[ lyrics ] [ discography ] [ video ] [ gig archive ] [ reviews ]

------------------------------------------------------------

jump to [ octopus hop ] [ back to the bedroom ] [ meaning to these maps ] [ grenzenlos ]
[ tahini beach party ] [ lesbo pig split ] [ songs on compilations ] [ other ]



octopus hop | sheís a perfect host / yeah, she throws a great party / twenty miles from the coast / thirty metres below / she sent the invites to all at sea / slender tuna, barracuda, boitelita and me / and we came and joined the many / well in need of a bop / Ďcos we had heard exciting things about the octopus hop / and we were no way disappointed / with the night that ensued / yes, the atmosphere was perfect / we were both in the mood / for hyperbaric ballet and breakdancing / it was all happening / at the underwater octopus hop / / iíve kissed mermen / rode the odd queen, oh / iíll do it again / at the grown-up bream beano / thereís a time and a plaice / for other things that weíre into / but they werenít for that night / no they were not / iíd never seen saline resistant parquet / it was a lark, hey / i hope we didnít leave much of a mess / / two legs are good / eight arms are obviously better / for the welcoming hug / for spinning more than one partner / yeah, she showed us the moves / and she gave good instruction / and we made lots of friends / thanks to her introductions / at the octopus hop / weíre here and dancing at the underwater hop.

perissa beach | need for salt on tired feet / love of sunshine and the heat / finds me out here on the beach / other places north and east / score on popularity / draw the crowds away from me / i guess that dry seaweed and black sand's / not what some folks want or expect / though i can't think how this place would fail to impress / cos if there's a more fascinating strand / well i haven't found it yet / so let me get back to perissa beach and get wet / / lessons in geology / all set out in front of me / out on view and in the sea / blasted out and submarine / where the edifice had been / the weirdest beach i've ever seen / well if you're up for lunar snorkelling / this is as close as you can get / but leave your spaceship, it's not such a strange shore yet / well 'course you can't swim on the moon / but folks, this is as close as you might get / so take your trunks down at perissa beach and get wet / / seen the corners of this isle / every turn and trip worthwhile / makes a happy theraphile / it couldn't get better than this / diving caves with lovely kris / and later walks on the bustling cliffs / well i'm hoping that this oia sun / would hurry up and set / so i can get back to perissa beach and get wet / ach ja, ich war schon da in ammoudi und ja ich finde es ganz nett / but i need to get back to perissa beach and get wet / come with me back down to perissa beach let's get wet.

bottom time | i live in the sea / all dry time spent on land is short and temporary / this is no fickle passing water phase / this is no behavioural deviancy / iím quite at home here and i know my place / donít call the coastguard or sea rescue / iím not drowning / no, donít throw me a line / iím enjoying my bottom time / / if it werenít for nitrogen / and this annoying thing called bends / iíd be always on the ocean floor / listening to mermaids and marine girls / with my crustacean friends / refer to icarus, itís thick of us to fly / things are much better underwater / i donít jest, so step with me into the brine / all seven tenths are yours and mine / / a better place no punk could ever hope to find / the chop, the swell, the sharks, the shells / all wait for us / pull on your fins, friend, youíll be fine / and so begins our bottom time.

[
lyric index ]





crisps with personality | language got stale as we were hanging out / so we had to make our own / like a secret handshake / we will find a way to say what needs to be said / a subtlety, the mystique of crew language / for now, this gang is just you and me / a sign, a nod / something easily dismissed but not forgotten / crisps with personality / travelling from toast to golden toast / trust is lush / i donít care what the world makes of us / things too silly to explain / the magic would be lost / to this dialogue silliness is vital / as long as weíve got our words, the connection wonít be lost.

february | february stimulates me / shit, what is it with this month? / demanding our attendance, little sleep, stress, and lots and lots of fun / we scuttled, sunk our new year funk / and we had time to prepare / for a month of gettng out and not doing nowt and now iím pooped, i do declare / itís february / always very, slightly scary / josie and me did five cities / crapping on Ďtil we were hoarse / palestine is still the issue, of course / then there was tobyís show and a bit of snow / and spurts of creativity / we had to venture back to the bedroom and record a new ep / in february / airy fairy, muscle mary / well, i finally met this graham bloke / and it turns out heís a spunk / we heard a hundred hits that made us shit / hardcore, folk and pop and funk / there was a secret cafť and the north downs way / marsden made me gay and wet / these days are action packed, itís a concrete fact, and we havenít even started yet / but i only wish some of my friends could have had as much fun as me / in february / thames estuary / eat, drink and be merry / in february.

shortcut detour | meant to take the shortcut to you but ended up taking the wrong turn / thought i had the route all planned out through green streets and quiet routes but no such luck / ended up on a big noisy street navigating through broken glass / getting annoyed and slightly lost / got there late in the end, took the detour, went around in circles when all i wanted to say is: i care.

where the grrrls are | we got tired of all this boy crap / who's got what and who wants what / we got tired of all this boy rap / i want to go where all the girls go / iíd like to take the train to where the rad girls live and spend some time with them / you can consider me a friend of dorothy's / i really wanna be your friend / you can call me dorothy / i really wanna be your friend / i've seen you march the streets in groups of hundreds or more / riot grrrl and olive morris have impressed me loads / third wave feminism with the notion that we don't have to be scared has left its mark on me / she taught us two small things: free your mind and your behind will follow and - don't be a knob! / this message has to be understood.

