The Middens Music/Media

Checkout The Middens Song Lyrics

‘Rosa’ is a heartfelt plea to the Labour movement, for a reaction to the imminent destruction by of social values and the National Health Service.

ROSA

It’s all over Anglia
the national health has a fever
as thatcherites take over
in the blue lights of aurora we’re left.
You think about your kids, dear
why don’t you think the kids here?

For Rosa,
there’s a pig at your door.

It’s all over for Rosa
as the blue lights fade further
taxi queues grow longer
and the picket lines get stronger.
Well there’s a fire in the Tower of London
the streets fill with the smell of beef burning
warder dials 999 for the fire brigade
but they’re busy this morning.

For Rosa,
there’s a pig at your door.

Hook laden ‘Council Pop’ is about the dumbing down of the masses and conspiracy theories.

COUNCIL POP

Somebody says there’s a ghost in your pipeline
So who you gonna call this time?
When quick consumption is dumbing down the nation
It’s hard to keep your head above the water line.

Popped tops from a bottleneck business
Pop goes to the living dead
What’s waste is another’s interest
What’s worming it’s way around your head.

Something in the water is turning me inside out.
Something in the water I drink until I’m drowned.

Everybody’s tied in the knots of their lifeline
They sink between the sheets each night
These taps are turning and the council house is burning
It’s best to keep your head beneath the water line.

Popped stars burning out in orbit
Popped songs from the living dead
What’s worse than a best before date
When it’s buried among the rest.

Something in the water is turning me inside out.
Something in the water I drink until I’m drowned.

Hole In The Wall – getting drunk, spending your last way before pay day, struggling to get up and get to work, and being dictated to by a fucking machine. Sound familiar?

HOLE IN THE WALL

Morning call it’s that time again
the day begins just as it comes to an end
I lift my lids to a six-thirty world
sick and dirty from the shower curtain it goes on.

Put my hand out to pay for my ticket
board the carriage and then off I go with it
I’m delayed by at least fifteen minutes
one more late and I know I’ll be finished.

I come home at night
when I’m lit by street lights
I can’t keep from closing my eyes
I’m powered by the grid
by my last fifty quid
by Monday I’ll have gotten rid of it.

So, forget motivation
I’ve just reached the station
the hole in the wall isn’t working at all
it just tells me I’m skint and I’ve no time for,
Sunday morning mass
Friday night crash
twenty quid for an all week pass
Saturday night lash
a weeks worth of cash
my body and balance begin to collapse
It’s so real,
can’t help but feel,

Give a lot, get a little back
I’m slipping through the pavement cracks
the hole in the wall isn’t working at all
it just tells me I’m skint and I’ve no time for,
Sunday morning mass
Friday night crash
twenty quid for an all week pass
Saturday night lash
a weeks worth of cash
my body and balance begin to collapse
It’s so real,
can’t help but feel.

Mon Ami – is about the fact that we have far more in common with Europeans as some would think. The fact that what has happened over there, affects everyone and we all need to stick together in order to overcome the evils that terrorism is throwing mercilessly at innocent people of all backgrounds, all creeds.

MON’AMI

I woke up on the ceiling

as the suburban sun crept in

I heard melody streaming

as the green man crossed the junction

for better buy bitter for the babysitter

of the latest litter from a window fitter.

one shop lifter and a percolator

running the wrong way down the escalator

makes it easier to disregard danger

it’s easier to worry about strangers.

Mon’Ami, was cut from above

Marry me, on the streets of love

Just like me, they’re cut from the cloth

Mon’Ami, je suis désolé, mon’amour.

I woke up to a feeling

of cross channel leanings

I heard memories screaming

like a police car through the junction.

The bitterest winter that I ever walked into

still had the tact to tell you when it was with you

one shape shifter and a percolator

running the wrong way down the escalator

makes it easier to disregard danger

it’s easier to worry about strangers.

Mon’Ami, was cut from above

Marry me, on the streets of love

Just like me, they’re cut from the cloth

Mon’Ami, je suis désolé, mon’amour.

Last Spawns of the Twentieth Century – is a wonderful example of grimy kitchen sink realism. A beautiful story of love and longing. Happy Birthday Nana! – 30 Today!

LAST SPAWNS OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY

As the carrier bags, they cut into her hands 

She thinks about the steep price of stand and tans

And how her husbands on nights 

She’s got holes in her tights 

Semi skimmed is up ten pence and her wash is on whites ‘cause all her colours have run 

They all come off in the wash.

And like her daughter’s ever changing tan

It’s whatever comes out of the can 

It’s all over the towels 

And her bedroom smells

Like chemicals wasted on a teenagers face

As she makes herself up

It’ll come off in the wash.

And I suppose it’s just one of those things

They all go through before they cut their wings

These high-heeled teens 

Last spawns of the twentieth century.

She pleads at her childhood sweethearts knees “Oh please” her adolescence screams 

I remember how you made me feel I remember how it used to be.

Makes room in the pram for twenty-four cans 

A frozen chicken dinner and a box of tea bags 

No change for the bus

It only stops once 