The Scroungers
Bored, Pissed and Agro: 1991 – 1997
Shame File Music 2009
(sham053)
Lyrics
I HAVE YOUR GUTS
I hate the Christians & I have the pagans
I hate the Buddhists & I hate Islam
I hate the New Age & I hate the Old Age
I hate all the dickheads who cower before nothing
I hate all the people who have all the answers
I hate those who think denial is self-discipline
I hate people who hate ’cause God told them to
I hate their stupid churches, too
I hate the Marxists and I hate the Taylorists
I hate the fascists and I have the liberals
I hate the misogynists and I hate the separatists
I hate the cynics and I hate the deluded
I hate corporations large and small
Police, I fuckin’ hate them all!
I hate the arty fashion fascists
I hate the shithead gumby punks
I hate everyone who wants me to think like them
I hate those who know but won’t do anything
I hate people who tell me to shut up
I hate people like me who whinge all the time
I hate so much but what I have even more
Those who don’t love or hate anything
The people who inflict all this pain & shit
Are the bastards I hate the most
MAKING PUNK A JOKE AGAIN
Say hello to the new young liberals
Come to get pissed at the wake of hardcore
“Never mind the fascists, suck more piss”*
Never goes beyond the truth
Don’t let common sense get in the way
Of posing on the weekend when the system allows
Talk loud, think small, crank out the cliches
(That’ll do, let’s not go too far)
How many generations of bands
Have wasted their breath on wankers like you?
You wear non-comformity on the outside
Cause dead on the inside is how you feel
A few slogans to prop up your stupidity
Now you know everything, you rebel you
Why do people tell me your such a nice person
When you don’t even know why you do anything?
Go on, smash another bottle on the road
That’s it, you’re better than everybody else
Why not have another drink with your bonehead mates?
All we are saying is go fuck yourself
All we are saying is fuck off and die
All we are saying is pull your head in
All we are saying is go kill yourself
(etc. etc. etc.)
*This was on the flyer advertising the gig at the Arthouse at the end of the punk crawl. The scene knew that nazis where supposed to show up and didn’t give a rat’s.
BORED, PISSED AND AGRO
Every night
Every day
In the morning
In the evening
Down at work
On the dole queue
At home with the dishes
On public transport
Interstate
Overseas
Just next door
Everywhere
Everybody’s doing it
Everybody has to
Go get fucked
C’MON EVERYBODY LET’S BROOD
When you don’t know what she meant when she said that
When someone looks at you a bit strange
When the conversation around you
Is completely out of your range
When someone you don’t like gets attention
When everything seems to go wrong
Don’t let it go at the end of the day
Curl up tight and sing this song –
C’mon everybody let’s brood
You’ve got to get into that self-obssessed mood
You can do it in the streets
You can dol it in the nude
You’ve got to brood cause it feels so good
Life sucks and everything you do fucks up
The gods are truly not on your side
No one’s understood a word you’ve ranted
No matter how hard you’ve tried
Just save it up and stuff it inside you
Leave it festering inside you for days
Turn into a cramped up little whinger
You know you’ll feel better that way
Let’s brood
Let’s brood
You just want to say “piss off” to the neighbourhood
So build up your venom and put away your trust
Let your common sense sit in the rain and rust
Stay up all night and be useless all day
The good times just wont go away
I’M NORMAL
I’ve got a house
I’ve got a spouse
I’ve got a job
I ain’t no yob
I’ve got a car
And I’ll go far
I’ve got TV
It’s enough for me
I don’t cause trouble
I obey the law
Do what I’m told
I ain’t no whore
I’m normal…
FUCK POLITICS, LET’S RIOT
We’ve listened to you , you gave us your views
We’ve heard every word that you said
We’ve had it with you, and when we are through
You’ll wish you were better off dead
Hit us hard when they declared class war
People pushed around won’t hold back anymore
All your rhetoric won’t keep us quiet
Fuck your politics, we want a riot
You’ve fucked us around, you’ve let us right down
Sold us out to our enemy
We’re taking control, we’re smashing this hole
We’ll do anything to be free
Won’t negotiate, but will desecrate
Everything the state calls holy
We’ll smash it all in, we want to kick in
All that the bastards decree
STOP LAUGHING COMRADE
Sign up with saviors whose seriousness sells
Liberate yourself from humour & its social hells
They don’t want you to think for yourself……..
