Lyrics - Inequality St (page 2)

She don't understand

Music by Paul D Waghorn

Words by Waghorn/Hannaford

I’ve been down town to place a bet,

I need some luck, ‘cos I ain’t seen too much yet, 

these penny pinching times are starting to hurt, 

then “Star-Tip” gave a 5/1 dead cert.

When I get home it’s nag, nag, nag 

motormouth with a Gucci designer handbag, 

she sent me out for coffee, milk and bread, 

I stumbled through the door pissed out of my head.

She don’t understand, 

She don’t understand, 

She don’t understand, 

‘cos I am what I am.

Wednesday night, stayed in and watched T.V. 

dropping hints she wants to have a baby, 

this conversations getting out of hand, 

I’m far too old to want to be a dad.


I’m laughing, she’s crying, 

her monthly fear of dying, 

I think it’s PMT, 

when she takes it out on me.

This was previously released in it's demo form on "Is this England" a compilation CD of bands we've played with over the past few years. Mr Hannaford had some scribbled words in his notebook which we collabarated on at his luxurious penthouse suite in Newhaven. Dedicated to Nikki (sorry)

Stix and Stones

Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

The boys had a bender, on the other side of town, 

seven pints of lager, with a chaser every round, 

a few familiar faces, were giving us the eye, 

we wern’t going nowhere, so we offered ‘em outside.

Sticks and stones will break your bones, 

but words mean nothing, 

vengence is an ugly crime, 

but we've got to do something?

They had but one intention, to settle an old score, 

as the bottles started flying, someone called the law, 

although we were out-numbered, we had to stand our ground,

a night out to remember, on the other side of town.


We had a different post code, our faces didn’t fit, 

made to feel un-welcome, but couldn’t give a shit, 

seven were arrested, a night spent in a cell, 

home in time for breakfast, innocent as hell.


Very "Oi" inspired, but in a minor key giving a slightly different and perhaps, uneasy feel. This started life known as "Postcode punch-up"


Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

On every corner, in every town, 

there is a camera, looking down. 

Are you the subject? maybe it’s me, 

somebody’s watching, on C.C.T.V. 

won’t go to heaven if I choose to steal that car, 

can’t drown my sorrows at the bar.

Oh no, not me 

this ain’t reality, 

big brothers watching you, 

tune in to,- 


What a performance, day in day out, 

if that’s entertainment, I’ve reasonable doubt. 

I’m not an actor, ain’t won no award, 

a pose for the camera, so naturally bored. 

I’ll plead not guilty though my alibi ain’t strong, 

don’t judge the jury ‘cos they’re wrong.

Oh no, not me, 

this ain’t reality, 

big brothers watching you, 

tune in to,- 


My personal favourite on this collection. Another of Sheldon's ideas that I called to order. I pinched the radio bit from one of those police documentary programs that's on every night of the week.


Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

You want me to write an anthem, - that’s really not my bag, 

I don’t do songs to sing along ‘cos I find them all a drag, 

I ain’t no human jukebox, 

so I can’t play your request, 

but when you’ve gone, I’ll carry on and do what I do best.


My formula is simple, - I’ll keep it short and sweet, 

I like to rhyme in 4/4 time with lyrics on the beat, 

and just before the chorus, 

there’s a bridge that I must cross, 

so all aboard this major chord where melody is boss.


So here it is,- my anthem, I wrote it just for you, 

the words are wrong and it’s far too long, - two minutes fifty two, 

I could use another hook line, 

forget the middle eight? 

well if that’s all right, I’ll sleep tonight, the mix will have to wait.


It doesn't need a solo, 

but I’ve done one anyway, 

you’ll be amazed, its nicely phrased, 

to show off I can play.


You want me to write an anthem, 

that’s really not my bag.

In answer to a request that I write more "anthemic" songs, I came up with this. A song about a song, not very punk rock is it? but wait 'til ya hear the bit at the end. I'm glad I don't conform to the norm!

No Surrender

Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

Cocaine, Junk and L.S.D. 

put the fear of god in me, 

I get no kicks from beer and fags, 

jerkin’ off to mucky mags, 

my boots are clean but the mind is dirty.

Places, faces, far way, 

deceit and lies, a price to pay, 

can’t you paint a bigger picture? 

‘cos I’ve become a neutral fixture, 

this joke is cracked but no one’s laughing.

On a one way street there’s no surrender, 

no retreat or turning back, 

you know my name, you know my number, 

please let me in.

Helter skelter, black September, 

one free ride ‘cos I’m a member, 

I’m at the top, going down again, 

ain’t felt this good since I don’t know when, 

my fake I.D. is as good as sterling.


And I can’t control my white line fever, 

should I flush this chain or pull the lever, 

call my bluff and ring my bell, 

wake me when I’m feeling well, 

dawn has broke but the light is fading.


Can I be forgiven for not knowing where I was going when I was writing this? You have to read between the lines to come up with nothing. I'd give up my day job if I had one!

Another Soldier

Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

Another soldier died today, 

lost in action so far away, 

they told his story on the news at ten, 

here we go again, - not another soldier.


He joined the army at seventeen, 

on parade, his uniform pristine, 

his parents joy, watching in the crowd, 

so very proud of their little soldier.


It started out as such a thrill, 

intensive course in how to shoot and kill, 

loaded guns no longer toys, 

he’s one of the boys, a fighting soldier.


The battle raged on the shifting sand, 

inflicting torment to a foreign land, 

taken hostage by the enemy, 

grim reality of another soldier.


There are ways and means, 

to disquise his screams, 

kicked and beaten he could take no more.


They found his body somewhere out of town, 

no uniform just naked facing down, 

the silent guns and the smell of death, 

his dying breath, was to die a soldier.

I mentioned earlier about the death theme, well, it can't get closer to reality than this. Everyday it appears we lose a soldier in a war that shouldn't be. This is one of the best songs I have ever written.

This is what we do !

Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

It’s a long, long way to Leicester, around the 25, 

‘cos it’s all uphill from Brighton, when no one wants to drive,

We play for love, not money, it’s rare when we get paid, 

no chance of fame or fortune, or even getting laid.

So get out and support the chosen few, 

'cos we would be nothing without you, 

this is what we do.

We love the Black Marias, First Wave and All Flags Burn, 

we’re all in this together, so listen, look and learn, 

Punks and skins united, the boys from Citizen Keyne, 

Saxby and his Warriors, the UK Vacant team.


For some the night is over, we trust you had such fun, 

it’s a long drive home to Sussex, to see the rising sun, 

but if you bought the T-Shirt, maybe a CD too, 

we’ll be your friend forever, and we’d like to say, - 

Thank you!


Dedicated to all the bands who perform for little or nothing other than enjoyment playing second (or third) fiddle to "name" acts. We deserve more but we ain't gonna get it!

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