Good Mourning Britain

by Bladderwrack

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02:34
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02:16

about

Recorded live in 1 hour @ Moles Studio
Engineered and produced by Toby McLaren www.instagram.com/t.seventythree/
Mastered @ Black Bay Studio by Pete Fletcher www.blackbaystudio.com

credits

released November 9, 2019

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Bladderwrack London, UK

Dirty Dickensian Protest Music from London.

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Track Name: I Can Run Your Country
I've been thinking long and hard about
what the right life choice is for me
I've decided I've got what it takes
for a career as a politician, baby

I put my morals in a plastic bag and I held them under water ‘til they stopped kicking
I drink long and hard from the mirror,
When I see and big arse I can not stop kissing

I can run your country
You can take it from me
I can run your country
To the bottom of the deep blue sea

Someone told me this job was meant to be
A calling from the bottom of a heart of gold
It's plain to see from the slumped carcasses that are lining the halls that that shit is old

I've seen more soul swimming in the
Hideous toilets down the local
And I can lie with a twinkle in my eye
As long as it racks up my grand total

I can run your country
You can take it from me
I can run your country
To the bottom of the deep blue sea
Track Name: Gargoyles
This is a hit, ha, no matter if it’s shit
This is a hit, ha, no matter if it’s shit

Gargoyle sits on an upscale tenement
Rictus grin like a chimp on Benylin
Pipe up the arse from the old hit factory
Pump another chorus in and sick it up happily

Battery farm anything it comes out wrong
A leg, a wing, a head, a beak, a soul is gone
Money, money, money, pick a face that fits
Mummy, mummy, mummy he’s a lunatic

This is a hit, ha, no matter if it’s shit
This is a hit, ha, no matter if it’s shit

I’ve got a plan: let’s productise art, dood
Meat grind the greats and slap ‘em on the barbecue
A worthless, mirthless, soulless business
Eat them up, shit them out, forget that they existed

Battery farm anything it comes out wrong
A leg, a wing, a head, a beak, the soul is gone
Money, money, money pick a face that fits
Mummy, mummy, mummy he’s a lunatic

This is a hit, ha, no matter if it’s shit
This is a hit, ha, no matter if it’s shit
Track Name: They Tell You They Love You
Tell you they love you, tell you they love you
Tell you they love you but you know it ain’t true
They just wanna get dirty and they wanna get down with you

Tell you they love you, tell you they love you
Tell you they love you but you know it ain’t true
When the lights go down they just wanna get down with you

But I’m on my way, I’ve got a taste
For what you want, and I won’t let it go to waste

Tell you I love you, tell you I love you
I tell you I love you baby look in my eyes
And you know that it’s true, yeah you know that it’s true

Look at me yesterday, look at me yesterday
Look at me then, I was a soft young thing
And the same can be said for the ones who are dead

But I live in the future now, I’m living the future now
I live in the future where the bottle’s still full
And the dead can still walk and they’re coming for you

But I’m on my way, I’ve got a taste
For what you want, and I won’t let it go to waste

Tell you I love you, tell you I love you
I tell you I love you baby look in my eyes
And you know that it’s true, yeah you know that it’s true
Track Name: Sexy Priest
Father Brian was a filthy preacher
With a volcanic temper and a stick to beat yer
At the Christmas service he would charm his serpent
And beseech the choirboys to unwrap his present

But he never would've ever been a threat to me
If he never had’a dressed like a sexy priest

Where you gonna run to my sexy priest?
How you gonna hide from the two-backed beast?
666 is the number on the door
Of the devil’s own syphilitic death squad whore

The harvest festival was no exception
He would wave courgettes and talk about divine conception
After 15 goblets of communion wine
He would scream and sway like he'd been crucified

But he never would've ever been a threat to me
If he never had’a dressed like a sexy priest

Where you gonna run to my sexy priest?
How you gonna hide from the two-backed beast?
666 is the number on the door
Of the devil’s own syphilitic death squad whore
Track Name: Hit Her
Uh, ah, come on, hit her
Packing up his troubles in an old kit bag
When she noticed something written on his red right hand
It said: 'Man is a castle and woman is a whore'
So she hammered out his troubles on the hardwood floor

See Billy was one of those guys who likes to hit
A face for Hollyoaks and a brain for shit
But the day he took a swing at a woman in need
Was the day that woman came to make him bleed

She got long white hands, she got big black eyes
She got a pure dark mind
She got a multitude of reasons to make you sweat

Uh, ah, come on, hit her
Like the woman with shrunk hand said to me
You can never make peace with a weak man's deeds
You can pop ‘em, pick ‘em, make ‘em die
But you'll never change the fact you made a lady cry