clothes hair accent judgement | head to toe in billabong / a kneejerk ďsomething must be wrongĒ / how stupid can you get? / seeing a uniform of dicks / thinking thereís nothing more to it / slap me, iím too quick to forget that / if someone judged or begrudged or mistrusted or cussed me and us iíd be first to cry foul, friends / thereís no floor for fuckwits here / shouldnít think that your local kid in a hoodie intends bad or good / not every fag in freaky duds has it all sussed / itís all far from crystal clear / iíve got to swing with this idea / hearing the dulcet tones of sloanes braying into their mobile phones / i recall past events / an implied ďyou should know your placeĒ / an ice cream shoved into my face / makes me suspicious, cold and tense / but yes, it would bug me, incorrectly rub me, if this pronunciation and accent / skewed communicationís tone / were folks to snub me, talk above me / well, iíd stamp my little feet but i should check / this isnít happening close to home / within or out my comfort zone / finally, i meet these kids with dreads / bells, ribbons fastened to their heads / and iíve got them all worked out / i have problems remembering that hairdos might not mean a thing / skinheads can be faggots or nazis or both / blue rinse might not always determine your vote / thatís me, the oft-confused bloke, subjectís huge, folks / baggage and ignorance installed / preconceptions tainting views / so how about we ditch those ginger pubes jokes, pops, abuse, pokes / think what weíd not like to be called / a raft of rash thoughts to unskew / iíve got a lot of work to do.

big amps | can we please write a thrashy hardcore song? / itís the only thing that ever made sense to me / massive guitars and shouted vocals by future PE teachers and their pitbull friends / world politics sufficiently tackled in a four-liner / guitars, bass and a meaningful stance / and big amps, big amps, big amps / i dislike their macho pits and pictures of starving children and war-torn cities / but hey man, the tunes, the tunes, the tunes.

come take my hand in summer | come take my hand / there is a perfect place to see the new dawn break / i know youíre half asleep but honey this canít wait / a pregnant day ahead of possibilities / so letís get out of bed and do it honey please / come take my hand / and weíll canoe down to the bottom of my street / with PFDs on our backs purely for safety / there will be smiles all round, tranquillity and peace / hiding our lunches from the greedy ducks and geese / come take my hand / and weíll go out, rescuing wildlife from the slick / the bay of biscay to the edge of the arctic / a thousand cormorants are asking for some help / the kiwis, kakas, keas, cornish queers and kelp / come take my hand / and weíll go out in the refreshing summer rain / reminding us that we are alive once again / i canít believe how lucky we are to have this / a day for nature kids, allís well and nowtís amiss.

post thrill | hey pal / thanks for the letter / itís been a while / and now iím finally getting round to writing back / got your letter / it made my day / and hereís what i have to say / an obsession Ė check the mailbox, a letter, a thrill / glad to hear from you, your projects and ideas / thanks for the words, gossip and news / youíll get to read some in return / some stuff worth knowing / some stuff only paper tolerates / our conversations go on for years / cos we only get to see each other every 1-2-3-4 years / a ritual Ė check the mailbox, a letter, a thrill / got some news from you, some hope and some despair / an obsession Ė check the mailbox / no letter / no thrill / got no news from you / now iím stuck with my despair / donít forget to let the glued stamps dry this time / iíll try to remember to do the same / iím so happy to say that iíll hear from you in a month or two / an obsession Ė check the mailbox, a letter, a thrill / thanks for the flyers, words and tunes / a ritual Ė check the mailbox, a letter, a thrill / got some news from you, some hope and some despair.

we go together | we go together / like carrot and coriander / like oxbows and meanders / like stine and three anders / like oldham and amandas / we go together / like duck ponds, geese and ganders / like bent cops and backhanders / like nasturtium and escanda / like hermia and lysander / oh, holidays arenít far away / weíll rightly say / what lucky fags we am.

[
lyric index ]





oh camberwell | something feels familiar / these changing grounds on my way home / nothing here can kill you / except the 4x4s and fumes / homely name and beauty / butterflies and growing strawberries / feeling kind of fruity / walking home at 5 a.m. / not too far south, nor far west / unlike the boring turgid 'burbs we detest / and half the time i'm just passing through / but camberwell, there's a place in my heart for you / and once again i find myself singing oh camberwell / past the father red cap / sleazy old days gone, the market's changed / yes, we were part of that / wish we could have been there then / history and street cracks / journeys to friends, things not out on show / bring meaning to these maps / take me to these streets again / give me pat coombs over roach / give me a 436 over some pristine clean coach / pushing up past denmark hill / there is a part of this town that just can't keep still / until london floods, that place is our camberwell / going past or coming to / yeah, camberwell, there's a place in my queer heart for you / to warm journeys back on these chilly nights / i've seen the green and folks i know we'll be alright / and once again i'll happily sing oh camberwell.

picking nettles in the cruising ground | what a bright, clear and sunny day / with nothing but fun to have / on this beautiful occasion / on this warm spring day / we say, let's walk up the road to pick / pick some food up / not down the road where we usually go / in the metropolis we love so much / no bosses, no gods, no masters / only adventures to be had / shaved head, topless men / re-signifying the place of the dead / i'm not feeling radical today / public space can we use it, not reclaim it? / no bosses, no gods, no masters / just adventures, gloves and stingy plants / will we just read the gravestones and appreciate the codes? / but, actually, are you hungry now? / let's go home and make that nettle soup now!

roundabouts | so, i've cycled past these major sights a hundred times or more / also seen them from the inside of a sticky, stuffy bus / these massive maps no longer left me baffled to the core / yet orange circles joining A roads were to be sussed / coming from all directions, going from here to there / along straight roads, and back streets used for speed and safety / this was no preparation for that initial scare / the tour of massive roundabouts that was awaiting me / elephant & castle, bricklayer's arms, waterloo, trafalgar square / turn around and back again / trafalgar square, waterloo, bricklayer's arms / SE1 and elephant & castle / (weíll make it past these roundabouts) / no visual structure, just motorised reality / trying to get round on a bike not off at every corner / ... what about st georgeís circus? / not getting off at every fucking roundabout / some fake heroic act of looking death in the eye to feel more / to feel more alive / there were times when i could do this in my sleep / ... see you alive at elephant & castle!