Treat their word as gospel as much as they do
Talking about ancient philosophers is good for you
Sell the paper
Tow the party line
We’ve got our eye on you
Don’t be so infantile
It’s a very serious business, no time for fun & games
Having endless meetings to think of new groups’ names
Pay attention to the minutes, we’ve got to spread our word
A demo or a picket without us would be absurd.
MORE BOLLOCKS
Oh Mr. Larouche as you shit in prison
Giving your orders and biding your time
Your followers are diligently spreading your word
Absolute in their adoration of you
And we can’t help but be impressed
At how far already you have come
And we look forward to meeting you
When you come to claim your empire
They’ve got all the answers
Tomorrow belongs to them
They’re going to get the power
They’re going to make a believer out of you
Such a respectable face to fascism
This hate that dares not speak its name
So moderate & understandable
Logical like a vivisectionist
The best of the populism of the left
And the best of the charisma of the right
Everything you want in one handy package
Now in new Australian accent
More bosses
More leaders
More Gods
More masters
More laws
More order
More jails
More cops
More jobs
More factories
More churches
More schools
More whites
More men
More of the same…
CAN’T COMPLAIN
I got another letter from the CES today
I wish those computer prodders would go away
Never thought I’d be afraid of the mail
But when I see the envelope my heart nearly fails
They’ve got me running all over town
To make me sellable to discerning bosses who are all infallible
They don’t have to do anything
But sit & pick & choose
We try out best to suck their arse
But we always lose
Bills & bills & rent don’t go away
Got fuck all for myself at the end of the day
Turn to my mates for help but wonder who
‘Cause everyone I know’s in the same shit too
I’m sick and tired of being poor but what choice do I get?
Get a decent job & buy a house? Aw yeah I fuckin’ bet
Maybe I’ll win the Tatts one day
Maybe pigs might fly
I’ve got to bite the bullet and admit I’ll be here ’till I die
Got to toe the line they tell me to
Got to do the things they want me to
I’ve got no backup I’m stuck on my own
If you want to know the truth I’ll tell you so
I’d love to burn the cities down
I’d start with parliament house
Killing bosses and bureaucrats would be just fuckin’ grouse
Tear down all this bullshit that stands between me and you
When we’ve got nothing but ourselves
We’ll see what we can do.
DESCENT INTO PATHETISM
No one loves me
No one wants to talk to me
No one invites me to their parties
No one rings me up
No one writes to me
No one cares about me
No one wants to know me
Oh Christ, I’m feeling sorry for myself
And I’ve tried
But I can’t help slipping
Everyday brings a new depression
I’m descending into pathetism
I’ve started writing poetry
I’ve started to con myself
Like “I don’t need them anyway”
And “All I need is me”
I’ve started feeling superior
To compensate my misery
I’ve started thinking I’m the only one in the world with problems
When will it all go right for me?
When will I win millions of dollars? When will beautiful women (™) bash down my door? When will the world discover what an artistic genius I am? When they discover my dead body and realize what a wonderful person they’ve missed and curse themselves for not being my friend and say nice things at my funeral?
DON’T YOU THINK THAT’S BEING JUST A BIT CYNICAL?
Everyone wants to stop the rot
But they’ve been at it since year dot
Divided we stand united we fall
Better people than us have gone to the wall
Lots of talk of struggle but it’s all absurd
Solidarity is just another empty word
Everyone suffers pain & fears
And everyone’s got their own bright ideas
National socialist what’s your game?
International socialist just playing the same
Anarchist monarchist liberal conservative
Shove it up your arse!!
No one wants to forget the past
But we don’t remember that nothing lasts
Millions of fingers pointing the way
Solutions are a dime (sic) a dozen these days
Mass debating is everywhere
There’s nothing to agree on ’cause there’s nothing there
Rebels get gung-ho when they get pissed
There’s got to be something better than this
If you’ve got the answers then join the queue
Just take a number and I’ll soon be with you
I’m reading the papers and sifting through leaflets
The cops ten to one are a sure bet
We all think we stand up & we’re the one
The bastards have got us all under the thumb
In a revolution where we all play a part
Getting rid of politics would be a good start
BOUGANVILLE REBS
You want to send money to charity
I’ve got some news for you
Your Walk Against Want is a right bloody wank
Lining the business pockets
You want to ease your middle class conscience
I’ve got no sympathy
We’re coming out for the Bouganville rebs
In solidarity
The poor want medicine
The poor want guns
Let’s blow up the mines
And have some fun
Don’t waste your rhetoric on me
I don’t want your liberal shit
I want to see the PNG
Get the fuck out right quick
Sending guns to Bouganville
Sending guns to Timor
Let’s sabotage the helicopters
Let’s watch the bastards burn
LETS HEAR IT FOR TERRORISM!