The seas will boil, the forests burn
The sky turn black and the worm will turn
The rancorous stench of the devil’s own seed
Will come thundering down from your head to your feet

She got long white hands, she got big black eyes
She got a pure dark mind
She got a multitude of reasons to make you sweat
Track Name: Demagogue
The papers today didn’t have much to say
The mighty Gleb Chumalov is gonna blow you away
Groomed by the KGB, a lifelong presidency
The patron saint of death defiles his own country

I don’t want to hear it no more

Under the cover of night, that pale bald parasite
A Bond villain stabbing at world peace with a cold war knife
I can ride a donkey, I can drive a tank
I can steal my whole country’s wealth
And hide it away in an off-shore bank

I don’t want to hear it no more

Despot. Dictator. Murderer. Traitor.
Propaganda and poison shovelled down the throats of all nations.
A gangland Gollum in a Temple of Doom.
A psychopathic drug lord peddling untruth.
A fat American cat on his lap
Just give him a slap and he won’t talk back
He’s not no fear
No morals
No shame
No mercy.

I don’t want to hear it no more.
Track Name: My Name Is Donald
My name is Donald, I got the blond hair
I got the small hands, I got the piggy-eyed stare
I got the big house my daddy gave me
I got a silky bed that’s wet with gravy
I got no real friends but followers aplenty
Haemorrhage money ‘til the trust fund’s empty

I saw a doctor, he was a Mexican
Probably a rapist, though he did all he can
To make me better, and then I told him
If you want money, you better think again
I’ll build a big fat wall so you never get near me
You and your friends don’t belong in my country

My name is Donald, I am a fuckwit
I am the boss here, but I don’t like it
Why are you laughing? I’m not a baby
I got a bath filled with lovely gravy
And I have spunked more money than the bible’s got envy
The American Dream shot a fat load in me

Global warming? What the fuck?
Fascist clampdown? What the fuck?
Guns for children? What the fuck?
Big red button? What the fuck?

My name is Donald, I had a gangbang
With Mr Morgan, a chubby Englishman
And lovely Nigel, with bulgy eyeballs
He put his finger right up my arsehole
And then we high-fived Satan in a Moscow gulag
And danced all night singing ‘Death to the poor man,
Death to the poor man, death to the poor man’
Track Name: UKIP
Oompah, loompah, doopety daa
I’ve got the people’s interests at heart.
Oompah, loompah, what is that smell?
My name is Nigel, I am from Hell

Sit in my castle, cheeky old rascal
Wrapped in a Jack flag and licking my arsehole
Fancy a pint mate? As long as you’re not gay
‘Cos here in the UK we ain’t like that

As a boy I longed to join the Hitler Youth
But then the foreigners arrived and ruined everything good
Let’s have a Bisto Moment, remember the past
And kick the dirty rotten immigrants right out on their arse

UKIP? Nuc it. Gobble it and puke it
Bunch of dirty belly-rubbers playing soggy biscuit.
Pick it, lick it, roll it, flick it
Nigel Farage is the foul man’s ticket

Man of the people, moronic and gleeful
Face of a fuckwit, forever deceitful
So pull up the drawbridge for all but the old Brits
The fabulous flavour of Third Reich Light

Well I just cannot bear to see my country in ruins
As it’s stripped of all its assets through some foreigners’ doing
So let’s put up a wall just like my buddy Don Trump
I’ll fill up my pockets and then this rat will jump

UKIP? Nuc it. Gobble it and puke it
Bunch of dirty belly-rubbers playing soggy biscuit.
Pick it, lick it, roll it, flick it
Nigel Farage is the foul man’s ticket
Track Name: God
God? God? There is no God
Just a deep, dark hole in the stinking sod
Faith? Faith? There is no faith
Just the blind brainwashing of the human race
Lord? Lord? There is no Lord
Just a money-grabbing bigot with a smile and a sword
Hope? Hope? There is no hope
Just a dirty old man with a knotted old rope

Smiley, smiley, happy face
Let’s all move to outer space

Hate? Hate? We’ve all seen hate
He’s a fat blonde clown with a thing about race
Grief? Grief? The commander in chief
The soul-crushing epilogue to disbelief
Hell? Hell? There is definitely Hell
There is murder, rape, fury and the hangman’s bell
Death? Death? You bet there’s death
It’s coming for us all and it’s the only thing left

Smiley, smiley, happy face
Let’s all move to outer space
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
I hope to fuck we can get that far

Peace? Peace? There is no peace
I don’t see anybody wanting peace
Love? Love? I choose motherfucking love
I choose motherfucking love over God above

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