outdoor boy | hills and dales are there to be enjoyed / but they'd only be improved with an appropriate boy / someone to share the break of day with far away from the din / someone who'll keep me up and tentpoliní as night closes in / outdoor boy, i want an outdoor boy / whilst i'm happy with my fill of urban nerds in corduroy / how 'bout a lad that loathes umbrellas / who's not scared of the rain / thoroughly into other fellas, mountains, moors and moraine / we need some time out of the city, get back to the land / spring in each footstep, compass in hand / get 'em up, keep them knees up, boy / it's all to be respected, loved, enjoyed / outdoor boy, give me an outdoor boy / someone who knows his kinder scout from his knockaboy / gimme a lad with soily fingers, humous under his feet / someone who'll sleep under something other than slate and concrete / could you be the ideal outdoor boy? / dude, i ain't got any time for little lord fauntleroy / so crack your maps out, bring your sarnies, get some earth on your boots / and if you're fast i'll ride your tail, dude, in this hottest pursuit / these streaming waters are up to our hips / our sleeping systems have left and right zips / join 'em up, see what we could share / trap our farts, let's have some fun down there / these undulations, a total come-on / this admiration could not be more strong / get me out in the open air / someone to breathe it with and i'll be, i'll be there.

[
lyric index ]





no borders | woe is me / stuck on the frontiers of two countries / as one of my party pleads with state bureaucracy / and so i see / it can be relatively easy / blue eyes and greenbacks gets you where you want to be / cos if youíre white, west and waving dollars / you can normally avoid these horrors / and it shouldnít take the brains of scholars / to see the sense in people who rightly hollers that we need / no borders for mo / no borders for thando / all people need to freely come and go / no borders for you / zulekha and lou / borders split the people this we know / no borders for pete / no borders for bakit / no borders for suraya and sarit / burn borders for star, kamini, korra / pike, petra, pablo, prudence and pandit / there was a drama at huwara on the journey to ramallah, dear me / there was no one not in a hurry / but not every jawaaz safarís bound in burgundy / and all this concrete, stupid papers and the premise of security / leaves people trapped, delayed and angry / now with all this shit how can there still be hope for peace? / if only these folks defied their orders / and they helped take apart these borders / and we also did our bit like we ought to / we could find new friends in every quarter / cos we need no borders for jez / no borders for suresh / move freely shlomo, neng, sy and changez / no borders for sven / none for our nguyen / no borders for mukela and monzen / no borders for capital is a crap ideal when not extended to people / no borders for deek, rachel and rafik / no borders for metiga and monique / but Ďcourse it isnít just in distant lands this fucking shit is happening / fear, politics and headline-grabbing / boils it down to us versus them as with everything / and the hateful powers that be create this bolted door mentality / fool us with threats of foreign thievery / and tell us if weíre kept apart weíll be safe, free and happy / bullshit! / cos if we didnít pull up ladders behind us / and we focused on what links and binds us / and rejected hate, fear and unkindness / and we put these bordered times behind us, we could get / borders out our heads / no borders for lourdes / no borders for shiv, chila and chavez / freedom for aung san / welcome to szczepan / that bloke who plays for watford, alhassan / how quick we forget / millions of us let / abroad with no reciprocation yet / if we had to flee from brutality / Ďcourse weíd expect asylum and safety / whereís the solidarity? / we need to make connections, cause a stink / logic, knowledge would surely help us see / these borders are bad / no borders for my dad / no borders for anebo and iyad / folks from everywhere and willing to share / their tales from brisbane, bari and baghdad / no borders for vlad / the boring and rad / every person, infant, lass and lad / time to bring them down / raze them to the ground / bring closure to this xenophobic fad / every borderís bad.

friends | itís good to see you again my friend / it must have been, i donít know, itís been too long / it must have been ages since weíve last seen each other/ letís get down to the business of fun / itís miles and miles that set us apart / but frankly iíve got more to do with you than with my neighbour / cos we want the same things / we love the same things / basically, we share the same things / weíll remember the when and where weíve taken thumbs and trains, coaches and planes / to take us to each other / to share some time in our lives / joy and good times seem to be endless now that we all have reunited / so why canít we all live in the same place? / a tropical island is politically out of the question / weíll remember the when and where weíve taken coaches and planes, thumbs and trains / to take us to each other / to share some time in our lives / moving countries and continents has its appeal / when the paperwork isnít such a fuss / to have each other in our daily lives / would it be the same? / for now we continue with what we do / fingers crossed next time will be as good as the times before / we shall see each other soon / weíll remember the when and where some of us have used methods of transport irresponsibly / weíll remember the when and where / thumbs and trains and fewer planes.

easterly | hey there schštzchen, iím coming to berlin / i visited my bank and got euros not sterling / yeah, all these trains go east / and i know where to get off / at the city reunited thanks to david hasselhoff / strange white fluff is hanging in the air / itís reminding you of some detergent-selling podgy bear / and youíll show me a new place / a secret garden on the spree / only known to all your flatmates, drunken punks, you and me / and i wonder whatís for tea / bad brains, broad beans, bodines and broccoli / peaches moved out, vaginal davis moved in / but i havenít yet deduced if that means anything / let me spell it out / b-e-r-l-i-n / berlin, berlin, berlin / sunday breakfast up at morgenrot / or weíll skip it, dude, whatever, dude, whatever floats your boat / cos i know youíre kind of tired from a busy week at work / you can stay longer in bed while i tidy up your room / two more hours and iíll be going home / weíve got time to do some demos on your dinky dictaphone / then iíll have to bugger off via the city on the seine / but it wonít be long before i will be seeing you in berlin again.

