Pity the Plight

[Intro : John Cooper Clarke]

Pity the fate of young fellows

Too long in bed with no sleep

With their complex romantic attachments

Oh, look on their sorrows and weep

They don't get a moment's reflection

There's always a crowd in their eye

Pity the plight of young fellows

Regard all their worries and cry

Their Christian mothers were lazy, perhaps

Leaving it up to the school

Where the moral perspective is hazy, perhaps

And the climate oppressively cruel

Give me one acre of cellos

Pitched at some distant regret

Pity the fate of young fellows

And their anxious attempts to forget

[Sketch]

Chris: So you're the badman that killed Kirby yeah?

Jake: Yeah

Chris: And that little girl yeah?

Jake: I didn't mean to kill her, it was an accident

Chris: Do you know who that girl was though?

Jake: -pause- Nah

Chris: My fucking sister!

Marcel: Chris man, just allow it

Chris: Don't tell me to fucking allow it, you don't fucking know me

[Verse 1: Plan B]

These are the tears of a thug like murky water

Crying tears as clear as mud for his father's daughter

His half sister, he felt obliged to support her

Since her mum was poor and her dad died even poorer

Separated until she was eight years old

He knew as soon as he saw her that he adored her

So now he's baying for blood with a bora

And an automatic weapon; Smith And Wesson

That'd split a fucking hole in your chest length

He's been looking to corner the perpetrators responsible for a killing

Now that he's finally got them where he wants them

Blood will start spilling

The atmosphere in the air tonight is chilling

The blanket of stars above their heads in the sky feels like a ceiling

Slowly crushing down on them as the terror starts progressing

That leaves the youngest of the two open to his suggestion

Only thirteen years old; pubescent adolescent

About to learn a very harsh and depressing lesson

[Sketch]

Chris: Here, stab him up. Do it!

Marcel: Jake bruv, just, come on..

Jake: I can't, I can't do that

Chris: How the fuck do you think you got here?

How the fuck do you think I know where you live?

He offered to kill you earlier - for me!

Jake: What!? Marcel, you set me up?! Fucking talk to me bruv!

Chris: That's it, get mad!

Jake: You fucking-, you fucking used me bruv!

Marcel: I didn't tell you to fucking kill her

[Verse 2: Plan B]

These are the tears of a wanna-be thug

Crying tears as thick as blood cause his elders set him up

To take the fall and now he's stuck with no way of getting out

Cause even if there was a way, he'd still want to vent this anger out

Without a doubt these streets are rife with corruption

Young minds get corrupted and so easily fucked with

Only leads to destruction in the end; false assumptions

That people have your back makes you believe they're your friends

Although some represent; no one can be trusted

One double-O percent cause some thugs will go to lengths

To get revenge

Even if it means manipulating youths to carry skengs

And do the dirty work for them

The kind of work for men

That are with the darkest pasts

Not impressionable young children that never had a chance

Growing up in these manors most are doomed from the start

Cause the minds of their peers are as ill as their hearts

[Sketch]

Chris: Get mad

Jake: You fucking dickhead, you fucking skank!

Chris: Do it!

[Outro : John Cooper Clarke]

Pity the fates of young fellows

Too long in bed with no sleep

With their complex romantic attachments

Oh, look on their sorrows and weep

They don't get a moment's reflection

There's always a crowd in their eye

Pity the plight of young fellows

Regard all their worries and cry

[Sketch]

Chris: That's it, that's it. You done good. You done good, you know? You're a badman now. Put your head up like a badman! This is where you want to be! Look at me