This isn’t my city
I didn’t build it
This isn’t my society
I didn’t ask for it
I don’t like what they’re doing
To the town I used to live in
They’re knocking down the scenery
And building supermarkets
Outer suburbs like Dandenong and Frankston
Are just concrete cesspits with no fucking hope
Nothing to do but sit around drinking
And getting beaten up by the police
I can’t take no more
I’m sick of it all
I’m gonna go berko
I’m gonna go psycho
And smash up this place
Where’s my chainsaw?
I hate all the stupid tv addicts
But I hate even more
The television stations
Everywhere I go I just see advertising
Young kids with new clothes are just walking advertisments
No one seems to care that we’re all going to die
No one wants to try to build a better life
They’re all busy trying not to get sacked
Or trying to find another boss to suck up to
I can’t take this shit
I’m sick of it all
I want to smash windows
I want to burn cop cars
I want to see Toorak
Go up in flames
We can’t go on just pretending to be happy
On minimum wages and mile-long dole queues
One day you’ll be too poor to notice
That your dreams of wealth where nothing but shit
Hundreds of thousands of people get angry
Sick of the promises, bullshit and lives
Our cities decay and we start to get hungry
For something real and more in our lives
We’re coming to get you
Mr. Politician
We’re smashing your car phone
We’re kicking your doors in
We’re destroying your billboards
We’re killing your cops
We’re spewing your junkfood
All over your new suit
We’re destroying this world you forced us to live in
RUXTON FOR PM
We heard the news and we’re excited
Read the manifesto and we’re delighted
Have heard the truth and he’s our man
To get this country out of the can
Somebody call an election quick
This pansy government is making us sick
Send an old digger to parliament house
Ruxton’s at the helm and we think that’s grouse
We’re punk rockers for Ruxton
Give Ausfailure back its pride
Throw in the books
Singing ’round the fire
Oh goody, everybody gets a job
Lick those boots & clean the bog
Get those Asians out of here
Hang the blacks & bash the queers
Fly das flag in every place
Launch satellites into outer space
Meet after work at the RSL
Sing our praises how things turned out sow well
National service makes a man of you
If you’re a Sheila there’s other things you can do
Making scones, keeping the tea hot
Keeping the Indonesians on the trot*
Bring back the 50’s, meat pies and cold beer
Anzac parades & sheep to shear
Ah yes, Ruxton’s the one to make it come true
And you do want the lucky country, don’t you?
(The joke backfired
We all fell down and died)
(*except in Timor)
FUCK YOU UP
Fuck your head
Wish you where dead
You fucking scum
Meet my gun
Everything just fucks you up
Daily life just fucks you up
Cops and bosses fuck you up
Spend your life feeling fucked right up
Everything just fucks you up
Don’t want to live feeling fucked up
Tired of feeling fucked right up
Want to fucking fuck shit up
BATTLE OF THE FUCKWITS
Look at these kids, they haven’t got a clue
Wouldn’t know what a hard day’s work is
By christ if I was running the show
I’d have em in chains my goodness I would
Wasn’t like this when I was young
I mean we had it rough
Bloody good war is what we need
Blah blah blah blah
Oh no dad it’s not like that
You don’t understand us or our music
We’re just confused and angry
About unemployment and the enviroment
It’s so hard to get into university
And it’s so hard to get a decent job
We don’t want to destroy society
We just want a fair go
Did you see this in the paper?
More of these bloody hooligans!
Look at this little bludger
Like to know who his parents are
(Reads) “Gangs of delinquant youths roam our streets
High on drugs and rap music”
What’s the government doing about it?