great place for a date | some of the best times are always had together / letís go on a date where thereís fun to be had forever / this place is special / youíll have to see it for yourself / yes itís dark and dingy and things never work as planned / where will we all run to once this place is gone? / where will we all go to? / people worked hard to make this place work and look good / officials, bailiffs and the like come knocking on the door / whoís wrong and guilty? / itís plain to see / buildings neglected for years, no bargains up for sale / where will we all run to once this place is gone? / where will we all go to? / itís a great place for a date / where will we all run to once this place is gone? / where will we all go to? / itís a great place for a date / dear property developer, youíre ruining peopleís lives / but we just wonít go away cos itís too great a place for a date / where will we all run to once this place is gone? / where will we all go to? / itís a great place for a date.

manchester rambler | iíve been over snowdon, iíve slept up on crowden / iíve camped by the wain stones as well / iíve sunbathed on kinder / been burnt to a cinder / and many more things i can tell / my rucksack is often my pillow at night / and the heather is often my bed / and sooner than part from the mountains, my friends / yes, i think i would rather be dead / iím a rambler, iím a rambler from manchester way / i get all my pleasure the hard moorland way / i may be a wage slave on monday, itís true / but for now iím a free man with rambling to do / the day was just ending / as i was descending / through grindsbrook just by upper tor / when a voice cried: "hey you!" / in the way keepers do / heíd the worst face that i ever saw / the things that he said were just bullshit, and so / in the teeth of his fury i said / ďif you want to part me from this mountain, my friend / you will have to drag me off it dead" / iím a rambler, iím a rambler from manchester way / i get all my pleasure the hard moorland way / i may be a wage slave on monday, itís true / but for now iím a free man with rambling to do / he called me a louse / and said: "think of the grouse" / well, i thought but i still couldnít see / why the old kinder scout / and the moors round about / couldnít take both the poor grouse and me / he said: "all of this land is my masterís" / and at that i stood shaking my head / cos no one has the right to own mountains, itís true / any more than the deep ocean bed / iím a rambler, iím a rambler from manchester way / i get all my pleasure the hard moorland way / i may be a wage slave on monday, itís true / but for now iím a free man with rambling to do / i once loved a maid / a spot welder by trade / he was fair as the rowan in bloom / and the hue of his eyes / mocked the june moorland skies / and i loved him from april to june / on the day that we should have been married, of course, yes / i went for a ramble instead / for sooner than part from the mountains, my friends / yes, i think i would rather be dead / iím a rambler, iím a rambler from manchester way / i get all my pleasure the hard moorland way / i may be a wage slave on monday, itís true / but for now iím a free man with rambling to do / so iíll walk where i will / over mountain and hill / and iíll lie where the bracken is deep / i belong to the mountains / the clear running fountains / where grey rocks are rugged and steep / iíll sit with my humous on brown for my lunch / as the curlew flies high overhead / and say sooner than part from the mountains, my friends / yes, i think i would rather be dead / iím a rambler, iím a rambler from manchester way / i get all my pleasure the hard moorland way / i may be a wage slave on monday, itís true / but for now iím a free man with rambling to do. (almost all written by ewan maccoll)

dirty crusty holiday | iíve had it for this season / iím ready to pack my bags / i feel like santa with my tofu-laden sack / off to a place that i used to frequent more / before i joined the glorious ranks of adulthood / what happened to this life? / iím sane and healthy but iím stuck in a trettretmŁhle / itís 2 a.m. / this place is crucial but will it mean the same in two hundred years or more? / iím off on my bike / staying up late in smoky, filthy places / iím off on your bike / seeking out places and their people who know how we feel / iím gonna have myself a dirty crusty holiday / leave my hair to do what nature and hood dictate / i ainít no monk and iíve no intention of becoming one / so i seek connection in disorder and noise / iím off with my bags / staying up late in smoky, filthy places / iím off on your bike / reconsidering this life instead of a nine to five.

come on in | finally came the day when common sense prevailed / we took apart the fence and law / innocent folks freed and kids no longer jailed / and fortress europe was no more / understanding waves came lapping these fair isles / and swiftly swept away our fear / frontiers gone, the only obstacleís the miles / we made our friends feel welcome here / come along, come on in / the press were quiet, theyíd sensed the strength of public view / and kept their hateful bile restrained / no more shrieks of stealing jobs and jumping queues / got more human and more sane / the sniffer mutts retired to normal doggy lives / the border crossing guards retrained / harmondsworth was quickly put to better use / grŁnau fell, it went the same way / come along, come on in / we came over in a prehistoric time / we came over just this year / every movement had its reason and its rhyme / for folks from far away and near / matters not a jot the time that we arrived / borders must not block our way / nation states are bullshit recently contrived / but fuck Ďem folks, come in and stay / come along, come on in.

[
lyric index ]





itchy heart | it has really been some time since we last cycled these streets together, but your bike got nicked, and mine is elsewhere. thanks to public transport weíll keep on riding: weíll make our way across town, north and south, east and west, and sarf. #12, #36#, #77, #12, #45, #77. however, when iím stuck on the bus i canít help but think about the fun times weíve had, with sunny weather, cycling and raingear. this is how it was, and how it might be, but for now my cycle rides only last a short amount of time.

get on yr bike | well the winter chill is creeping in and the sunshineís gotten lower, and itís freezing more like a night in iceland than an afternoon in goa. well, we could stay in and hibernate, but thereís things iíd like to do, so honey get on your bike: please, please honey get on your bike. weíll be warm as toast in winter coats and the cycling helps to heat us. there may be icy roads and white van men but we wonít let them defeat us, still, when we get to the venue, well, i might need warming up, do you think you could oblige? oh please honey get on your bike. well, iím all for staying in sometimes and itís twice as fun with you, but tonight thereís gigs and films and actions: things to learn, see, create and do. thereís a night ahead of excitement and experiences weíd like, so honey get on your bike.

