At The Edge

Back when I was younger
They were talking at me
Never listened to a word I said
Always yap yap yapping
And complaining at me
Made me think
I’d be better off dead
I don’t want to talk about it
I don’t want to hear no lip
Take your share
Don’t shout about it
That’s your lot
Remember you’re a kid

They would always teach me
That to swear was a sin
Always speak your mind
But not aloud
Think of something
That you want to do with your life
Nothing that you like
That’s not allowed
I’ve no time to talk about it
All your stupid
Hopes and dreams
Get your feet back
On the ground son
It’s exams that count
Not music scenes

And I’m running
At the edge of their world
They’re criticising something
They just can’t understand
Living on the edge of their town
And I won’t be shot down

Taught me to defend myself
And to be a man
How to kick someone
And run away
Gave me everything
That any young man could need
But don’t understand
Why I won’t stay
Here’s your room
And here’s your records
Here’s your home
And here you’ll stay
Here’s somewhere
I don’t believe in
Wish someone
Would take it all away

[Chorus – repeat]

Lyrics: Ogilvy
Music: Stiff Little Fingers

Chickenshit Conformist

Chickenshit Conformist

Punk’s not dead
It just deserves to die
When it becomes another stale cartoon
A close-minded, self-centered social club
Ideas don’t matter, it’s who you know
If the music’s gotten boring
It’s because of the people
Who want everyone to sound the same
Who drive bright people out
Of our so-called scene
‘Til all that’s left Is just a meaningless fad

Hardcore formulas are dogshit
Change and caring are what’s real
Is this a state of mind
Or just another label
The joy and hope of an alternative
Have become its own cliche
A hairstyle’s not a lifestyle
Imagine Sid Vicious at 35
Who needs a scene
Scared to love and to feel
Judging everythng
By loud fast rules appeal
Who played last night?
“I don’t know, I forgot.
But diving off the stage
Was a lot of fun.”

So eager to please
Peer pressure decrees
So eager to please
Peer pressure decrees
Make the same old mistakes
Again and again,
Chickenshit conformist
Like your parents

What’s ripped us apart even more than drugs
Are the thieves and the goddamn liars
Ripping people off when they share their stuff
When someone falls are there any friends?
Harder core than thou for a year or two
Then it’s time to get a real job
Others stay home, it’s no fun to go out
When the gigs are wrecked by gangs and thugs
When the thugs form bands, look who gets record deals
From New York metal labels looking to scam
Who sign the most racist queerbashing bands they can find
To make a buck revving kids up for war

Walk tall, act small
Only as tough as gang approval
Unity is bullshit
When it’s under someone’s fat boot
Where’s the common cause
Too many factions
Safely sulk in their shells
Agree with us on everything
Or we won’t help with anythng
That kind of attitude
Just makes a split grow wider
Guess who’s laughing while the world explodes
When we’re all crybabies
Who fight best among ouselves


That farty old rock and roll attitude’s back”It’s competition, man, we wanna break big.
“Who needs friends when the money’s good
That’s right, the ’70s are back.
Cock-rock metal’s like a bad laxative
It just don’t move me, ya know?
The music’s OK when there’s more ideas than solos
Do we really need the attitude too?
Shedding thin skin too quickly
As a fan it disappoints me
Same old stupid sexist lyrics
Or is Satan all you can think of?
Crossover is just another word
For lack of ideas
Maybe what we need
Are more trolls under the bridge
Will the metalheads finally learn something-Or will the punks throw away their education?
No one’s ever the best
Once they believe their own press”Maturing” don’t mean rehashing
Mistakes of the past


The more things change
The more they stay the same
We can’t grow
When we won’t criticize ourselves
The ’60s weren’t all failure
It’s the ’70s that stunk
As the clock ticks we dig the same hole
Music scenes ain’t real life
They won’t get rid of the bomb
Won’t eliminate rape
Or bring down the banks
Any kind of real change
Takes more time and work
Than changing channels on a TV set

Chicken-shit Conformist
lyrics Jello Biafra
Music Dead Kennedys

Punk is a state of mind, not just another label