Right! now ha, ha

I am an anti-Christ
I am an anarchist,
don't know what I want
but I know how to get it.
I wanna destroy the passer by
'cos I wanna be anarchy,
Ho dogs body

Anarchy for the UK
It's coming sometime and maybe
I give a wrong time stop a traffic line.
Your future dream is a shopping scheme
cause I wanna be anarchy,
It's in the city

Turn the page and it's
The scoop of the century
Dont wanna be L seven I had enough of this
This is brainwash and this is a clue
To the stars who fooled you
Tell me why you can't explain
You're only looking for vinyl yeah
Didn't they fool you they wanna be you

Gimme world war three we can live again
You didn't fool me but i fooled you
You wanna be me yeah You wanna be me

God save the Queen
the fascist regime,
they made you a moron
a potential H-bomb.

God save the Queen
she ain't no human being.
There is no future
in England's dreaming

Don't be told what you want
Don't be told what you need.
There's no future
there's no future
there's no future for you

God save the Queen
we mean it man
we love our queen
God saves

God save the Queen

I don't mind the things that you say
I don't even mind going out of my way
I try and do these things for you
Why should I do it I'm always untrue

Well, I did you no wrong
I did you no wrong
Going out of my head

I ain't seen you off the screen
But those films are my dreams
And I can't take much more of you
'Cause the bog is no place to see your face

(J. Rotten, G. Matlock, S. Jones, P. Cook)

There's no point in asking
you'll get no reply.
Oh just remember a don't decide
I got no reason it's all too much
You'll always find us
out to lunch

Oh we're so pretty
Oh so pretty
we're vacant
Oh we're so pretty
Oh so pretty
a-vacant

Don't ask us to attend
'cos we're not all there.
Oh don't pretend 'cos I don't care

(J. Rotten, S. Vicious, S. Jones, P. Cook)

A cheap holiday in other people's misery
I don't wanna holiday in the sun
I wanna go to the new Belsen
I wanna see some history
'cause now t got a reasonable economy

Oh now I got a reason...
and l'm still waiting
Now I got a reason
to be waiting
the Berlin wall

In sensurround sound in a two inch wall

No fun, my babe no fun
No fun, my babe no fun
No fun to hang around
Feeling that same old way
No fun to hang around
Freaked out for another day

No fun, my babe no fun
No fun, my babe no fun
No fun to be alone
Walking by my self
No fun to be alone
In love with nobody else

Well, maybe go out,
Maybe stay home
Maybe call Mom on the telephone
Well, come on, well, come on

(Revaux, Francois, Anka)

And now the end is near and so I face the final curtain
You cunt, I'm not a queer I'll state my case of which I'm certain
I've lived a life that's full and each and every highway
And yet, much more than this I did it my way
And yes, I've had a few but then again, to few to mention
But dig, what I have to feel I'll see it through with no devotion

What you see, you can get
Nothing's free, nothing's said
Don't be fooled by the signs
Don't read in between the lines

What you're gonna say
What you're gonna do
Now you've missed out once again
But I thought you knew

Oh you silly thing
You've really gone and done it now
Oh you silly thing
You really gone and done it now

Trouble here, trouble there
People stop just to stare

(Capeheart, Cochran)

Well c'mon everybody and let's get together tonight
I got some money in my jeans
And I'm really gonna spend it right
Well I've been doing my homework all week long
Now to have some fifty and my folk are gone
Ooh c'mon everybody
Oh well my baby's number one
But I'm gonna dance with three or four
And the house will be shaking from bare feet
A-stamping on the floor

(Jones, Temple, Cook)

People said we couldn't play They called us foul-mouthed
But the only notes that really count
Are the ones that come in wads
They all drowned when the air turned blue
'Cos w didn't give a toss
Filthy lucre ain't nothing new
But we all get cash from chaos
The time is right to do it now
The greastes rock'n'roll swindle
The time is right to do it now

God save the sex pistols they're a bunch of wholesome blokes
They just like wearing filthy clothes and swapping filthy jokes
God save television keep the programms pure
God save William Grundy from falling in manure

Ronnie Biggs was doing time until he done a bunk
Now he says he's seen the light and he sold his soul to punk

God save Martin Boorman and nazis on the run