Landmines For Clowns: NEW album

by The Red Pills

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    CD Edition of our NEW second album Landmines For Clowns. Contains:

    CD1 - album with 2 bonus tracks not available for download.

    Comes in a CD wallet slipcase with a 12 page printed lyrics booklet. Artwork by Sarah Webb.

    Fiddle on track 14 - Robin Timmis

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about

13 tracks worth of funk, punk, rock 'n' roll goodness. Celebrity trash sighted... mines laid... BOOM!

All music and lyrics by The Red Pills
Produced by Nick Shakhlevich
Physical drum setup very kindly doctored by Mike Hampton

Vox - Captain Mayhem
Guitar - Major Two Scoops
Bass - Colonel D. Bugger
Drums - General Ignorance

credits

released April 29, 2016

Captain Mayhem, Major Layoff, Colonel D. Bugger, General Ignorance, Mr. Bag.

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all rights reserved

about

The Red Pills Leeds, UK

The Red Pills took their name from the 1999 movie 'The Matrix.' In one scene, Keanu Reeves' character 'Neo' is presented with a choice of pills to ingest; a red pill or a blue pill. Each is a metaphor - taking the blue pill will allow Neo to continue to live a cosy, comfortable lie. Taking the red pill will allow him to wake up to the truth. ... more

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Track Name: You're All Right Jack
One leads to atrophy, one to salvation
The beautiful addiction of ruination
It's hard to be right if you don't have the patience
So pander to selfish, slothlike wasters

YOU'RE ALL RIGHT JACK, YOU'RE ALL RIGHT
WHEN EVERYTHING'S COMFY WHY BOTHER TO FIGHT?
YOU'RE ALL RIGHT JACK, YOU'RE ALL RIGHT
GOOD PEOPLE GET HURT BUT YOU'VE GOT A NICE LIFE (A NICE LIFE)

Inventing stories, tell the world porkies
Malicious rumours for a blacklisting sortie
Selfish performance to win hearts and minds
The virtuous slandered and then ostracised

YOU'RE ALL RIGHT JACK, YOU'RE ALL RIGHT
WHEN EVERYTHING'S COMFY WHY BOTHER TO FIGHT?
YOU'RE ALL RIGHT JACK, YOU'RE ALL RIGHT
GOOD PEOPLE GET HURT BUT YOU'VE GOT A NICE...

Life’s lying in the lap of luxury
Facilitating social butchery
Keeping some unpleasant company
I’m glad that crutch is not enough for me

CHORUS x1
RIGHT JACK?!
Track Name: PR Cliff
Papa Razzo
Pigeons Roosting
Pitiless Rapist
Paedo Register
Posing Roman
Pervert Ravenous
Penetrative Rumours
Pecker Revelation

WHAT’S THAT CLIFF?
“SHE COULD NOT HAVE SEEN IT”
COUNSEL ADMITS
“HIS IS AN AVERAGE PENIS”

Pompous Rodent
Penchant Rumbled
Police Report
Penitent Reality
Prison Rumpy
Penal Rogering
Piggy Rodeo
Painful Ringpiece

CHORUS x1

What’s that Cliff? x2
What’s that Cliff (counsel admits) x2
It’s an average penis baby!

What’s that Cliff? (counsel admits)
She could not have seen it
Counsel admits (what’s that Cliff?)
His is an average penis
(Repeat x2)

Just an average penis baby!
Oh my God he’s so fucking average!
Itsa me, Maaario.
Track Name: Model Miss Behaviour
The cash you make, the risk you take when in the public eye
The contracts lost, the rising cost impacts upon your life
The tabloids found an angle
The trappings of a scandal
The dirty washing’s hung out on the line

THEY’VE MADE YOU TWITCHY
THEY’VE STAINED YOUR THOUGHT
THEY’RE EATING ALL YOUR TISSUES AS YOU...
THEY’VE MADE YOU UGLY
THEY’VE WORN YOU THIN
THEY’VE STOLEN ALL THE COLOUR FROM YOUR... SKIN

The gossip mags, are keeping tabs so they can rub it in
The columnists, are working shifts to bury you with spin
The cops just caught your lover
Helping you to suffer
The shaking hollow craving for a line

THEY’VE MADE YOU TWITCHY
THEY’VE STAINED YOUR THOUGHT
THEY’RE EATING ALL YOUR TISSUES AS YOU...
THEY’VE MADE YOU UGLY
THEY’VE WORN YOU THIN
THEY’VE STOLEN ALL THE COLOUR FROM YOUR...

