Dave The Punk

Holocaust

You never found out;
You never asked why;
You never really knew why you had to die.
The ‘planes came over,
You knew you were caught;
You didn’t even have much time for thought.
They came so fast;
You were the last;
You knew you were trapped in a holocaust.
In a holocaust;
You never knew why;
You were never asked if you wanted to die.
In the holocaust.
The holocaust.
You died so quickly in the holocaust.

What could you do?
You had no chance;
They didn’t even give you so much as a glance.
Nowhere to run to;
All on your own;
You watched in anguish as they crushed your home.
Everything killed,
Nothing survived;
You never had a single chance to get out alive.
You had your life,
But what was it worth?
Just another speck on the face of the earth.
You were just a person;
How could you stand
Against all of the powers who destroyed the land?

A fleeting hope
That it was a lie;
Even as you heard the roar in the sky.
A hope that died
As you fell to your knees
And felt the heat coming through the trees.
A hope that died
As you saw the light
Burning so white; burning so bright.
A hope that died
As your skin peeled away;
You knew you would die anyway.
A hope that died
With your life;
They burnt away your soul and they burnt out your life.

Oral Sects

Bet you thought you had us sussed;
But your mind is full of pus;
This is not pornography,
It’s a game for you and me. (It’s called…)

CHORUS:
Oral sects, you take your pick.
Oral sects, you choose too quick.
Oral sects, you have your choice.
Oral sects, the nicest voice.

Time to shout and time to scream.
See them on your TV screen;
All they look at is themselves;
They’ve got eyes for no one else.

CHORUS

Now we have to play the game;
Grab guitars and choose a name.
Writing lyrics for ourselves;
‘Til we’re put back on the shelf.

CHORUS

Oral sects…
Oral sects…
Oral sects…
ORAL SEEEEECCETTTSSS…

Repulsion Rock

Your breath smells like a sewer
And that’s from behind;
Your lips are slightly bluer
Than bacon rind.
But babe, It’s fine;
That way
You’re mine.

Your eyes are kinda milky and you’ve
Sure got dandruff;
Your skin ain’t really silky, it’s
Wrinkled and rough;
(But) above
The rest
I love
You best.

You haven’t got a figure;
Your clothes smell of sweat;
Your nose could not be bigger, but 
Babe you’re my pet.
I want
You so, 
So don’t
You go.

Babe, I really love you even
Though you’re ugly;
Babe, I really love you and I
Know you love me.
(‘ Cos) honey
You got
The money
I want.

Ad lib…
Yeah, I love you babe,
Yeah, Yeah,
I really need you,
etc.

Dance of Consecration

You dance to the organ
In your holy pit;
You call it sacred
When it’s full of shit.
You’re blind to your hypocrisy;
You’re deaf to the prayers 
Of the children in Africa
‘Cos no one cares.

CHORUS:
And while
You dance
In your robes
Of flesh
The lies
You preach
Are the morals
You test

Your dance of consecration
And the psalms you shout
Are the funerals for children
As you wipe them out.
You read from the bible;
Say it’s God’s own word.
But Jesus was a bastard;
You’re his faithful turd.

CHORUS

Dance, dance, dance to the devil.
Dance, dance, dance in heaven.
Consecrate… etc.

CHORUS

Desensitized

You and I were men of flesh when the world began;
Then, we were but children with our future in our hands;
As we grew to know ourselves it petrified our minds;
Now we stare impassively with all emotions blind.

CHORUS:
Desensitized; with stones for eyes.
Desensitized; we hear no cries.

Standing silent, watchfully, children side by side;
Staring, calmly innocent eyes are open wide.
What is it they watch? you ask, trying to see past.
One of them has lost his head and bleeds upon the grass.

CHORUS

Every turning which we take leads us to a door;
Just behind it lies the life we search for evermore.
But when we try to find the key, the door just disappears;
And when we fall down with despair, we cannot cry our tears.

CHORUS

Land of Filth and Money

“Welcome to the U.S.A.!”
They say the same things every day;
“Sure is hip! and sure is swell!”
Why don’t they all go to Hell?

They reckon they’re a master race;
All you need is a pretty face.

They’ve got their gods in Hollywood;
They live in dreams where all is good

“Take your fill of junk and trash,
There’s plenty here, so make a splash!” 
Disneyland and Coca-cola;
Junk food covered in Mazola;
Fancy graves for dogs and cats;
Burger stalls and baseball hats;
“Fill the air with gasoline!

Aerosols will keep you clean!”

They make their world from bricks and rocks;
Statues, parks, and tower blocks;
They build them big like Cadillacs
And agonise when they collapse.
“We’ll pay the I.R.A. to kill!
Just to prove our strength of will!”
Whining, flashy, trashy, SWANKS!
I HATE THE U.S.A. AND YANKS

The Blackest Hours

Happiness
Passed me by;
Tried to stay;
Had to die.

CHORUS:
And here
I sit
And hang
My head
In pain.

And all
I want
To feel
Is joy
Again.

Try to hope;
What’s the use?
Only feel
What I lose.

CHORUS

Heart is cold;
Cold as stone;
Vacant mind;
Dry as bone.

CHORUS

Killing on a Sunday

There’s rockers in the city;
There’s mods in the town;
The public’s in the middle;
Getting knocked down.
There’s scooters on the sidewalk;
There’s bikers in the park;
Will you dare to wander
In the hours of dark?
(‘ cos there’s…)

CHORUS:
Killing on a Sunday;
Knives in the afternoon;
Murder in the evening;
It’s your turn soon.

There’s the rockers’ hero;
He’s playing real tough.
You wanna get a beating?
‘Cos it’s gonna get rough.
He ain’t into the music;
He ain’t into the groups;
He only likes the violence
And his steel-capped boots.
(And he’ll be…)

CHORUS

What a bloody moron;
He’s devoid of a brain;
He don’t know any music;
And I doubt if he’s sane.
He wouldn’t know a melody
If it hit him in the eye;
He is just the kind
That makes the music scene die.

CHORUS

All run together;
All have a fight;
How many corpses
By the end of the night?
Rotting in the alleyways;
Blood on the ground;
It’s only when there’s daylight
That the bodies are found.

Killed on Sunday:
Stabbed in the afternoon;
Dead by the evening;
Rotting in the gloom;
Killed on Sunday:
on Sunday;
Killed on Sunday;
Buried on Monday.

Watcha Gonna Do About It?

Want you to know that I hate you, baby,
Want you to know I don’t care.
Want you to know what I feel like, baby,
Want you to know I ain’t scared.

What would you do if I killed you, baby?
Would I get sent to Hell?
Even if I was I wouldn’t care much, baby
You know I ain’t feeling so well.

CHORUS:
Watcha gonna do about it?
Watcha gonna say?
Watcha gonna do about it?
Watcha gonna do?

Want you to know that I hate your guts;
I don’t even care if you die.
I don’t want excuses, no ‘if’s or ‘but’s;
I don’t give a fuck if you try.

What would you do if I split you open?
You couldn’t really do very much.
You’d lie on the floor with ya head all broken;
I’d probably kick you in the crotch.

CHORUS

Have you got the picture, have you “sussed me out”?
Or do I have to make it clear?
If I had a knife, I’m sure you’d have no doubt;
I wouldn’t even shed a tear.

I can’t wait to see you dead;
I’m sure you’ll be obliging in the end.
I might take a picture of your mashed-up head
And send a copy to your friends.

CHORUS

Ad lib…
Hate, hate, hate, hate, I hate you baby.
Great, great, great, you bloody ain’t.
etc.