Track two of the Fall's brilliant 1980 album Grotesque (After The Gramme). (Track six on the Castle Communications re-issue)

Definitely one of my favourite Fall songs, this tune encapsulates just why people love {or hate/like/are completely indifferent to} the Fall. Clocking in at under two minutes, the song features a wonderfully demented, reggae inspired, cheesy electric piano riff, backed by the trademark Fall 1980's rockabilly bass and some truly inspired drumming (from my opinion as a basic drummer, it is quite clever in it's inherrent simplicity).

The song itself is "a spiteful stab esp. at white rastas" (according to the liner notes). Mark E. Smith composes an interesting rant about the lower class in northern England, praising the ones that emigrate to other countries and denouncing the ones that stay behind and complain that it's America's fault. Odd, considering he himself mainly stayed in his home town of Manchester, and an anti-American song appears on this same album.


O'er grassy dale, and lowland scene
Come see, come hear, the English Scheme.
The lower-class, want brass, bad chests, scrounge fags.
The clever ones tend to emigrate
Like your psychotic big brother, who left home
For jobs in Holland, Munich, Rome
He's thick but he struck it rich, switch
The commune crap, camp bop, middle-class, flip-flop
Guess that's why they end up in bands
He's the green piece in us all
He's the creep-creep in us all
Condescends to black men
Very nice to them
They talk of Chile while driving through Haslingdon
You got sixty hour weeks, and stone stone toilet back-gardens
Peter Cook's jokes, bad dope, check shirts, lousy groups
Point their fingers at America
Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge
Cycles our distant spastic heritage
Its a gay red, roundhead, army career, grim head
If we was smart we'd emigrate

Cheers to Fall Lyrics Parade," by Jonathan Kandell & Jeff Curtis, still the best place for Fall lyrics

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