Pity the Plight (feat. John Cooper Clarke)

Pity the fate of young fellows Too long a bed with no sleep With their complex romantic attachments All 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 cool Give me one acre of cellos Pitched at some distant regret Pity the fate of young fellows And their anxious attempts to forget 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 his dad died even poorer Separated until she was eight years old He knew as soon as he saw her That he adored her, so he's baying for blood with a borer And an automatic weapon; Smith & Weston That'd split a fucking hole in your chest then he's been looking to corner The perpetrators responsible for a killing Now he's finally got 'em where he wants 'em And 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 'em as the terror starts progressing That leaves the youngest of the two open to his suggestion Only 13 years old; pubescent adolescent About to learn a very harsh and depressing lesson 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 corrupt even so easily fucked that only leads to destruction in the end False assumptions that people have your back makes you believe they're your friends All though some represent; no one can be trusted When 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 walk the darkest paths 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 Pity the fate of young fellows Too long a bed with no sleep With their complex romantic attachments All 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