The girl with the sun in her eyes

She hasn't made her mind up yet,
she said.
The girl with the sun in her eyes.
She's not really sure,
which way to vote.
She doesn't understand it much anyway,
she said.
The girl with the sun in her eyes.
I, tried to explain to her,
what it was all about.
Her mind was wandering,
I could see she wasn't paying attention.
The girl with the sun in her eyes.
And she looked at me,
but I don't know what she saw.
The sun was in her eyes.
She said something about her new shoes.
How much they cost?
or something?
I'm not really sure about:
The girl with the sun in her eyes.
We never spoke much after that,
we were on sort of,
different wavelengths.
Me, and,
the girl with the sun in her eyes.
Have you made up your mind?
Which way to vote.
Do you?
Have a good job in the city.
Are you wearing new shoes?
Are you
The girl with the sun in her eyes?



Capability Red 1987

Tebbit

He's got the profile of Joseph Goeballs
and the charm of Albert Speer.
He's as trustworthy as Lord Haw Haw.
But not half as sincere.

Tebbit is his name,
MP? my arse!
He should be tried as a war criminal,
for crimes against the working class.

Norman Tebbit lives!
That's open to debate.
He seems half dead
and always looks in a state.

He is so nondescript
words can't justify him.
I never cease to wander
how the reaper keeps passing by him?

He impresses the Tory faithfull
with rhetoric crude and hollow.
concocting a social poison,
that only a fool would swallow.

Devoid of original thought,
afflicted with a mental malaise,
he creeps through the corridors of power,
like a blinded rat in a maze.

He's destroying jobs and services,
throwing workers on the dole.
Then screaming for law and order,
to keep them under control.

But, the nation is getting wise,
to what Tebbit is really like.
and the message of the people is clear:
On yer fucking bike!



CapabilityRed aprox 1985

So Much To Lose

Still paying for the jet and the rest of the debt, left over from last year's holiday?
And it's a pretty even bet, that the mail order threat will carry you into the deep water, out of the bay.
You've got the freedom to pay your bills any way that you choose.
So, you'd better behave and be a good slave. 'Cos you know you've got so much to lose.

Ah! You've got so much to lose,
you can afford to be abused,
if you want to pay for that cruise.
Ever felt you're being used?

Despite attempts to pretend that you've got so many friends. How does it feel to be alone?
And at the week-end, working overtime again, slurring and slumping and falling asleep on the 'phone.
You find it convenient to wear that made -to-measure stare.You know, public opinion point of view.
And it's totally against the grain, on the bus, or the train, for someone to make an example out of you.

Because you've got so much to lose,
you can tell me, do you feel confused?
Sort of, battered and bruised.
The Anglo American blues?

Strollin' down the street, make sure you're casual but neat. Never know who you might impress.
Wouldn't it be so complete, if you were to unexpectedly meet that project that answers your calls in American Express?
Does it tingle your conscience, to read all the nonsense in the headlines and the news?
Being bourgeois, eating pomme de terre and petit pois. Can you ever explain these virtues?

No. You've got so much to lose,
you know that you stand accused.
Tell me, how many pairs of shoes,
have you got, but never use?




CapabilityRed aprox 1987

Sign Up Today

They'll give you a chance and they'll give you a gun.
And they'll give you a licence to shoot anyone
In the name of freedom, St George, or the queen.
And you can learn to drive a tank if you're really that keen:

So; sign up today,
sign up today,
step right this way,
and sign up today.

They'll make it sound simple if you don't understand.
Why are you here, on somebody else's land?
You'll learn about NATO and the Warsaw Pact.
And Sargent will watch to note how you react:

So; sign up today,
sign up today,
step right this way,
and sign up today.

You'll get full military honours if you get blown to hell.
Your folks can feel proud of you, your neighbours as well.
Join up for your country, it's a brave thing to do.
But if there's a war, Lord have mercy on you:

So; sign up today,
sign up today,
step right this way,
and sign up today.


CapabilityRed aprox 1982

GARBAGE

I'm staying in tonight, but there's garbage on the screen,
like a technicolour yawn, it creases up my spleen.
There's garbage in the Express and more garbage in the Sun,
I avoid the Daily Mail, but I've heard it's not much fun.
If I go down to my local, stick my head inside the door,
the bar's a graveyard of broken glasses, and there's garbage on the floor.
Garbage on the underground, garbage on the bus,
you get garbage across your head, if you bother to make a fuss.

Next door's cat's in the garbage, he's hunting for last night's skate.
Unless he keeps his whiskers out of my garbage, he'll end up being served on a plate.

You listen to a load of garbage, in the canteen, at work.
If you try to raise the tone of conversation, they label you some sort of jerk.
I like the word Garbage. I's relevant to everyday life.
The obvious common label, for anxiety, strain and strife.
It's all garbage when you think about it. From the cradle to the coffin.
The garbage they carry you into, and the garbage they carry you off in.

It's the same at the Job Centre, the garbage they try to spill ya.
They send you to work for a boss, and he almost tries to kill ya!
Garbage, garbage, garbage. What else is there to say?
To waste my time writing about garbage. I ought to be locked away!



CapabilityRed aprox 1986

Going to Mortlake ?

Meatloaf, Maltloaf, Mortlake, Saltlake.
Saltlake, Swanlake. It's too late.
We've missed the Eighty Eight.
Got to walk to Mortlake.

Stagnate, Germinate, wake up, Agitate.
The Eighty Eight is running late.
We'll never get there at this rate.

Mortlake, Maltloaf.
You trod on my toe,
you clumsy oaf.
Nothing much to celebrate.
We've got to walk to Mortlake.

Mortlake, Malteze.
More teas? Yes please.
My bus pass is out of date.
Got to walk to Mortlake.

Mortlake, Mortify.
I could cry. I want to die.
It's bad enough being late.
But turning up in this state!

Going to Mortlake?




CapabilityRed aprox 1990

The Ballad of the Poisoned Dwarf

There once was a lad named Richard, who wasn't very quick.
He was a bit slow on the uptake, so his friends all called him'Dick'.
He got a job on the buses, but he wasn't very tall.
So he applied to be an inspector, 'cos he couldn't drive a bus at all.
He thought he'd grow a beard, to make himself look tough.
But he looked more like a 'Poisoned Dwarf', he just wasn't big enough.

He booked crews for running early, or taking over late.
Or; leaving a bus unattended, he really thought it was great.
The Poisoned Dwarf had power, he told the crews who was boss.
But what he couldn't comprehend, was that nobody gave a toss.
He applied to become a 'Gold Badge', and it really caused a commotion.
When he started booking crews, 'cos he couldn't get his promotion.

He wasn't wanted at the top, they could do without the likes of him.
He was advised 'he wasn't suitable', but the Dwarf just didn't fall in.
The saga reached a climax, one murky east end night.
When the Dwarf booked a crew, for running a bus back 'light'.
The Driver leapt from his cab, and woke up his mate with a prod.
And declared "come one Floyd, I've had enough of this little sod".

They stood there face to face. The Dwarf went for his book.
The Driver gave him a 'Glasgow handshake', the Conductor swung a right hook.
It was all over in a flash, the Dwarf got what was comming to him.
But despite the presence of several crews, 'nobody saw a thing'!
So, ask the Poisoned Dwarf, this story has a moral:
A lesson for roadside inspectors: Co-operate. Don't quarrel!



CapabilityRed aprox 1983