A public statement’s no good
This time it goes deeper
You knew that it was wrong but
It took a story to free you
Checked into a clinic
Which pale shreds to salvage?
You’ve destroyed your image
Time to stop the carnage
They have you pegged a waster
Willpower thin as paper
It’s up to you to show you’ve drawn a line
Drawn a line
A line
Line

CHORUS x1
Track Name: ClockWork
It sounds like a clock, trying to sing
Escaping its own, tick-tock origins
Chimes with a deep organic yearning
Longs to be gloried, riotous skin
This clock’s envious of all of your limbs
The way that you jive, you groove and you swing
Mantelpiece mambo, nearly within
Reach of a rigid, rotary thing

CLOCKING OFF SIR
DON’T LIVE TO WORK
ONE OBJECTIVE
ONLY WORK TO LIVE

This clock’s kicking off a shimmering spring
Grandfather’s hands and face in a spin
Pendulum powers these hours unhinged
Drunk on a dizzy, deviant din
This clock’s calling all congenial kin
Mute all your morbid metronomin’
And dance to your own peculiar whims
Uproarious time’s about to begin

CHORUS x2
Track Name: What A Wanker
A destructive mist, descends when you’re pissed
Riddled with misguided rage
Testosterone channels, itself to your fists
You say “I can’t help how I’m made”
Regressive you lose, your brain to the booze
Degenerate pond scum stew
We’re broadcasting through, your primordial ooze
And we’ve got a message for you...

OI! OI! WHAT A. WHAT A. WANKER! x2

Contribute nothing, and you deserve nought
Tear everything down and be torn
All the macho posture, and bravado
Is a dead end of evolution
Who can support this unquestioning thought?
This prehistoric resort?
Yet good news is brought, we’re pleased to report
Stupidity cannot be caught...

OI! OI! WHAT A. WHAT A. WANKER! x3
WHAT A. KNUCKLE. DRAGGER!

So you were formed with a cock when you spawned?
That’s no reason not to behave
You think with your balls, it’s like you’ve only just crawled
Out of your fucking cave
Still you retreat, into blind thuggery
Cos that was your father’s disease
A Darwinist dreams you’ll slide back into the seas
For the good of the whole species...

OI! OI! WHAT A. WHAT A. WANKER! x3
WHAT A. KNUCKLE. DRAGGER!

Hey, who the hell are you?
I’m Ronnie Pickering
Who?
Ronnie Pickering
Who the fuck’s that?
Me. I’m Ronnie Pickering!
What were all that about, you cunt?
D’you know who I am? x2
I’m Ronnie Pickering!
Track Name: 16 Shades Of Grey
Vibrant room, a figure enters
Captivated by a teenage temptress
Still unburdened, shy and slender
Absent mask, her joy uncensored

HERE IN THE EYE, TIME TO DECIDE
MAYBE A LIGHTER SHADE OF GREY
CHOOSING THE WHITE, REQUEST IS DENIED
AND THIS CONSCIENCE SAVED

To be trophy or collector?
The line is fine for self-lecture
Premonition seeds conjecture
Fading halos for the restless

HERE IN THIS TRACT, ALL INEXACT
TURNING A DARKER SHADE OF GREY
CHOOSING THE BLACK MIGHT END IN THE SACK
WHICH THE ID WILL TAKE

Every threshold is affected
When a thrust is just deflected
Although hurt was not intended
It has direct consequences

The devil and the angel, atop two shoulders
The devil talking louder, the angel growing older x4
Growin’ older
Growin’ older, grow-growin’ older x4
Track Name: The Great Divide
Take an aristo, show him a vision
No birthright here but still ambition
We know we’re low on your list to consider
But jewels lay in the grime of the midden

Ten year olds resplendent in rubble
Unaware they’re groomed to smuggle
Their innocence held in a bubble
Burst by gang war and drug struggles

