Confessions Of A Pop-group Lyrics - The Style Council

Cheap and tacky bullshit land 

told when to sit don't know where you stand 

too busy recreating the past 

to live in the future. 

Poor relations to Uncle Sam - bears no relation to the country man 

too busy being someone else to be who you really are. 

Shitty plastic prefab town 

mind where you walk when the sun goes down 

too busy hating others to even love your own. 

Bobbies on the beat again - beating blacks for blues again. 

It's one way to get involved in the community. 

Love me, love my jeans 

I must buy shares in Heinz baked beans 

too busy buying up, selling out, selling off. 

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3, 2, 1, in others terms - win a life sentence and a queen mum perm 

the individuals that state, in a state of seige. 

Do pop and press and mix, do tits and news stew 

The next one in the poor house could be you 

to busy saying "thank you" to say what for? 

No time to spare - "spare me a dime"? 

the Great Depression is organised crime 

Their confessions are written in your blood. 

Kiss your ass an' dreams goodbye 

come back when you've learnt to cry 

to busy try'na be strong to see how weak you are. 

Wave your flags and waive your fate 

the freedom you claim is the one you hate 

the victory you seek will never come. 

Photos 

Brutal views through brutal eyes 

see no future, hear no lies 

speak no truth to me or the people I love. 

When I grow up I want to be 

all the things you've never been 

and your opinion will count for none.