Lyrics - B.O.G.O.F (page 2)

So Wrong

Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

Third world debt and the starving millions, 

the ignorance of politicians.

It's so wrong,
It's so wrong,
It's so, so wrong,
but it still goes on.

Sending boys to fight in mens wars, 

business deals designed to flout laws.


If you think you have the answer, 

tell your neighbours 'cos they don't believe the truth.

Gun crime up across the nation, 

overwhelming depravation.


Selling drugs outside the school gate, 

Inflicting pain on those who partake.


As a punk band, I think it's our moral duty to tackle issues such war, famine and crime. This a crowd pleaser that has become one of my favourites from this project.

Bad Boy

Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

I was younger when I learned my trade, 

a bit of thieving in the shopping arcade, 

saw a man giving me the eye, 

on my way out as I tried to get by, 

I felt a bit sick, when he said "nick nick" 

I never noticed that they had an alarm, 

Dad blew his top, at the cop shop, 

I've got a record that's as long as your arm.

I'm a bad boy,
I'm a bad, bad boy,
I'm a bad boy,
I'm a bad, bad, bad boy.

Now I'm older and I'm in my prime, 

no desire to be doing time, 

In and out since I was fifteen, 

Dad is happy but my Mums not keen, 

'cos I'm a nomad, not doing too bad, 

a dozen girls in as many towns, 

business thriving, duck and diving, 

the CSA cannot pin me down.


You stand before me guilty as charged and it would give me great pleasure in sentencing you to the maximum punishment bestowed by this court befitting your crimes. However, after receiving psychiatric evaluation and probationary reports, you will do 250 hours community service and pay costs of £100


I was inspired by Ian Durys "Razzle in my pocket" and Supergrass's "Caught by the fuzz" to produce this little ditty. One of the obvious contenders for our "Best of Insane Society" which we will release when we are too old to write new songs!


Buy one...Get one free

Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

Buy one, get one free,
buy one, get one free,
buy one, get one free,
its a false economy.

I don't know where my money goes, 

in the Spar or down at Tesco, 

check out this weeks special offer, 

pay for one, receive another.

T.V. ads may sound misleading, 

hungry mouths require feeding, 

penny pinching times are hard, 

more points on my loyalty card.


Take your time to shop around, 

ain't no better deal in town, 

get some meat in for the freezer, 

chocolate bars are there to tease ya,

Fuck all left of last weeks giro, 

bounced a cheque with my new biro, 

stole some flowers for my mum, 

ripped off Tesco, - two for one!


Don't be drawn in, the fuckers make so much profit they can afford such special deals. The retail industry is now taking a tumble and they only have themselves to blame. I wish I didn't have to shop at Tesco. I'd love them to go under!



Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

Sunday afternoon lying on my bed, 

I cannot understand whats going on in my head, 

a weekend lost, not so surreal, 

47 hours and i need to chill. 

Monday mornings ain't so great, 

countdown to thirteen thirty eight.

Feeling better now I've had my fix, 

a cup of cold coffee and some beetawix, 

the T.V's on but I hear no sound, 

ain't no better place than when there's no one around. 

I'm at my best this time of day, 

tomorrows weather here today.


I'm in heaven and I'm in no doubt, 

I've found a way to turn my inside out, 

too much rain but the forecast's fine, 

six fifty five gonna make her mine. 

If I could have one dying wish, 

to catch a smile and not a fish!


For those of you who don't live in the south-east of England, you'll not know that Kaddy Lee-Preston is the sexiest woman on T.V. She was the B.B.C. south east weather presenter and I love her! If you want to see more of Kaddy click here



Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

Help, I need help, of the psychiatric kind, 

help, I need help, 'cos I'm going out of my mind, 

I think I'm hearing voices, 

they're shouting in my head, 

I won't sleep 'til the morning, 

through fear I'll wake up dead.

Help, I need help, to mask this poor disquise, 

help, I need help, and the silence tells no lies, 

I can't control my anger, 

a rage that hides within, 

don't need no medication, 

to overcome my sin.

I'm gonna break out of the asylum, 

I'm gonna break out of this hell, 

the mighty may have fallen, 

but I'll never kiss and tell.

Help, I need help, when there's no one else around, 

help, I need help, you keep me tied and bound, 

to you I'm just a prisoner, 

a lonely schizoid man, 

don't mention paranoia, 

'cos i'll get you if I can.


We are all prisoners in the human race. Death is the only escape but for some, the waiting is the sentence. This ain't really a punk song and we have yet to perform it live.


Time Bomb

Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

A megawatt of energy is due to be unleashed, 

ain't no use resisting 'cos you can't control the beast, 

attempt to blow my fuse then I'll switch to backup power, 

you only need a minute but I've given you an hour.

I'm a time bomb and I'm waiting to explode, 

I'm a time bomb auto set to countdown mode, 

I'm a time bomb, try to intercept my code, 

I'm a time bomb and I'm waiting to explode.

I've warned you once before and I won't do so again, 

a small misunderstanding 'cos my pleasure is your pain, 

should we beg forgiveness for what ever happens next? 

or face the consequences for two sinners to accept.




I'm running high on empty, but there's nothing in the can 

did you really think I was a supersonic man? 

I make no reservations for these things I have achieved, 

I'll do it all again now my plan has been conceived.


Before my mum died, she said I was a time bomb waiting to go off. I'm still ticking, so watch out world, the punk terrorist is gonna get ya! This song is so full of sexual innuendos you would think I was a born again pervert.


I Believe in England

Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

Back in the sixties, we had it all, 

we showed a nation how to play the game of football, 

one summer evening, you know the score, 

we won a trophy held aloft by Bobby Moore 

but since that day I must confess, 

we haven't seen too much success.

Into the seventies, at Mexico, 

we had the Jerry's on the ropes again you know, 

we were cruising, 2 nil up, 

then Bonetti let in three to lose the world cup. 

we must have cried a million tears, 

It's been no joke for all these years.

So where did we go wrong? 

we can't compete where we don't belong, 

In my heart I grieve, 

but I still believe.

I was at Wembley, seventy three, 

a draw with Poland so we couldn't invade Germany, 

our only glory, to beat the Scots, 

home internationals were the best that we had got, 

those games meant oh so much to me, 

but now they're lost in history.


That Marradonna, 

a man without honour, 

we flew home early once again.

Since the eighties, too many times, 

we got much closer but just couldn't get it right 

those three lions, on our shirts, 

share the passion never mind how much it hurts, 

and every dog must have its day, 

our time will come again I pray.


I am so proud of this song, it says everything I want to hear in a footie anthem. Club or country? This was not even thought about before footballers started earning wages far above their need. Take the money out of the game and give it back to the people.


You make me Sick

Words & Music by Paul D Waghorn

Two smelly kids and a third on the way, 

out of her head, smokes forty a day, 

income support and a run down flat, 

not fit for a dog, or even a cat. 

This ain't no life for me, 

I like some luxury.

Don't give a damn what the neighbours think, 

last weeks plates left in the sink, 

she took some drugs then woke up wrecked, 

aint no way to gain respect. 

Her giro's up her nose, 

but that's the way it goes.

Two months rent remains unpaid, 

but Friday night the tart gets laid, 

dumps the kids off with her mum, 

wasted with some low life scum. 

This loser cannot win, 

I'm better out than in. 

You make me sick, 

You make me sick, 

You make me sick, 

You make me, - sick.

Tucked away at the end of this masterpiece is a one minute, twelve second slice of pure punk. We used to do the song very early on with completely different lyrics entitled odd sox.


Go to - Lyrics - Inequality Street (Page 1)