THE FORTRESS-FRONTED SHOPS ARE SHUTTERED
A MAN IS CHASED BY A GANG OF NUTTERS
EVERY NIGHT THERE’S SEX IN THE GUTTER
IT’S OUT OF YOUR WORLD AND INTO ANOTHER

On the shiny streets, girls all huddle
Cameltoes reflect in puddles
The night’s young, they’re unsubtle:
Sell their flesh but dream of cuddles

THE FORTRESS-FRONTED SHOPS ARE SHUTTERED
A MAN IS CHASED BY A GANG OF NUTTERS
EVERY NIGHT THERE’S SEX IN THE GUTTER
IT’S OUT OF YOUR WORLD AND INTO...

Tonight, tonight, tonight you’ve seen a different side
Tonight, tonight, tonight you’ll bridge the great divide

Nights end in sleaze or a cheeseburger
Chuck up and leave with a scrubber
Two bed-ridden days to recover
Far cry from your polite supper

THE FORTRESS-FRONTED SHOPS ARE SHUTTERED
A MAN ESCAPES FROM A GANG OF NUTTERS
EVERY NIGHT THERE’S SEX IN THE GUTTER
IT’S OUT OF YOUR WORLD AND INTO ANOTHER
Track Name: Privatise This!
1989: Utilities for sale!
Five years later, bye bye British Rail
Now all my friends can own a piece of Royal Mail
NHS is next, carve up the Holy Grail

MAGGIE THATCHER’S COMIN’ ATCHA FROM THE GRAVE
RESURRECTED BY THE TORY BOYS WHO CHERISH HER NAME
MAGGIE THATCHER’S COMIN’ BACK FROM THE ABYSS
THEY WANNA PRIVATISE EVERYTHING...

Why not privatise our oxygen supply?
May as well exploit the very light that shines into these eyes
Every time we pick a string, or open our mouths to sing
One of her disciples goes ‘KERCHING!’

MAGGIE THATCHER’S COMIN’ ATCHA FROM THE GRAVE
RESURRECTED BY THE TORY BOYS WHO CHERISH HER NAME
MAGGIE THATCHER’S SCRATCHIN’ SCRIPTURE IN HER CRYPT
THEY’RE GONNA PRIVATISE EVERYTHING... WELL PRIVATISE THIS!

Privatise everything! KERCHING!
Privatise everything! KERCHING!

BUT MAGGIE THATCHER’S NECROMANCERS PERSIST
CADAVERS NOW COMMAND THE FORCES OF THE NECROPOLIS
MAGGIE THATCHER’S DAMNED DEMAND AN EXORCIST
THEY WANNA PRIVATISE EVERYTHING... WELL PRIVATISE THIS!
PRIVATISE THIS! PRIVATISE THIS! PRIVATISE THIS!
They’ll privatise me (me!) They’ll privatise you (you!)
Come on you motherfuckers, privatise this!
Track Name: Birth Control
Congress in City Hall
Stroking white elephants
Who’s got the biggest balls?
Bickering sycophants!
We thrust our taxes
At fiddling buffoons
To swell their helmets
End up getting screwed

YOU BUMMED THIS CITY
IT’S A TWITCHING ORIFICE
NOW CRAM IT WITH
PHALLIC MONSTROSITIES

Bukkake architects
Reach for backhanders
When withered pomp erects
From flaccid grandeur
We’re impregnated
By crusty lifeless pricks
When dregs are mated
Oh for a prophylactic

CHORUS x1

Mirror mirror, in a pool
Which is the most impressive tool
That seeded bastard shopping centre?
Birth joy’s over – eat placenta!
Eat placenta x3
Eat it!
Track Name: God In The Corner
Glory to the holy box
Prostrate and never turn it off
Worship it night and day
The Oracle you venerate
Delivers us a fulsome life
Originality’s deprived
In scanning lines divine
Be televangelised

GOD IN THE CORNER
JUST OBEY THE GOD IN THE CORNER
GOD IN THE CORNER
JUST OBEY THE GOD IN THE CORNER
I CAN TELL THAT YOU WANNA (WANNA)