donít be slack, all yr musicís black | queens pose and preen at trade and nag nag nag: beats and amnesia is their bag. gay white forgetfulness is a drag when all their house and techno came from black detroit fags. itís always pumping in the percussion, they shake tush and they never stop to wonder how the beats got there. it never comes up in their discussions, i ainít fussin: to me itís strange to drift on and not be aware. pan to the london indiepop punk scene: now, i donít own one northern soul lp, but we can see the ancestery from jazz and blues to shit today and all in between, so props to the motown sound, the underground, the stuff they did that spawned all those black and white smiles. big business might own it now, but itís too loud to be forgot by all the freak audiophiles. humousexualís happy to admit, with no black music weíd be twice as shit: if nazi hardcore boys could see it, weíd have a better world with more smiles innit? so know what youíre listening to, what itís been through: be chuffed as fuck that these folks decided to share. i ainít saying you should change your taste, just cogitate how thereís a wealth of beautiful history there. donít be slack, all your musicís black. know what youíre listening to.

supermarket humous vs smoked tofu spread | every once in a while there comes a time to make a choice more important than riding bikes and lusting after boys: itís kind of strange that weíd base decisions where weíd like to live on each placeís kinds of processed food you eat with your bread. supermarket humous vs smoked tofu spread. shall we go to tesco laden with carrier bags? i think itís safe cos tubs of humous donít come with security tags. can we go to marktstrasse and einkauft jars of tofu spread, please, then weigh up the pros and cons of foods in our respective countries? supermarket humous vs smoked tofu spread. you could move back, i might move there: our thoughts of changing scenery are fuelled by thoughts of what weíve shared. we could pig out, but one weíd miss: it could be worth going without to taste the tofu in your kiss. there is no textbook-sure solution to a problem such as this. itís a promise and itís a threat: i never wanna sing about no important crap. again, weíve had the best of times eating humous in hyde park, and spent days and nights with tofu in your sisterís flat. oneís expensive, one we could easily make ourselves, but thereís relief for lazy faggots on the supermarket shelf. serving the economy with pricey addiction is my favourite new obsessive prediliction.

up the road | dear indieboy, would you like to come to my house? i know it is very far from the south. if you make it here, you have to sit down to piss: europe is as simple as this. it might be cold, it might be hott, peeling wallpaper, bolted doors, leaking roof, cat-killing landlord, but for now itís ours. we live in a beautiful village, even though itís a bit like exile. lovely people in a great place, so come on by: youíll find us a bit way out over here on the border of northeast zone three. it might be cold, it might be hott, but always plenty of tahini. letís take a walk to the canal and the marshes cos itís fun. here we are and here we go, rent-free and for now itís ours: i do hope the papers wonít arrive before we finish that five kilo bucket of tahini.

seven hundred kilometres | 700 kilometres to cross, 24 hours counting the cost of us living in places where weíre not quite neighbours. tried once and failed with leaves on the line, but no problems or fuck-ups this time, custards and exercise and best behaviour. and iím covering those miles and iíll be seeing you again. my ozone layer-destroying plane lands me in pouring hannover rain: two hours to my favourite part of niedersachsen. no railway obstacles at this end, only single boys who clearly want to be friends: i kick myself for my limited vocab and my dodgy accent. but i canít contain the smiles cos iíll be seeing you again. nordstemmen, else, alfeld, kreiensen, einbeck-salzderhelden, northeim, noerten-hardenberg, and weíre almost there, itís only a few miles down the track until we get to goettingen. and i canít contain the smiles cos iíll be seeing you again.

give me humous or give me death | thereís nothing finer than cloves of garlic: eating it fried or raw is equally rad. your processed food must be like chewing carpet, iíd rather die than eat brain donor kebabs. cos thereís shit in your burgers and disease in your mince, and milk gives you bad breath, so, give me mashed-up chickpeas, give me humous or give me death. itís a promise and itís a threat: iím never gonna sing about no important crap. humous, veggies and tofu spread, itís like a matter of life and death. living here or living there, tell me to spend my money where. give me mashed-up chickpeas, give me humous or give me death.

humous vs humanities | is it a crime if it doesnít rhyme?

sex lib d-beat | du sagst mir (und ich werde nicht rot. ich frage dich) und du rennst nicht weg. [ you tell me (and i donít blush. i ask you) and you donít run away ]

loosen up | youíre invited to relax your muscles, and loosen up. unwind your clocks, undo your knots. take some water from the tap, calm your aorta. girls, grow moustaches and eat molasses: boys, wear bikinis and eat tahini. or eat some cake, stay up late. punks and hippies, eat some chickpeas, and as your inhibitions melt, eat some spelt, put it inside you. destarch your stiff upper lip, take sips and shake both your hips. shake it like there are no bones inside of you, and loosen up.

batty street | i think i might be dreaming, queer utopia is here and iím feeling like creating, learning, laughing and screaming: getting stuck in and having a go. the place is teeming with active kids who came from enfield and ealing, but not enough from darjeeling, not enough from cairo. yeah, we know thereís still work to be done, cos not exactly everyone will see or hear of batty street - but look what crowdís assembled here, a diverse mass of sorted queers all hanging out in batty street. iím slowly dealing with me ignorance and now iím just beaming, cos me jaw gets exercised when iím kneeling and thereís always good things entering me. and weíre stealing glances at graffiti drawn on the ceiling, and weíre helping with the spuds that need peeling, and everything we do weíre doing for free. for some queer autonomy, politics and not much sleep, make your way to batty street. for a filming, fuck or feast, just head down to aldgate east, youíll find it there in batty street. itís wonderful in batty street, i wanna be in batty street.

