It's no go the
Acid
House, it's no go
Stone
Roses
All we want is a hooded shirt
and an ecstasy psychosis
A day return to
Manchester, a pair of purple kickers
Never mind the records,
get the t -shirts and the stickers
Johnny
Normal got a job,
a mortgage and a motor
Claimed his dad was
Dylan and he came from
Minnesota
Conda generation of
smiling hippie tossers
Who shaved their beards and trimmed
their hair but failed to cut their losses
It's no -go for
Live
Aid, it's no -go for wagons
All we want is crystals in our dun
geons and our dragons
Darren,
Darren,
Wayne and
Shane,
Kylie,
Kevin,
Jason
Peter
Blindman after death with
his own isolation
It's no -go, your arty films,
it's no -go, your passion
All we want is a shopping mall and
some pissy high street fashion
It's no -go,
Kinokyo and goodnight,
Bonnie
So kiss goodbye with a lullaby and
a strawberry flavoured
Johnny
It's no -go humility and
no -go our nation
What we've got is a yuppie
farm with superannuation
Sarah
Septic lives in
France and drives a
Lamborghini
Saves her whales with metaphors
and claims that she's a greenie
Old
MacDonald had a farm, then he had another,
then he had another, and another, and another.
It's no -go the hospital, it's no -go education,
all we want is a line of whiz on
Piccadilly
Station.
It's no -go
Takini, it's no -go
Lacoste
They're try ing to tell the sissy
Southern bastards
that they've lost
It's no -go the poll tax,
no -go registration
All we want is a summons and a year or two probation,
don't pay!
Jimi
Hendrix in the lounge,
Nico in the kitchen
Brian
Jones, the
Rolling
Stone, coming down and itching
There you see virginity,
face down in the river
Write yourself a get well soon and send it to your liver
It's no go my angel breath,
it's no go my dog star
All they want is 40 quid to see
some dodgy rock star
They'll package up rebellion
like a pot of clotted cream
Then they'll sell it back at twice
the price and nullify the dream
And all your friends and lovers,
and the places that you knew
You'll wonder what became of
them and what became of you
It's no go my moony rose,
it's no go tomorrow
Or we are a tiny blip in a
databank called