Who needs a lobotomy when we've got the ITV?/ Who needs ECT when there’s good old BBC?/ Switch on the set, light up the screen,/ Fantasise and dream about what you might have been,/ Who needs controlling when they've got the cathode ray?/ They've got your fucking soul, now they'll fuse your brains away./ Mindless fucking morons sit before the set,/ Being fed the mindless rubbish they deserve to get./ Can't switch off Big Brother, they've lost all will to act,/ Lost in drab confusion, was it fiction? Was it fact?/ Another plastic bullet stuns another Irish child,/ But no-one's really bothered, no, the telly keeps them mild./ They've lost all sense of feeling to the ever hungry glow,/ Drained of any substance by the vicious telly blow./ No longer know what's real or ain't, slowly going blind,/ They stare into the gogglebox while the world goes by, behind./ The Angels are on TV tonight, grey pukefucking shit./ The army occupy Ireland, but the boot will never fit./ Was it Coronation Street? Or was it Londonderry?/ Oh it doesn't fucking matter, Paul Daniels’ll keep us merry./ Yes, I've heard of Bobby Sands, wasn't it Emmerdale Farm?/ Yes, that's right, he was kicked by a cow, I hope it didn’t do him no harm./ And wasn't the Holocaust terrible, a good thing it wasn’t for real./ Of course I've heard of H-Block, it's the baccy with man appeal./Deeper and deeper and deeper, layer upon layer./ Illusion, confusion, is there anyone left who can care?/ Yes, the Abbey National cares for you. Nat West and Securicor./ Well bring out the Branston bren-guns, let's spice it up some more./ The Sweeney are cruising Brixton, they've created another Belfast./ And J.R.'s advising Thatcher on lighting, make up and cast./ A thousand camera lenses point at the people's pain,/ As millions or mindless morons watch the action replay again./ Softly, softly, into your life, you’re held in it's brilliant glow./ Softly, softly, feeding itself on the you you’ll never know./ Your life's reduced to nothing, but an empty media game./ Big Brother ain't watching you mate, you're fucking watching him.

Lyrics submitted by getupgirl121

Nineteen Eighty Bore song meanings
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