12" LP of Unconditional Loop, in high gloss die-cut cover with insert of words and glossary.
Cover by Simon Strong. Photo by Rosie Adams.
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Side one, track one. 1977. Frequent strong coarse language.
Two thousand thugs came to class. 1977 was a pain in the arse. There was just three of us would wear the tie and I swore I’d be the last to die.
That bloody thing was a liability. Several times it damn near killed me. You could get it wrapped round a lathe or they could hold you with it while they spat in your face.
One of my comrades was soft in the head. He had a leathering too far and topped himself in t’shed but the other was hard and did it in jest. The last thing I heard he’d worked up to a dress.
I felt nowt! You’re not even trying. Fuck it all! It’s time we wag off science. We’ll take your symbols of compliance to make our gestures of defiance!
I wasn’t hard. I wasn’t frit. Well maybe I was just a little bit. There was a tiny spastic with a shiny hatchet. I fuckin’ ran like a fuckin’ bastard .
There was six cunts in the gymnasium. They was figuring out how to fix up my cranium. Well they knew the ropes and they very near lynched me but it was me what got a spanking off the dinner lady.
I spent my days being where not to be. If I was someone else I wouldn’t have to be me. I ran round in circles frustrating their schemes but I never got away in my wildest dreams.
They knew the difference between black and white. They were just not so good on the light grey and dark grey. It might have been easier if they’d turned on the light but they thought I was funnier to learn me the hard way.
Where do you get if you stay where you are? You can catch a train or you can steal a car and with a bit of luck you’ll wind up in a place where nobody gives two fucks what you’ve got underneath your face.
So when I was let out I was spoiled for choices. There was chokey, the dole or into the armed forces. The only thing they ever taught me was to mind my own business but after such knowledge, what forgiveness? What forgiveness?