| System, system, system — death in life
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| System, system, system — the surgeons knife
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| System, system, system — hacking at the cord
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| System, system, system — a child is born
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| Poor little fucker, poor little kid
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| Never asked for life, no she never did
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| Poor little baby, poor little mite
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| Crying out for food as her parents fight (x2)
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| System, system, system — send him to school
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| System, system, system — force him to crawl
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| System, system, system — teach him how to cheat
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| System, system, system — kick him off his feet
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| Poor little schoolboy, poor little lad
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| They’ll pat him if he’s good, beat him if he’s bad
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| Poor little kiddy, poor little chap
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| They’ll force feed his mind with their useless crap
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| Force feed his mind with their useless crap
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| System, system, system — they’ll teach her how to cook
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| System, system, system — they’ll teach her how to look
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| System, system, system — they’ll teach her all the tricks
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| System, system, system — create another victim for their
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| greasy pricks
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| Poor little girly, poor little wench
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| Another little object to prod and pinch
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| Poor little sweety, poor little filly
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| They’ll fuck her mind so they can fuck her silly
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| Fuck her mind so they can fuck her silly
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| System, system, system — he’s grown to be a man
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| System, system, system — He’s been taught to fit the plan
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| System, system, system — forty years of jobs
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| System, system, system — Pushing little buttons,
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| pulling little knobs
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| Poor fucking worker, poor little serf
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| Working like a mule for half of what he’s worth
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| Poor fucking grafter, poor little gent
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| Working for the cash that he’s already spent (x2)
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| He’ll selling his life, she’s his loyal wife
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| Timid as a mouse, she’s got her little house
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| He’s got his little car and they share the cocktail bar
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| She likes to cook his meals, you know, something that appeals
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| Sometimes he works til late so his supper has to wait
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| But she doesn’t really mind cos he’s getting overtime
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| He likes to put a bit away just for that rainy day
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| Cos every little counts when the cost of living mounts
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| They do the pools each week hoping for that lucky break
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| Then they’d take a trip abroad, do all the things they can’t afford
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| She’d really like to have a fur, he’d like a bigger car
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| They could buy a bungalow, with a Georgian door for show
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| He might think of leaving work, but no, he wouldn’t like to shirk
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| He’d much prefer to stay and get his honest days pay
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| He’s got a life of work ahead, there’s no rest for the dead
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| She’s tried to make it nice, he’s said thankyou once or twice
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| System, system, system — deprived of any hope
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| System, system, system — taught they couldn’t cope
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| System, system, system — slaves right from the start
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| System, system, system — til death do them part
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| Poor little fuckers, what a sorry pair
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| Had their lives stolen, but they didn’t really care
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| Poor little darlings, just your ordinary folks
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| Victims of the system and its cruel jokes (x2)
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| The couple views the wreckage and dreams of home sweet home
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| They’d almost paid their mortgage when the system dropped its bomb. |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Systematic Death , by - Jeffrey Lewis. Song from the album 12 Crass Songs, in the genre Альтернатива