CD signed by Dizraeli - with beautiful gatefold case, inlay and the stories behind the songs - please ask for a personal message as well if you'd like one - just use the BandCamp message feature on payment :)
Comes in recycled packaging with original artwork by Sam Bevington (thebevlak.com)
Also includes immediate download of 12 track album in your choice of 320k mp3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.
ships out within 3 days
Purchasable with gift card
£13.50GBPor more
lyrics
Skin cancer costs an arm and a leg, man
People on the beach self-harming to get tanned
Laid out flat like an army of dead mans
Red necks, red bellies than expand
Like jellyfish on the wet sand
Very Engurlish, suncream and sweaty hands
Mingled in with tepid lager, I’m on my 7th can-
Can I kick it? Probably not very elegant
Stepping over spaghetti Bacardi Breezer sick
Chilli sauce on my portion of cheesy chips
Silly thoughts, tell a stranger he’s a prick-
Receive a hit, lips and teeth are split.
But it in’t a party unless you bleed a bit
Bit of a geezer, telling Lisa she’s a fitty
Grab her tits, and she’s throwing a seizure fit
Now I’m sleeping in a cell, police are dicks.
Engurland, mingerland, middle fingerland
Footie song singerland
Baddiel and Skinner-land
School dinnerland
Red white, brown and gingerland
Imperial hinterland,
Perpetual winterland,
Where happy pills are in demand
Engurland, engurland, engurland
Aren’t you proud?
And it’s a land where families spend holidays in traffic jams
And radios play tracks by tragic bands
That have millions of avid fans, all little girls
Who crave a glitzy soundtrack to their shitty world
Where there’s poison in the food, and chlorine in the water
And models in the nude, in every shop, in every corner
And disorders of mind, and bulk orders of baked beans,
Cos here are 3 kids, and their mother … aged eighteen
… and they dream of stardom, watching the X-Factory
But they have no garden, and nowhere to practise being
Therefore, they question what they’re there for
And why there’s armed policemen, outside Mr Blair’s door
… then they reach their teens, and learn to count up to ten Bensons
Hiding behind hedges, burning pubescent tension
What’s progression? Let the Daily Mail write your starchart-
“this week you’ll lose your virginity in a carpark.
Next week, you’ll take your first ecstasy pill
Nine pints of White Lightning, and get messily ill.
The week after that, perhaps you’ll get a job in Lidl
You can stop believing, but you can’t stop the drizzle
You can stop believing but you can’t stop the drizzle.
Stop believing- you can’t stop the drizzle”
And we sing…
… and we sing… and we keep singing
Engurland, mingerland, middle fingerland
Footie song singerland
Baddiel and Skinner-land
School dinnerland
Red white, brown and gingerland
Imperial hinterland,
Perpetual winterland,
Where happy pills are in demand
Engurland, engurland, engurland
Aren’t you proud?
Alabaster is a dear friend and collaborator, and he's doing work in the realm of sound and words that I hope would be doing if I lived another life. Tender and mad and outrageous. Dizraeli
