The Psychøtic Reactiøn

Oh you shouldn’t have just what I never wanted,
Moon, soon, June, croon: that’s called poetry, it really is,
We the record company know much more than you,
Cos you’ll buy any crap they tell you is cool,
The things you used to sneer at are in fashion now,
So you’ll buy them anyway, you stupid cunt!
You all want to look the same, don’t want to use your brain,Oh! It’s gonna be really big this year,
The brand new in thing that’s completely different to the old ones,
No really, believe me, the NME says it’s good, so it must be,
So I’ll shell out my hard-earned cash on this tape or CD,
Or digital micro-biscuit or whatever it is,
And I’ll like it cos it’s on telly and in magazines so I like, have to,
Or something?

Oh we feel nothing and we know even less,
Our brains are Playstation and Gap our dress,
I must follow the herd until I go nuts,
McDunalds is really nice even though it rots my guts,
(Oh that bit rhymes),

Or I could drop out, be really rebellious and alternative,
Get bolts through my head to help me think differently,
And alternative shops so we can all look “individual”,

Who cares about rhythm, meter and rhyme, or whether it’s in time?
It’s in this year, you’re supposed to like it, you brain dead cunt!

Oops, more swearing! I could mention sex too, or something kinky or deviant,
Be really shocking and controversial, like bad panto drag-act Marilyn Manson,
His mother was a jackal, but he lives in a mansion (it’s all true!),

Maybe we should get dance influenced ‘cos that’s really radical,
But oh, we’ve no drums, so we’re buggered there,
Or strings and orchestras to pad it out,
No! I mean show how deep and meaningful it is,

You stupid cunt!
You’ve got a brain the size of a pea,
It’s facile vainglorious crap, can’t you see?
But, oh no, you want a piece of it too,
But when you’re not in the in-crowd, whatcha gonna do?

Robbie Williams is all you deserve!
You brain dead bastard, lap it up! Lap it up!
Glossy magazines tell you how you must be,
Thank god for that!

See I can do anything I like,
‘Cos if it’s rammed down your throat, you’ll like it!
Worship at the media altar, like the shit-heads you are,
Ooh, aren’t I scathing?
Think for a minute…
Just a minute…
No cliché left unturned…

He’s giving me the middle finger! I’ve never seen that before…
That’s really rebellious…
Oh…

Williams, 1999. I think it speaks for itself, doesn’t it?

Look up at the sky,
And the rain falling down,
Look up at the sky,
And the rain falling down,
I’ve wound up late again,
Running for the last train,I wish I was far away,
Under the warm sun of the day,
I wish I was far away,
Under the warm sun of the day,
Go up past Swalecliffe Brook,
And lose myself in the woods,

What did I do?
What did I do to deserve it?
What did I do?
Didn’t I try to preserve it?
Soon I’ll be far away,
Out of sight and out of mind.

Williams, 1998. Released on CD They Live (2000). This song was covered by Stealth Munchkin in their live sets in 2002 and 2003.

Why is it always like this?
Why is it always wrong?
Why do I have to feel this?
Why did I write this song?

I just can’t say, I just can’t see,
Why it’s pushing down on me,

Feels like I’m buried alive.

Williams, 1994-5. The first Psychotic Reaction song to be recorded. Released on They Live CD (2000).

I leap, for the, telephone, but it, but it’s not you,
My head, hurts with, this pain, pain of, indecision,
I don’t know what it is that I want from this situation,

A Million Platitudes, await you,
A Million Platitudes, are all I have,

I go, and walk, but all, too soon, my head throbs more,
Chain stores: same shops, same goods, are found in every town,
Chain people: same minds, same clothes, same words,
In every town…

A Million Platitudes, await you,
A Million Platitudes, are all I have.
All I have.

Williams, 1999. Released on They Live CD (2000).

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