southeast fifteen | this time, for once, i will not chicken out, say no, or run a mile or two. the mottoís Ďpeckham upí, like it was my home ground. peckham up, with no strings attached: Ďno commitmentí they say. would you like to share a little secret? i know peckham better than i know boys.

die | national front and bnp: die, die, die. violent macho brainless fools: die, die, die. homophobic sexist bastards: die, die, die. paul danielsí best trick ever: die, die, die. nazi bastards you fuck off and die, die, die. (written by health hazard)

riah gnos | you left today, only for a short amount of time, iím sure. you left today, and i dig my head into my pillow. thereís something thatíll make it hard to sleep tonight. how am i gonna sleep tonight? life goes on, and we can start counting the days backwards again. sweetly soapy scent of hygienic hair: my thoughts are triggered by my sense of smelling. bollocks to the beauty industry, cos my pillow still smells of chemicals you put in your hair.

next september | cup of tea and a nice sit down, scuzzy backroom gigs in kentish town. chickpeas and monchichis and things weíve come to love to share all on hold as from now: geography and distance wonít allow a fumbling hug to reel around, cos arms canít reach from over there. now, weíve lived far apart since 2002, but extra mileage augments the missing you. idle strike days in brockwell park, tinny bathroom gigs and trashy art, fanzines and leafy greens and humous. poking fun at haircuts, sharing apfelsaft and cashew nuts, good books, suggestive looks, and more humous. shame that thereís no room for geiger in rucksacks, but iíll cure these itchy feet and iíll be coming back: next septemberís not so far away. weíll be having fun, impatient for the day when we can be back together, sipping rooibos tea and out discussing the weather. iíve no right to complain, jumping puddles in chinese rain, the stimulation fires but couldnít satisfy all needs. iíll be sure to write soon, be it from bilbao or babbacombe. i hope you pass your last exams, and keep the emails coming, please. now weíve seen 30 months of fun, come rain or shine: i canít predict your thoughts but youíll stay in mine.

humous is great | you can spread it on a bagel. no meal is complete without humous on my table.

[
lyric index ]





punk rock boy | punk rock boy, donít be coy, and donít panic in horror, faint or take flight when i ask you what youíre doing on friday night. thereís a gig, lesbo pig: they rock, and the gigís not too far from your house so i had hoped that you could accomodate. riding bikes, sleepless nights: weíre excited about the gig tomorrow, the one with pete dale and rachel holborrow. pre-gig tea, swap lps, this boy is dexterous with his seven inches, iím all ears for the things he wants to play, be it emo shite or what he wrote today.

yumus | for some reason or the other, the energy doesnít flow today. for some reason or the other, the energy didnít flow today, so we get on our bicycles and pop down to the nasty supermarket. so we pop down to the nasty supermarket, and get a tub of ... hereís what youíll need for a basic humous recipe: 400g/8oz tin of chickpeas, two teaspoons of tahini, two teaspoons of lemon juice, one clove of garlic, crushed, and a little salt and freshly-ground pepper. (chickpea, tahini, lemon juice, salt, pepper, garlic). hereís what you do: drain the chickpeas, leaving a little of the water. place in a blender and add the rest of the ingredients. blend until smooth. if dry, add a little olive oil. spoon into a bowl and serve: itíll keep in a fridge for three or four days. the easiest way to make it is in a blender, but you can do it by hand: youíll need to mash the chickpeas and then mix the ingredients in a bowl, vigorously.

special friend | oh special friend, what say we go up to my room and try to write some emo songs? iíll inappropriately bring my mouth organ if you bring your acoustic guitar. thereís nothing more iíd like to do than sing the roof off, but my flatmates are asleep, and the walls are paper-thin. they locked the park at dusk today, in irrational fear of what folks might do, but what say we jump the fence and play our dumbass songs until we get bored? may i propose goofing around with borrowed keyboards as the way to spend the day? iím hoping you might feel the same. we could surprise ourselves, and see, weíll never know if we donít try. itís not some way of killing time, itís the kind of thing that keeps us sane and alive. this is how iím feeling, oh special friend.

figures | is there something i donít know about 4-5-6-letter words sitting in a quiet room? is there something i donít know about 4-5-6-letter words having the recipes all sorted out? queer is a 1-2-3-4-5-6-letter word.

[
lyric index ]





cum sarf | hey there sussi, come down to sarf london, me socks are almost dry and itís time to put them on. itís such a lovely day, itíd be a shame to waste it, so get out of your front door cos iím patiently waiting. crampton street and roots manuva, ruskin park and brixton tube, iíll take us on the scenic route past metro central heights, the busy streets of peckham with their international sights. s-a-r-f-l-o-n-d-o-n, whatcha got? sarf london. five-finger discount and free distractions, safeway savers and direct action. cycling in the sunshine down walworth road, itís kinda cheesy but i think to myself what a wonderful world.

manc wag | hey there honey, come up to manchester, it doesnít always rain, you wonít need a sou-wester. itís such a lovely day, itíd be a shame to waste it, so get the bus from london cos iím patiently waiting. oldham street, the star and garter, salford lads club and heaton park. iíll take us on the scenic route past strangeways hmp, we wonít shop in the arndale but weíll use the loos for free. m-a-n-c-h-e-s-t-e-r, whatcha got? so much to answer for. valerie we will not forget, tot and bette davis and the balconettes. nodding to the noises of polythene, i think you need to pay a visit if youíve never been.