Abundant egos it allures
Whispers to the insecure
‘Come and be a celebrity’
‘Find immortality’
Promise status, fortune, fame
Artificially elevate
Media mediocrity
Blink and you’ll miss ‘em deities

CHORUS x1

GOD IN THE CORNER
JUST OBEY THE GOD IN THE CORNER
GOD IN THE CORNER
JUST OBEY THE GOD IN THE CORNER
GOD IN THE CORNER
JUST OBEY THE GOD IN THE CORNER
JUST OBEY THE GOD IN THE CORNER
JUST OBEY THE GOD IN THE CORNER
I CAN TELL THAT YOU WANNA (WANNA)
Track Name: Read It In The Papers
Baby you’re quick, baby you’re scheming
Confidence tricks, you’ve been playing
What you inflict, is degrading
Taking your pick, then betraying
Baby your wrist, lately is gleaming
You give a kiss, you get a new ring
It’s in the script, you’ll be leaving
Soon as the kicks, fade to nothing

READ IT IN THE PAPERS (x3)
YOU ONLY SHAGGED HIM COS HE’S FAMOUS
FAMOUS. FAMOUS. YOU ONLY SHAGGED HIM!

Baby you’re bold, baby you’re shameless
Baby your promises are heinous
Selling your soul, in cheap containers
Eyes on the goal, fuck retainer

CHORUS x1

Baby you’re shamed, now you’re retreating
We’ve ascertained, you’re in sheep’s clothing
Image is stained, public loathing
Shadows your name, when it’s spoken

READ IT IN THE PAPERS, YOU’RE A PRETTY FAKER
READ IT IN THE PAPERS, YOU’RE A MONEY GRABBER
READ IT IN THE PAPERS, READ IT IN THE PAPERS
READ IT IN THE PAPERS, YOU ONLY SHAGGED HIM COS HE’S FAMOUS
FAMOUS. FAMOUS. YOU ONLY SHAGGED HIM!
Track Name: Mummy's Boy, Daddy's Girl
Twenty-first century
In the land of plenty
Getting fat and empty
Idolise the gentry

Slaves to celeb fashion
Raised to covet fame
Life becomes transaction
We’ll play the Joneses game

ARE YOU A MUMMY’S BOY, DADDY’S GIRL?
MUMMY’S BOY, DADDY’S GIRL x2

Music’s homogeny
Insipid copy culture
Is a rebel death knell
Simon’s Machiavellia

Endemic amorality
In football’s glamour whores
There are no working class
Heroes anymore

ARE YOU A MUMMY’S BOY, DADDY’S GIRL?
MUMMY’S BOY, DADDY’S GIRL x2
ARE YOU A MUMMY’S BOY, DADDY’S GIRL?
MUMMY’S BOY, DADDY’S GIRL x2

My granddad fought in the war you know
And he didn’t do it so
You could spend a thousand pounds
On a bag, by Galliano

MUMMY’S BOY, DADDY’S GIRL x5
MUMMY’S BOY, DADDY’S, DADDY’S GIRL
Show some fucking social responsibility!
Track Name: Designer Genes
Little girls, made up in, a beauty pageant
Mimicked flirtations a, frightening tangent
Moulding these, starlets with, narcissist’s ease
Destroy our, daughters when, pursuing this greed

INFLUENCE FAULT, DIRECTIONLESS SPONGES
PARENTAL ASSAULT WITH UNCONTROLLED URGES
FROM TRUSTED TONGUES, COMPLIANCE INVEIGLED
AGED PREMATURELY, ENTICED FROM THEIR CRADLES

Prostitute, eight year olds, to the nation
Celebrate, vicarious, violation
Inherit, disorder, from relations
Adulthood: scars showing, exploitation

CHORUS x1

Psychology, fragile and, ever so tainted
Never to, reconcile, youth’s labour wasted
Burdens all, residing in, their ageless prison
Unwilling, to talk and, reluctant to listen

AXIOLOGY OF IDEOLOGY
IDEOLOGY IN PATHOLOGY
PATHOLOGY OF BIOLOGY
BIOLOGY AS AN APOLOGY-EY
AS AN APOLOGY-EY x3
AS AN APOLOGY
EY-EY-EY-EY-EY x4
EY-EY-EY-EY!