That’s what I want to know
Oh Dad, you’re so old fashioned
That’s just what we wear nowdays
It doesn’t mean they’re in a gang
All that stuff happens overseas
I’ve got a mate who’s a youth worker
He’s trying to get these kids jobs
I reckon the government should fund more programmes
And give us more places to hang out and that…
Stop swearing lad, there’s a lady present
Not all of us are as low as you
Whack across the earhole’s what he needs
Never did me any bloody harm
Oh, obviously some kids need discipline
Like those kids who vandalise train stations
But we’re not all like that
We just want a chance to contribute to society
I don’t want to take sides between morons
I’m not at war to save middle-class concerns
If this is your idea of debate
Get the fuck out of my face
Get out of my life
Fuck off
ONLY STUPID BASTARDS HANG AROUND BRUNSWICK ST. FITZROY
I don’t want to go up Brunswick St
Don’t want to meet you at the Black Cat Cafe
I don’t want to go up Brunswick St
I’ll catch a tram but I’d rather not stay
There’s commission flats on Brunswick St
But the yuppies never look at them
The homeless sleep on Brunswick St
But no one pays attention to them
I don’t want a cuppochino
I don’t want to wear those clothes
I don’t want to see those bands
In the pubs where the twenty-somethings go
Whenever I walk up Brunswick St
I feel like an alien
When I see the people who go up Brunswick St
I’m glad I don’t look like them
I don’t like the shops on Brunswick St
Cause the trendies give me dirty looks
I don’t want to read a book about anarchy
If it’s sold at Polyester Books
I don’t want a plate of pasta
I don’t want to hear that CD
I don’t want to hear their bullshit
It’s not for me
Start a fight on Brunswick St
Start a riot on Brunswick St
Shoplifing spree on Brunswick St
Smash the shop windows on Brunswick St
If you want to go to Brunswick St
I’ll meet you in the city
Cause I’d rather avoid Brunswick St
It makes me feel so (obvious rhyme here)
They don’t like shoplifting in Brunswick St
Cause they’ve all got their buisinesses to run
Whenever I hear the words Brunswick St
I reach for my gun
THE LUCKY COUNTRY
Well I went down to the housing block where all the Koories live
I was a little nervous cause I was told of shit they give
But I had the spread the news to them that someone gave to me
“Hay everybody it’s okay this is the lucky country!”
Then I rang the women’s refuges to let them in on it
They all had something to say but I’d rather not repeat it
So I hung around the city square to tell the homeless kids
They told me in no uncertain terms just what they think
But there’ll always be the knockers
There’ll always be the whingers
There’ll always be the moaners
But not me
Cause I’m living in the sunshine
I’m having me a good time
All my lyrics do rhyme
And this is the lucky country
Now I’m standing in the dole queue with everyone else I know
In some countries they don’t have dole queues and it makes me proud to know
That no matter how poor or shat-on or in-gaol I may be
I can still hold my thumb up and say “Good on the lucky country”
PROUDLY AUSTRALIAN MADE
Proudly Australian made
By proud Australian wage-slaves
They’re so proud to be Australian
They don’t mind not getting paid
Cause it’s a privelidge to be there
On that Australian factory floor
That they beg for more and more things
That are proudly Australian made
Australia: we’re just so proud
Australia: this is our crowd
Australia: we’re so bonza we’ll do anything we’re told
Proudly Australian owned
By proud Australian employers
With proud Australian legislation
To keep everything that way
So that proud Australian workers
Don’t waste time on picket lines
They’re proud to do anything
Proud Australian arbitrators say
Australia: ’tis of thee
Australia: hooray, whoopee
Australia: don’t rock the boat
Just say “no worries mate”
Australia: we don’t cause trouble
Australia: when prices double
Cause we’re still proud when our incomes come tumbling down
WE MAY BE BLUDGERS BUT WE’LL NEVER BE SCABS
You don’t like me ’cause I don’t kill myself looking for work
You’re slaving away for your fucking boss while I’d rather shirk
You’ve got your ideals worked out, obviously I’ve got mine
Are we enemies without a common cause?
Other unemployed bods get raked in to break your strike
Bosses can get wage slaves anytime they like
They say they’re honest works but I say they’re fucking cowards
I know whose side I’m on in the class war
We stand together when it’s all up for grabs
Seeing as our unity is all that we have
I don’t know about the others but I’ll be there come the time
No one I call comrade will cross any picket line
The bosses & the scabs are my enemy as well
‘Cause when you strike for you, you strike for me.