yumus beats | for some reason or the other, the energy doesnít flow today. for some reason or the other, the energy didnít flow today, so we get on our bicycles and pop down to the nasty supermarket. so we pop down to the nasty supermarket, and get a tub of ... hereís what youíll need for a basic humous recipe: 400g/8oz tin of chickpeas, two teaspoons of tahini, two teaspoons of lemon juice, one clove of garlic, crushed, and a little salt and freshly-ground pepper. (chickpea, tahini, lemon juice, salt, pepper, garlic). hereís what you do: drain the chickpeas, leaving a little of the water. place in a blender and add the rest of the ingredients. blend until smooth. if dry, add a little olive oil. spoon into a bowl and serve: itíll keep in a fridge for three or four days. the easiest way to make it is in a blender, but you can do it by hand: youíll need to mash the chickpeas and then mix the ingredients in a bowl, vigorously.

come take my hand in winter | come take my hand: there is a perfect place to watch the cold dawn break. itís eight oíclock, youíre half asleep, but this canít wait. we spent a week hoping for dropping mercury, and with it days pregnant with possibility. come take my hand, and weíll canoe down to the bottom of my street, suitable clothing insulating hands and feet. there will be smiles all round, tranquillity and peace, hiding our lunches from the greedy ducks and geese. come take my hand, and weíll go out relishing late-december rain, reminding us that we are alive once again. i canít believe how lucky we are to have this, a day for nature, kids, allís well and nowtís amiss. come take my hand, and weíll go out rescuing wildlife from the slick, the bay of biscay to the edge of the arctic. a thousand cormorants are cause for our concern, the turtles, trueís beaked whale, tusk, tannenbaum and tern. come take my hand and weíll go out rolling like toddlers in the snow, but before we venture out thereís something you should know: itís fun to do it outdoors and may i suggest we build an igloo, screw inside, then take a rest?

go west | hey there petal, come over to bristol, the coach is pretty cheap so donít fear matters fiscal. itís such a lovely day, itíd be a shame to waste it, come west, come west, go west young man, please donít keep me waiting. come to cafe kino and drop by here, lubricate your journey with butcombe beer. sitting out on college green and movies at the cube, if the bristol kids are fruity you might wanna bring Ďdoms and lube. b-r-e-e-e-e-s-t-o-l, whatcha got? bristol. stitch-stitch, hombrť and sarah records, headfall, soeza, aspects, disorder. climbing up park street to there and back again lane, we had a smashing time in bristol and iím glad i came.

all day i dream about slampt | i was lucky to spend time / in newcastle upon the tyne / nights at the cumberland arms, the broken doll and tut'n'shive / and it was great / there was an abundance of fine bands / and i never once was late / cos i'd want to feel all of it first hand / those gigs in pub upstairs / these ears were opened there / from when i finally decamped / all day i dreamt about slampt / now, we do not sing of a brand / labels, logos are not it / s'important to understand / we dig the diy ethic / and it's still great, the kids keep dishing out the goodness / with a common goal and trait: empowerment with tiny budgets / so through gig, release and zine / we support our local scene / this cd shelf's getting cramped / all day we dream about slampt / so, the future's looking alright / at least in what could be achieved / we've still got the appetite / bypassing the shit we don't need / and yet we mustn't forget or become deluded / this scene isn't perfect and there are still folks being excluded / but this philosophy's got me psyched / it changed my fucking life / rather than hegel or kant, all day i dream about slampt / and bosque / mÔlk / class / crass / k / blackbean and placenta / shinkansen / subjugation / troubleman / armed with anger / oddbox / wurlitzer jukebox / paroxysm / sugarfrost / osaka crying / sarah / fika / nana / chapter / active / dischord / plan-it-x / x-port / heartfirst / gringo / stonehenge / flat earth / chainsaw / pickled egg / baby boom / classic english womb / loony tunes / spazoom / neptunes / outpunk / enslaved / clay pipe / candle / punk in my vitamins / ruptured ambitions / live transmission / no concessions / honey bear / chocolate narcotic / gruff wit / malinki / gravity / world upside down / raw sugar / rugger bugger / infinite chug / scooter swing / guided missile / bi-joopiter / tuff enuff / la vida es un mus / vesuvius / blu bus / super 8 / candy ass / local kid / red wig / agitprop! / ferric mordant / youth club tape club / the sheffield phonographic corporation.

the deviant sounds of batty street | i think i might be dreaming, queer utopia is here and iím feeling like creating, learning, laughing and screaming: getting stuck in and having a go. the place is teeming with active kids who came from enfield and ealing, but not enough from darjeeling, not enough from cairo. yeah, we know thereís work to be done, cos not exactly everyone will see nor hear of batty street - but look what crowdís assembled here, a diverse mass of sorted queers all hanging out in batty street. iím slowly dealing with me ignorance and now iím just beaming, cos me jaw gets exercised when iím kneeling and thereís always good things entering me. and i'm stealing glances at graffiti drawn on the ceiling, and weíre helping with the spuds that need peeling, and everything we do weíre doing for free. for some queer autonomy, politics and not much sleep, make your way to batty street. for a filming, fuck or feast, just head down to aldgate east, youíll find it there in batty street. itís wonderful in batty street, i wanna be in batty street.

