivory towers. suits and ties leeches cling onto the glittering prize down the lavatories that flow on cheap side where pigs fly over Battersea’s bridges and spires in hot air balloons waving goodbye to crashing dust x3 But where are we now? As April Fool’s a clown, baiting the crowd, who goggled up our hand me downs like flowers, then spewed them out like autumn showers And then sometimes when we look bend the curtains and we see the cogs are turning leviathans and pendulums fall sometimes.

Shame, shame shame We’re just like puppets with no string Sticking needles in our skin To beat again Blame blame blame Just like a pantomime these days When snakes and ladders Leave us in tatters But then no It’s not supposed to be so hard It’s like a dagger in the heart Melancholy Nailed you in a coffin Left you by the muddy Banks till you were rotten. Guard guard guards Pulled your coffin from the cart Broke the lid unwrapped the clothe When you leapt up. Ha ha ha I laughed so hard I also cracked My chicken feathers plucked for your penance. But then no It’s not supposed to be this hard These ropes that pulled apart our bones. Melancholy Poisoned for my folly Left me by the orchard walls Until the morning dawned. Clang clang clang the funeral bell rang out for us as we lay rotting in the muck, like lover's crossed. Bang bang bang the casket hatches burst in dust as we swam to the surface tangled like serpents But then no, it's not suppose to be this hard turning clocks back to the start Melancholy sadly it's appalling pelting tomatos at this Punch and Judy show, called love… Oh what poppycock! It’s always moan moan moan moan Groan groan groan groan No no no no

Did you hear about Profumo’s demise? Christine Keeler in a house full of spies. Totty and toffs read the headlines, well what a surprise... Shadows whisper to Burgess and Mclean, William Hogarth and the sins of Gin Lane. Spider webs dangling flies, sell your alibis... .... to the Andy Coulsons that been dishing up sordid lies. .... And your dirty washing just got Hung out to dry x4 50 years later Leverson in the dock. Christine Keeler, Christine Hamilton same old, fish and chip rapper for headlines, well what a surprise. So Neville you been put in the frame - no? Fake Sheik who don't want to be named - though, mirrors are turned on the tabloids, they step to the side... by the babbling Brooks and the lizard with his asian bride... And would the last person in Britain (please) Turn out the lights x 4

Millionaires and madams Haunting crumbled mansions Sycophants and phantoms preying on your talents Such squalor in the manors Chambermaids and chaplains Suckling from magnums Debutantes and barons Hold us in their talons Such squalor in the manors

A boxer with a glass jaw punching a brick wall A monkey with a drumstick tapping on the floor A madman with a hammer breaking down the door And the rats in the basement await my downfall Wake up But still my brain wax is seeping out The dripping sound of water echoes down the stairs A meth doll and a grebo sleeping on my bed A spider webs beside them and crawls across their legs And the grandfather clock bells ring in my head Wake up But still my brain wax is seeping out Underneath the floorboards, you lay on small thorns, and when the day dawns, we’re walking over your corpse.

I've been scratching my face around a closing time, cracking my head against a table just to find, a mind of worms and porridge. Shedding my skin against a lap post while, I buried my bones beneath the concrete tiles oh no, Is this the Strangeways coming? From a council cell at the back of Kings Cross, to a living hell down on Shadwell docks oh yeah Many a corpse will see the morning light, when they float to the shore just like a shipwreck on the tide I'm on a Deadrock alright. By far and away it was the worst of time, running a game with a whore and her manky eye, fleecing punters rotten. And after the policeman took away my bread, I stolen a coat right off a dead man’s chest oh no, he didn't see that coming. From the Battersea dogs to the Camden Locks, where the preachers preach but their money don't teach us much. Going back to the drawing board when I rise, cause if I fall anymore then they'll be nothing else left inside I'm on a Deadrock alright. I've been cooking up medicine on rusty knives, a measure of ketamine then settle in for the ride, along a pitch black tunnel. Fallen like flies upon those poison tracks, close your eyes angelpie and don't look back, to Sodom n Gomorrah. From St Pancreas Road to the Marylebone, in the bowls of the city out the mouth where the Thames doth flow, Puking my guts out nearly broke my spine, So now I crawl on my belly to the cemetery gates at night, I'm on a Deadrock alright. Nothing so shocking as electric wire, a pulse starts the coughing then you wake up in a funeral pyre, I thought I was a gonna, Cursing the demons that betrayed my trust, baying for blood in the inn where they spilt my guts, oh what a place of horror, From the estuaries where they smuggled our skins, to the sanctuaries where they forge broken bodies and limbs, Born from the exiles of a distant tribe, Into the talons of the Iceni and I, I'm on a Deadrock alright.

I was sitting on my couch yeah Bottle in my mouth yeah Thinking about the money that I spunked up Manor House yeah Lousy Had to spit it out yeah Left a biter taste but the paranoia’s drowsy I’m home Sitting on my jones Kicking up a stink with some punk in tow Clattering pans to the drums and moans Rat a tat tat on my door no joking as the Filth pout out there All tooled out bare Ya’ll down Cool down What’s it all all about the? Been grassed by a neighbour who been bothered by my sound system Banging tunes Now i’m collared Pigs been rapping my phone for 3 months surveillance All that I know is that I don’t stand a chance Got evidence Cuffing my hands like immigrants Slammed against a wall back in an ambulance. I woke up in a cell block in Holloway jail Spinning like a screw They said I’d never make bail Black steel Melting coz it’s hotter than hell. I’m nailed Banging to electrical bells. Just another number skank A crew cut shank The food be rank In a sock I wanked but Nothing’s coming out my chap but blood A cold turkey by lunch I guess my junk be junk Locked up with the axemen In this house of cards we collapsing With the scars and the guards and the klaxons Wanna press me like Jeremy Paxman Back-chatting the warden Got nothing more than A kick in the nuts Heard an organ this morning Begging me crawl in To the lap of the gods. ‘Let me give ya’ll a warning warning Ur gonna be toast come the early morning’ Rum and sodomy Still what bothers me cooking Is the brass so crooked We can’t bear to look in… … As the ascetic drops down On the bent cops now Out the back door to the shops Just to run amok When’s it gonna stop? Chuck them in the lock In the stock Get a new job lot Running to and fro like chain gangs On the mainland Trying to contain them Are we gonna reign them in? Or the moment we blink Are they gonna slink in With some new tricks New pigs New lynchpins Cutting up the coke like old days Old Krays Always Shaking down the Poles like hoes blowing cronies Politicians on the pay roll Just to lay low Needing each cunt like play dough Bobbies on the TV preaching Sound of the Policemen Fighting with the Heathens Beat em with a click click bang Pumping led inside ur man Throw the witness in the slamma The bill they want no drama Ha ha Every filthy chief is on the take Grinding down the witnesses turns money into cake Fake snitches undercover Fucking skets until their mothers Just to mug them off Cut them off Klassenikof and Smirnoff ice Hard times in the LDN This shit’s Dickensian City’s on the brink Of another great stink Shit clogging up the fink Ss the pendulum swings Rudeboy was maccing donalds Still got Pat down like Frank Butcher And back at the station all the coppers be vexed Coz the papers gone an spilled the beans on their heads oy oy

Turn the page on the day, walk away
'Cause they're sensing what I say I'm 45th generation Roman
But I don't know 'em or care when I'm spitting
So return to your sitting position and listen, it's fitting
I'm miles ahead and they chase me
Show yer face on TV, then we'll see
You're can't do half, my crew laughs at yer rhubarb and custard verses
Yer rain down curses but I'm waving, Yer hearse is driving by Streets riding high, with the beats in the sky