GOOD MORNING HAPPY COMMUTERS
As the sun shines through the clouds
And the washing gently sways
Alarm clocks send their greetings
To a brand new working day
And a million people bound from bed
With smiles upon their faces
Yawning with excitement
As they get to their workplaces
And on the trains and trams
You’ll hear the people sing
They’d rather be at work
Than just about anything
Towards the city they go
With mobile phones and laptop computers
It makes me want to sing out loud
Good Morning Happy Commuters
Flinders St station in the morning
Is where I want to be
Washed upon the ashphalt shore
By the tidal human see
Dressed gaily in black and grey
In suits or mini-skirts
They greet each other with geunuine warmth
As they skip on their way to work
And on the umpteen highways
Car radios sing their songs
Of the satisfied fullfilment
Of the employed throngs
In massive four-wheel drives
Or even on moped scooters
You’ll hear the dj sincerely say
“Good Morning Happy Commuters”
And when ten or twelve hours are finally done
You’ll hear their reluctant sighs
For once again they have to bid
Their boss and work goodbye
But at least the television
Will keep them entertained
When they finally go to bed
Their excitement is scarcely contained
For they all know next morning
The alarm clock rings again
And fully rested and restored
Their energies sustained
Once more they join the milling hordes
That point us to the future
Where we all as one can safely say
Good Morning Happy Commuters
UM…
Do you remember ’69?
No, I wasn’t there
Do you remember ’77?
No, I wasn’t there
Do you remember ’82?
No, I wasn’t there
Do you remember anything?
By now I just don’t care
My credibility
Remains in jepardy
But I can’t see what it’s got to do with me
Remember Paris ’68?
No, I wasn’t there
Remember Brixton ’82?
No, I wasn’t there
Remember LA ’92?
No, I wasn’t there
Remember the fight in the pub last night?
Come on, that’s not fair
FUCK RIGHT OFF
Just fuck right off, you aren’t wanted here
You’re enough to put me off my beer
You’re fuckin’ scum, you know it too
There’s no one here who agrees with you
Your opinion’s are full up with shit
No one wants to put up with it
Your arrogance is unbelievable
Your attitude is inconceivable
You’re everything I hate & more
You’re a stupid shit, you’re a boring bore
Everything about you gives me the shits
Why do you fucking exist?!?!
BAZZA WAS A POOFTER BASHER
Bazza blew into town
Pissed out of his head
He’d been on the plonk all day
Now he was carrying on like a dickhead
Bazza was big and had lots of tats
No one stared at him
He stretched out on a couple of trainseats
Wearing his wankers grin
Off the platform stepped this kid
As queer as he could be
Wearing make-up and ripped fishnets
And piercings where no on could see
Bazza stared, there’s death in the air
He swells his chest up big
He’d done this sort of thing before
Because he was a homophobic pig
Bazza was a poofter basher: straight as he could be
Bazza was a poofter basher: no shit-stabber was he
Bazza was a poofter basher: he was a real man
Bazza was a poofter basher: that’s how it began
Bazza stares at this kid
Who doesn’t stare back
The boy twitches and holds his breath
And waits for the inevitable attack
The big, hulking, pissed, sodden yobbo
Strides casually up
He stares down at his victim
And everyone knows it’s going to start
No one dared to make a move
One bloke had them all in awe
They could have stopped him easily
But nobody wanted to start
Bazza grins his wankers grin
And runs his hand through his close-cropped hair
Getting hard over giving violence
And reveling in psychological warfare
Now Bazza knows he’s going to win
He’s just playing head-trips
He asks the kid who he thinks he is
And if he wants to suck his dick
The kid doesn’t even match his gaze
He tells Baz to fuck off
His ego takes a mighty blow
But that wasn’t enough
He takes his time but everyone can see
He’s going to do physical harm
Imagine the looks on peoples’ faces
When the lad pulls out a knife as long as my fore-arm
Faster than anyone can see
Bazza gets it in the guts
The blade slices like a knife through butter
Right through Bazza’s nuts
The kid leaps up
And leaps over his blood-spurting body
Gets off at the next train station
And is left alone by everybody
How the people squealed when they where spoken to by the pigs
But now a bigot’s six feet under ground
And I don’t give a fucking shit
Bazza was a poofter basher
That’s where it ends
…
Is everything so lost?
Is it all up for grabs?
What’s the point in asking if we’re not gong to last?
Is this the last laugh at us?
Are we really going down the tubes?
Should we pull out the white flag & say we’re born to lose?
I still seem to be here
I notice we haven’t died yet
We’re still living & breathing
They haven’t fucked us yet My brain’s in working order
It’s not the best but it’ll do
I’m gonna work on fighting back
What about you?
Did we do all that for nothing?
Do we now just wash our hands?
Did we just make fools of ourselves every time we made a stand?
We still don’t need the bosses’ shit
It’s still true
We didn’t fail if we survived if still do what we do
I don’t care if it sounds stupid
I’m not going to die with grace
When they start coming for us
We should kick them in the face
Why wait for them to move first?
We can duck & we can dive
Maybe we’ll come through alright…