[
lyric index ]





warum sind die eigentlich alle so anders? | whooooo! howl! snarl! aaaaargh! mwuhahahahahaaaa!

zombie-werewolf feudiní blues | well curse my soul my boyfriendís truly dead and his family all hate me, iím afraid theyíre gonna have my hide or head. iím crying werewolf tears over my rockabilly blue suede shoes: iíll make no bones about it folks, i got the zombie-werewolf feudiní blues. iím proud of who i am, iím sorted with my furry face and hairy palms, and iím never happier when thereís a full moon and my honeyís in my arms. but all this subterfuge and secrecy is necessary til they call a truce and in the meantime weíll be dreaminí of losing these zombie-werewolf feudiní blues. wonít somebody explain to me the logic of this stupid ancient feud that makes it hard for me to hang out with my sexy dandy zombie boyfriend dude? it makes me want to quit the streets of glasgow and elope to cannes or kathmandu. yeah, iím driven to despair by these goddamn zombie-werewolf feudiní blues.





horny tattooed cycle courier boy | i seen this boy bomb down victoria street, stops on his way at christchurch gardens to eat. heís got lovely eyes, a wonky smile and knobbly knees, he fills his sandwiches with fresh humous and non-dairy cheese. will he ever notice me? iíll stop distracted when this horny boy rides by: something about fluorescent yellow always catches the eye. i hope this boy is into boys and boy-on-boy sex, cos i know heíd look as good naked as he does in gore-tex. iíd like to blow him, once i get to know him. thinking about him riding round the city, canít help but wonder when heíll bring his package to me. but itís not all about what he wears, how he looks, what he eats, or the cute way when riding he lifts his arse of the seat: i think thereís similarities in our attitudes, cos he hates cars and drivers and yes, i hate cars too, and i adore him, my shorts are wet for him. heís got me inner tubes all tied up in knots: not every boy in town has got what heís got. he caught me staring once at critical mass, i rode behind him to get a good view of his lovely ass. one day heíll teach me basic bicycle repair: one day iíll run my fingers through his car pollution-filled hair. o bike courier boy, i hope youíre a queer boy. well, heís top of the shop, heís totally the best, heís cycling down the road in a high visibility vest. oh bike courier boy.

na na hey | a dead and cold town could lead you to thinking that thereís fuck-all here of interest to you: this isolation, anonymity, would leave the most of us with that kind of view, but thereís no point in being down cos these situations can be remedied, iíll bet: remember that every stranger is a future friend, an accomplice that you havenít yet met. investigating, talking to each other, learning from ourselves and donít forget: na na hey, weíre spoiled for choice for stuff for us to do today, with magic in people and skips, sunshine in smiles and excitement in puckered lips. na na ho, borders and clocks canít tell us when or where to go, and when we get to thinking that this town is shit, we get to thinking we should do something Ďbout it. i spent too much time sitting here in my bedroom consuming and wasting valuable days: we canít create a culture, we wonít see things good just by sitting around waiting for change, and whatís more besides, thereís inherent bonus of empowerment from d.i.o. - weíll learn more from a minute with a tin of paint than we could from a year of shite tv shows. donít want to sound like crappy middle management, but people, let your ideas flow. na na hey, weíll sit and listen if youíve got something to say. thereís only so much itv a mind can take: we need a culture than gives us room to create. na na ho, donít fear fuck-ups and let your inhibitions go: i canít begin to list the things iíve learnt since killing my fear of getting my fingers burnt. na na hey, we canít be idle while we wait for next payday and waste the things in life that come for cheap and free, stuff all around thatís gratis and non-pecuniary. na na ho, we need the chance to share the thoughts and skills we know, and when i say yeah go! thereís still folks asking why: may i welcome them to the world of d.i.y.

gloves | he lays me on his couch, horizontally, puts on his rubber gloves and talks reassuringly, then he inserts his fingers ... iím in love with my dentist: itís hard not to get excited when heís rummaging around in there.

rayís records | one sticky summer night, one week gone of meetings and gigs, makes a kid restless for cheap distractions: something to blow out the cobwebs and fill up a hole, something to stop the cramps and braindeadness from setting in. no point in sitting indoors waiting for life to occur, and spendy scenes aside, thereís still options. chances for dance, romance and pants in piles on the ground, and opportunities for intensive geekness abound. preamble now complete, itís back to the deets of the night and the adventures had in that corner: his name was raymond and he lived a half mile away, he promised herbal tea and chocolate, and videos and toys, but when i got there, something made me forget about the tea: the most incredible hip hop record collection: he had everything that jean grae and mike ladd ever did. roxanne shante was his cousin and heíd met rakim: no shit, this flat was full of magic and iím glad i came. itís such a novelty, you know most folks listen to crap: too many fags are into dido. i was so excited i forgot why i was there, and spent the evening examining his treasury. raymond was patient, but by two oíclock he was bored: we bumped and talked about the uk scene. he asked if i was up for coming round again soon: i said fuck yeah! and next time i will be bringing blank tapes.

amateur cops | this whole worldís filled with amateur cops: i see them in the morning when i go to the shops. this whole worldís filled with amateur pigs: i see them in the evening when i go to a gig. (written by coping saw)

oh well noel | christmas is normally shit: i get fucked off with it from the day fenwicks deigns to count down the shopping days, but aside from the madness, the general crapness, we can amuse ourselves in ingenious ways (yes, folks: your christmas wishes can come true ... sometimes). from first meeting noel, on a cold christmas eve (big coats, gloves, and long sleeves) our liaison was pending. we were braving the hell of northumberland street, pushchairs under our feet and insane xmas spending. not exactly the scene for a bored frisky queen to have adventures. i was making my way to an evening screening: i was way early meaning there was some time to kill. i reject the idea of pointless christmas shopping: i was more up for copping-off with boys for cheap thrills, but nothing prepared me for what i saw walking my way. the most heavenly boy in the whole of newcastle: my thoughts turned to his asshole as he ventured indoors. being quite into boys i had no other choice but to follow this noel upstairs to the first floor, and thatís where he stopped, at the place boys go for adventures. he loitered with intent at the eldon square toilets for a like-minded boy who could satiate his needs. well, iím normally shy, but i gave it a try, cos itís not often i have the opportunity, but he looked away as if he wished to say no thanks, mate. his message was clear, and so i shrugged and said oh well, getting off with noel plays no part in my fate. well, it could have been nice, but iíll look on the bright side: at least i was on time for my cinema date.

[
lyric index ]